Wow this is startlingly long. My bad.

Jim/Spock/Bones is implied and established, but hey – this is a kidfic, so aside from a few forehead kisses and hugs, there's nothing overly explicit. A bit of harsh language, but this is Bones we're talking about, so that's pretty much the only reason this has a 'T' rating.

WARNINGS: Implied past child abuse (as in, before this story takes place); body image issues and insecurity from the main character's point of view; harsh language

And… I think that's it. Feel free to tell me if I missed anything, and enjoy!

Leonard came to slowly and with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut to block out any nearby light and lifting an arm high enough to rub at his face and the dust caked to his skin. It felt like there was a lead weight in his gut, throbbing in tune with the pounding behind his eyes and at the back of his skull. Nausea was beginning to creep up on him, and he let out a grunt as he rolled onto his side, coughing hoarsely. The headache, instead of intensifying, began to dwindle, but the rest of his body bloomed in a dull ache, his muscles quivering in an attempt to relax despite the tight knot in his stomach making him gag and spit up nothing but saliva.

He vaguely remembered what he'd been doing before he'd passed out; they'd docked at a nearby planet, one with a suitable atmosphere (actually docked, not just hovered within its orbit), so Scotty could repair the smaller cracks and dents the engines had sustained from the unexpected encounter they'd had with a rogue Klingon ship without threatening the entire crew and then some. Jim had decided 'hey, how awesome would it be to go out and tag the place?' and Leonard had nearly slapped him. Spock had tried to reason the bullheaded blond away from doing anything stupid or life-threatening, again, but because Jim was Jim, he'd ignored his First Officer and CMO because he was a little shit who was too curious for his own good. He'd headed out onto the planet and he and Spock had pretty much had no choice but to follow him to make sure he didn't kill himself or get himself killed.

He remembered the three of them arguing while they walked through an orange-grass field about something – probably Jim's recklessness – and then inhaling something that smelt strongly of cinnamon and apples. It had made him woozy, but he's still been able to walk, if off-balance, but Jim and Spock hadn't been so lucky. The air had been thick with golden-pink dust, and he'd seen the two of them on the ground, coughing up a lung, so he'd clapped his hand over his mouth and nose and left the cursing for later to bodily drag them all to the edge of the field near the outskirts of the field, just within reach of the tree line. The dust hadn't followed them, which had been the best luck he'd gotten since they'd landed on this blasted planet, but Jim had passed out on the maroon-colored tree roots he'd dropped him on and Spock had looked nauseous and paler than usual, wavering between unconsciousness and clarity. Leonard had managed to get his communicator out to call for an immediate beam-in and as many hypos as he needed to make sure they didn't die on this wasteland of a planet, but after he'd gotten it in front of him to sound off, his vision had become unfocused and blurry. He'd tried blinking and rubbing at his eyes to fix it, but that had just made it worse, and the wooziness had turned into bone-deep exhaustion and soreness. His joints had cracked when he'd moved, so he'd just let out a grunt and collapsed on the ground to sleep it off. Probably not the best idea, but hey – he wasn't dead.

And now they were here, somewhere, on a planet that may or may not have hostile natives despite what the scanners said, and he was fighting back another wave of nausea as his muscles screamed at him to calm the hell down or he'd tear something. To top it all off, he had no idea where they were because – according to Jim – "maps were for babies", or even if Jim and Spock were still with him. Good Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

There was movement to his side, a soft ruffling of clothes and a quiet murmur, but it caught his attention nonetheless. Hopefully it wasn't someone waiting for the opportune moment to kick his ass into next Sunday. With another pitiful groan, he rolled onto his front, pushing himself onto his knees with trembling arms. There was some more shuffling, and he pulled his tunic off as painlessly as physically possible. The strain in his shoulders was nearly unbearable, but he ignored it save for a short hiss. Turning the blue shirt inside out so that the shimmering dust still clinging to the fabric didn't get on him even further, he wiped down his face as much as he could, grimacing at the gritty feel of it removing itself from his skin. When his skin didn't feel like it was covered it sand anymore, he blinked his eyes open, squinting against the bright sunlight beaming down on him from the gaps in the leaves above. They were still on the outskirts of the forest, which was good, since it meant no one had found and kidnapped them, but it also meant no one had come looking for them, either. He wondered how long he'd been out.

The shuffling thing was still happening, and he finally turned to see what the hell was making the noise (and sincerely hoped it wasn't a giant carnivorous beast hell-bent on eating him whole, because that was something he never wanted to go through again, ever).

It was a… kid. Two kids, actually. Little, too, barely older than five and seven, respectively, their faces and shirts covered in golden-pink dust. The tiniest had two black eyes and enough bruises and scratches, old and new, to tell Leonard that there was no way he'd just gotten them in a schoolyard scuffle. It made a spike of anger course through him before he could stop it, and his eyes narrowed as he kept looking them over. The boy's hair was matted and yellow, and his eyes were wide and bright blue behind the dark bruises surrounding them. He was shaking in the too-big yellow Starfleet tunic he was in from where he sat at the base of a tree, knees pulled close to his chest. The other kid, he was in a Starfleet shirt, too, a blue one, which went down to his knees. He wasn't shaking – rather, he was frozen, watching him carefully with distrusting brown eyes. His hair wasn't matted, but certainly wasn't well kept, either, and was sticking up in ten different directions. And his ears – shit, his ears…

"Oh, goddammit," he scowled before he could stop himself, and immediately wanted to slap himself for running his mouth without thinking, again. The blond kid – Jim, it was Jim – flinched at the curse, at the way he'd said it with such anger, and curled in on himself, hiding his face in his arms. The seven-year-old – Spock, good god – stepped in front of Jim protectively, and furrowed his pointed eyebrows at him. Leonard held back a sigh in favor of running a hand through his hair, pulling on it and clenching his eyes shut as he thought the situation through.

Okay, the Captain and First Officer of one of the Federation's most prominent starships were now children and likely didn't remember a thing, if the way they were huddled up in fear and confusion was anything to go by. He could totally deal with this. He wasn't Chief Medical Officer of that very same starship for nothing, dammit. He'd dealt with Jim's shit before. Except, he couldn't blame Jim for making them come down on this hellhole of a planet until after he was an adult again, and he had no idea how to do that. But, no big deal. He could handle this. He could totally handle this.

"Okay," he said aloud, careful to keep his voice calm and collected so that he didn't frighten his company more than he already had. He sounded… strange, his voice higher, his accent thicker, but figured that was a side effect of the dust. It had turned his lovers into kids, and fucked up his vocal chords. Fair was fair. He opened his eyes again, and saw that Kid Spock was still standing in front of Kid Jim like a mother in front of her cub, but Jim was peering around Spock's legs curiously, trying to make sense of the situation like the little genius he was. "I'm not going to hurt you," he told them kindly, putting as much sincerity in the words as he could muster. He held out a placating hand, hoping one of them took it, and did it look… lankier? The callouses were the same, maybe a bit less hard and rough, but definitely still there, but the limb looked bony and thin. Shaking the thought out of his head and ignoring the niggling questions sprouting at the back of his mind, he instead said, "I'm a friend. Your friend. Okay? I promise I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you."

Spock glanced at the offered hand before looking back up to his face, eyes narrowed. "I do not believe you."

Leonard's shoulders slumped, but kept his arm outstretched and his eyes locked on Spock's young face. "I know," he said, "But as far as I know, we're the only ones here. We're on another planet, in another galaxy, and it's scary, I know, but I know how to get us home. You don't have to believe I'm your friend, but you have to trust me. Okay?"

Spock was quiet, and he looked down at his sock-covered feet, socks that were too big and were falling down his shins. Jim crawled around his legs only slightly, to eye Leonard with a sharp look, to study him. He was a cute kid – they both were – but no amount of cuteness would make this situation easier for anyone. He wouldn't be able to get them back to the Enterprise and fix this mess unless they let him. "Why are you here with us?" Jim asked suspiciously, "Did you kidnap us?"

Leonard was speechless for a few moments, wherein Jim crossed his arms expectantly. "Of course not," he told them, nearly scoffing at the mere idea of it. "You two don't even – " He stopped short, and sighed heavily, finally dropping his hand in defeat. "… know each other. Or me. Or anyone else. This is going to end badly, I can feel it."

"How can you 'feel' when a course of action will result in a negative outcome?" Spock asked, and his head cocked in an oddly endearing, puppy-like way. It was like the kid version of the patented Vulcan Eyebrow. Leonard almost cooed, but held it in because this was Spock they were talking about here, and the Vulcan seemed to have a personal vendetta against all things cute, especially when in reference to himself.

With a huff of something that was supposed to be laughter, he said, "I guess you could say I feel it in my bones."

It made Jim giggle, so he counted it as a win. Jim would probably kill him if he remembered this when they got older again, though. If they got older again. No. Stop it. Shut up. Don't think like that. He sighed again (he's been doing that a lot lately), and then climbed to his feet, grimacing at the soreness that still resided in his legs. He stretched his back, groaning at the pleasant ache that resulted from the motion. His shirt was loose around his torso, the collar nearly falling off his shoulder, and his pants were sliding past his hips. The belt that was supposed to keep them up was loosened for no liable rhyme or reason, which – while odd – was decidedly not the oddest thing to happen today. He reached down and tightened the clasp, making sure they weren't going to fall down unexpectedly, before bending down to snatch up his dust covered Medical shirt and held out his unoccupied hand to the two.

Spock looked at it curiously, but Jim crawled forward and grasped at it. His entire hand fit into his palm. It reminded him too much of Joanna to be overly comfortable with the situation, but he hid the wince as discreetly as he could and tugged Jim closer, to his feet. He had black socks on, too, and now that Leonard was standing, he could see that their boots and pants were lying forgotten at the base of the tree, along with their belts and communicators, including his. Bingo. "Wanna piggyback ride?" he asked the blond, and Jim's face lit up. He grinned with all of his teeth – the ones he had, anyway – and nodded happily. Leonard crouched down, and Jim climbed onto his back with as much grace as a five-year-old could muster, locking his tiny little arms around his neck and holding on for dear life when Leonard stood back up to full height. "Here." He handed the kid his shirt and settled his arm under Jim's legs to hold some of his weight. "You get to hold that until we get back." Addressing Spock, now, he asked, "Can you hand me those?" and pointed to the abandoned clothing only a few feet away.

The Vulcan child tossed his head over his shoulder to investigate what it was Leonard wanted, and with a final narrowed eyed look that spoke volumes (most of which Leonard interpreted as 'I still don't trust you' and 'if you do anything I will beat you to a pulp'), he moved over to the clothes and began folding them with careful precision. Leonard waited patiently (clearly perfectionism was something Spock had been born with) until the child walked back over to him with the folded pants in his arms, boots placed neatly on top with the communicators in them. Leonard smiled at him gratefully, offered a short, "thanks" and tucked them between Jim's legs on top of his arm when he was handed the clothes.

Spock was quiet for a moment, then said, "You are welcome." and outstretched his own arm. Leonard's smile widened as he took it in his own, his palm enveloping the tiny Vulcan hand, and he carefully began making his way across the field once again, his boots clunky around his feet. The dust had dispersed, which was a blessing, and the sun shone down across the shimmering rolls of knee-high orange grass in ways that made Jim gasp from where his head was resting on his shoulder. Spock had to stretch his neck to see above the grass. Leonard let himself smile at the happiness radiating off of his friend from his back, and Spock tilted his head to look up at them inquisitively. "What is your name?" he asked, and he seemed less guarded now that Jim was calm and they weren't going to be hurt in the immediate future.

"Leonard," he told them, since Jim was listening intently now that the topic had been brought up. He moved his head to look at Jim and met the boy's curious blue gaze before turning back to face forward, continuing to walk the path he could recall from before he passed out. They'd walked for at least twenty minutes, that much he knew, arguing about something or other – again, probably about Jim's recklessness – before the whole dust debacle had happened. He hoped his sense of direction wasn't that far off. If they got lost on this planet because of him, Spock would kill him.

"'Leonard' doesn't sound right," Jim announced in his ear, "D'you have a nickname?"

"Yeah, my friends call me Bones," he admitted with a snort.

Jim just giggled, and said, "'Cause you feel it in your bones!"

Leonard was tempted to roll his eyes, because that was definitely not why Jim had decided to call him Bones, but he was just a kid now. Certainly not a naïve kid, but still a kid. "Yeah, squirt, 'cause I feel it in my bones. What're your names?" As if he didn't already know.

"I'm Jim Kirk!" the blond told him, excitement in his voice. Leonard had a feeling he got excited about a lot of things at this age. He shifted his tiny arms enough to point at Spock, who was looking at the passing alien landscape inquisitively, neck still stretched to see over the swaying ends of the grass. Leonard doubted they had plants even remotely similar to the ones on this planet on Vulcan, and, since Vulcan was apparently the only planet Spock had ever been to at this age, seeing such foreign plants in such a foreign landscape was probably the opportunity of a lifetime. "That's Spock." The dark-haired boy looked up at the sound of his name, raising his eyebrow in a way that was so inexplicably Spock that Leonard's heart almost shriveled from how disgustingly cute it was. Seeing Spock's everyday mannerisms on the slightly chubby green-flushed face was as disconcerting as it was adorable.

"And where are you from, Spock?" he asked, because for a child, was being way too quiet. Jim was humming with energy from where he clung to his back, which was normal for a five-year-old, but for a seven-year-old, Spock was decidedly the opposite. He knew it was probably a Vulcan thing, their iron-grip on their control making childhood inhibitions essentially impossible to follow through with if they were even acknowledged at all, but it was still strange to witness. He wanted to get him talking more. Maybe they could all have a civil, peaceful conversation that didn't take place in bed for more than five seconds before they got back to the Enterprise.

"I am of Vulcan," Spock stated, and his hand squeezed Leonard's from where it was still clasped as they walked, as if reassuring himself that even though they weren't home, at least he wasn't alone, and at least he wasn't in any immediate danger. "You are of Earth?"

"Yeah," Leonard said, "I'm from the United States on Earth. Where're you from, kid?" he addressed Jim.

"I am, too," the blond said, his grin evident in his voice. "Not so nice there, though. Too hot."

Leonard snorted. "Yeah right. Nowhere's hotter'n Georgia in August, kid. That's the truth."

"Where are you taking us?" Spock asked. He no longer sounded as suspicious, but he clearly didn't trust him. He was trying to extract information from him, the brilliant little bastard he was.

"To my starship," Leonard announced, as confidently as he could, because it certainly wasn't his starship, but they didn't need to know that. They certainly didn't need to know that the five-year-old on his back was the captain of said starship, either. It would give Jim a complex.

Speaking of Jim, the child gasped at the claim. "A starship? You have a starship?" His voice was soft with wonder-filled awe, and even Spock seemed impressed in that Vulcan way he did, with both of his eyebrows raised.

"Sure do," he continued with a smirk, "Well, I mean, I'm not the Captain. I'm the doctor."

"A doctor?" Spock repeated, quizzical. His eyebrows were furrowed again, this time in confusion and disbelief.

"What, you don't think a little old man like me could be a doctor?" Leonard asked, trying to reign in any disappointment that was stirred up from Spock's blatant astonishment at someone like him being a doctor. Normally he hid his disdain well (if it was even still there; Jim had forced them to 'kiss and make up' after one of their more heated arguments – literally). Clearly, Kid Spock wasn't as well-versed in concealing his emotions. Then again, it was Kid Spock; maybe he was just a little prick and spoke his mind.

Spock looked up at him with wide brown eyes, and his hand squeezed around his tighter. "That is not what I meant… Bones," he said, testing the name out slowly. "I do not mean to doubt your ability. It is just…" He seemed to struggle for words, so Jim took over.

"You're not old," the kid said, "Well, not old-old. You're like, kind of old. Ish."

Now Leonard was confused. How many times had Jim called him 'old man' for shits and giggles? And now five-year-old Jim, whose worldview on age should have been even more skewed, was only calling him 'kind of old-ish'? He'd expected to be called Grandpa, to be completely honest. Before he could question him or Spock for more details (because if this was more than a physical age thing and their brains had been messed up more than situational amnesia, he was so, so screwed), he squinted against the sun to see the Enterprise in the distance, the giant metal hull gleaming in the light, and sighed in relief. He'd have the proper resources to take care of the two brats while he sorted this whole thing out on there.

"Come on, squirts," he said, picking up the pace. Spock had to jog lightly to keep up with his longer strides, and Jim was giggling into his shoulder from how he was bouncing against Leonard's back. "Starship's this way."

"I'm gonna be on an actual starship!" Jim said, even though it was more of a happy squeal. "I've never been on one before! Is it cool? Are there robots? Does it fly? I bet it flies!"

"Yes, Jim, it flies," Leonard chuckled, and as they gradually approached the Enterprise, he slowed his pace. They reached the docking entrance easily, but Leonard had a feeling that bringing two children (two very cute, very not-supposed-to-be-children children) onboard without so much as a warning would probably put the ship on lockdown. It would freak Jim out, and then Spock would want to protect Jim because he was freaking out, and then they'd all be in a heap of trouble with himself as the guest of honor.

The shit he did for love.

So he approached the docking entrance and stopped a few feet from the manual release hatch, crouching down so Jim could hop off. The boy moved over to Spock as soon as his feet hit the ground, dragging the medical tunic behind him from where it was clenched in his hands, and Leonard passed the Vulcan the carefully folded clothes he'd been carrying so he could dig his communicator out of one of the boots. After he'd gotten ahold of it, he stood back up to full height, telling the boys, "Keep quiet until I say so, alright? Only a few people should know we're here."

"Why?" Jim asked, tilting his head curiously, and Leonard was tempted to say 'because I said so', but then, that wouldn't be a very grown-up thing to do. And, technically, since he was the only one present right now, he'd have to be responsible and mature for once. That was Spock's job, dammit.

"Because I'm on a top secret mission for the Captain," Leonard thought up on the spot, and Jim's mouth dropped open in shock. Even Spock looked doubtful about the sincerity of his claim (for good reason), so he quickly amended, "I'm very close friends with the Captain, you see, very close. We had to land here because the ship needed repairs, and he wanted me to go out and survey the area." Oh, yeah, he was totally bullshitting it now. When Jim had proposed the idea, he'd really just wanted to cuff him on the back of the head for dragging him out of the Sickbay, and now, he was saying that he was a willing participant in this entire "undercover operation".

Oh, Jim was going to have so much blackmail material.

"So we can't let anyone but a few people know," Leonard continued with a nod, as if to cement the giant lie that had just come out of his mouth. Spock looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he kept his mouth blissfully shut, thank god. "First things first." He flipped the communicator open and paged for Scotty.

Putting it up to his ear, the man answered back soon enough, saying, "McCoy, you've finally decided to come back! How delightful."

Don't you sound cheeky. "Mr. Scott," he began, casting a look at the boys. Jim was looking up at him with wonder and Spock with fascination from where he still held the pile of clothes and boots. "We need three beamed up to Sickbay now, the privacy ward."

"Didn't get hurt, did you?" he said, and Leonard could hear him shuffling along in the background, readying the Energizer. "Every damn time… Coordinates?"

"Just outside the lower docking hatch," Leonard reported, "And no, not hurt, just…" He paused, his eyes flitting around as he searched for the right word. "…different."

"Different." Scotty huffed out a laugh. "It's always something with you three. So long as no one's in the midst o' dying I count it as a win."

"Yeah, well, wait until we get there to make a crack like that, will you?"

"No promises, Doctor. You want me to page 'em so that they're prepared for when you get there?"

"No," Leonard said, a bit more quickly than he should have. "I want as little people to know about this as possible."

Scotty clucked his tongue. "That bad, huh? You sure no one's hurt?" He sounded concerned. Leonard couldn't have Scotty being concerned. He'd call Sickbay just in case if he was, and Leonard wanted to keep everyone who wasn't Chapel out of the loop until he could get them all on the ship safe and sound.

He sighed, and tucked the communicator between his ear and his shoulder to bend down, motioning with his arms at Jim. The blond practically jumped into them, and Leonard caught him with a soft oof, rearranging him on his hip with one arm and reaching for Spock with the other. The Vulcan eyed him warily, but moved forward with the pile of clothes nonetheless, keeping close to his leg while Leonard rested his palm on the top of his head. "Yes, Scotty, I'm sure. Just hurry up already, will you?"

"Bossy, bossy…"

The golden-white wisps of light began twirling around them, Scotty having pinpointed their heat signatures, and Jim yelped in surprise, wriggling in his grip. Spock stepped even closer, eyes wide as he studied at the phenomenon around them, but Leonard kept them close so that they wouldn't get hurt (or run off, knowing Jim). The blond was squirming desperately in his hold, punching his tiny little fists against his collarbone and chest in an attempt to get him to put him down and let him investigate. They were in the Sickbay before he could go through with this master plan, and when the flickers of transporter energy dissipated, he looked around at the new surroundings with amazement. Even Spock seemed in awe, if only slightly.

Chapel was the only one present, which was a blessing. When she turned around from the restocking of the sedatives to look at them curiously, her face quickly shifted with confusion and suspicion. "Uh…"

"Yeah," Leonard said stiffly, "Hi. Can you take this?" He shifted his head to motion to the communicator still tucked between his ear and shoulder, where he could hear Scotty mumbling under his breath about how reckless they all were, how they needed to stop running off saving the world when the world didn't even need saving. Leonard was tempted to tell him to fuck off, because he was just as bad, but there were children present.

Chapel shot him a strange look, but moved forward when he raised his eyebrows expectantly, easily taking the communicator and sliding it up to her own ear as Leonard lightly pushed at Spock to get him going and lead them to the nearest biobed. The tiny Vulcan reached up to deposit the pile of clothes on top of the mattress while Leonard leant down to set Jim on the bed. The blond was looking around every which way, practically buzzing with excited energy as he fidgeted on the bed, fists clenched around the blue tunic still in his grasp. Leonard felt the need to help Spock up as well, but he had a hunch that the kid was too proud to allow such a thing, that he was 'of the proper age to manage his own weight, thank you, Doctor' or something like that, and he was already making a good effort of climbing onto it by himself. Jim was even helping.

"Stay there until I come back, okay?" he told them, "I'll be real quick." Jim nodded from where he was tugging on Spock's arms, and Leonard moved away from them to make his way to his office. He had spare uniforms in there; he could get three of them and wet an older shirt to wash the rest of the dust off of his and the squirts' faces and arms. He could scrape some of it off to perform some tests after they were safe and secure and had something to eat, too. Then, he could tuck them in, put them to sleep, and tell the Bridge that their Captain and First Officer were now children for however long it took for himself to whip up an antidote, without the help of the ship's Chief Science Officer.

Why was it always him who had to do everything?

With a world-weary sigh that weighed down on his shoulders, the door slid shut behind him with a hiss. Leonard shuffled to the small office closet, pulling out a uniform for himself and two undershirts for Jim and Spock. Maybe he should get them new socks, too. They were probably caked with dirt and dead orange grass and the same golden-pink dust that had started this whole thing in the first place. Yeah, he should definitely get them new socks.

He was in the midst of wrestling his over-large black undershirt off (despite the fact that it was tangled around his arms) and shrugging on a new one when Chapel knocked on the door. "Er… Leonard?"

"Yeah?" he grunted, and with a growl he finally managed to pull the collar down and loose around his throat from where it'd been caught around his skull. "What is it?" He silently hoped that she wasn't knocking to inform him that Jim had somehow managed to convince Spock to run off and 'explore'. If they'd gotten into a batch of hypos, they could've poisoned themselves or put themselves in a medically-induced coma, or if they'd gotten out of Sickbay, who knew where they could be.

"You… might wanna look in a mirror," Chapel suggested, and Leonard processed the words with a confused frown.

"What? Why?"

"You don't look like yourself," she explained, "I mean, you do, but you don't."

Oh, hell. What had that dust done to him? With a jolt, he practically stumbled to his desk (he may or may not have almost tripped over his discarded undershirt, but that was neither here nor there), hastily pulling drawers open in his search for the pocket mirror Jim forced him to keep in his office. He scrutinized himself with it as soon as it was in his sights – prodding his forehead and the red patches of acne that resided there; tugging at the skin that stretched tightly over his now more pronounced cheekbones; rubbing at the blotches of dark freckles on his nose and on his cheeks and on the column of his throat; pulling his shorter, more closely cropped lighter brown hair with simmering, brewing anger and horror. He hasn't been this skinny, hasn't had acne this bad or this many freckles in years, not since –

"Motherfucker!" The curse was loud, probably louder than it should have been, considering Jim's earlier reaction to similar outburst, but Leonard couldn't even bring himself to care because he was a fucking teenager again and motherfucker that was so not okay. His voice had even cracked in the middle of the word. No wonder his accent was so thick and his voice was so high; his vocal chords hadn't even finished maturing yet.

He'd been a scrawny kid after the growth spurt that hit him when he was twelve; he'd grown a foot in a month, and his parents hadn't exactly expected it, so he hadn't had clothes that fit him for a good few weeks afterward as they scrounged up enough credits to get him new clothes that weren't hand-me-downs from distant relatives. His weight had stayed roughly the same until he was twenty-two, thanks to his abnormally high metabolism, despite how much he ate, so he'd been skin and bones for the duration of the hellish decade of puberty he'd dragged himself through. His being so skinny and so tall for so long made him the butt of the joke more often than not in high school and university. The seemingly incurable acne that stood out on the sun-tanned skin of his face and neck and the freckles that dotted almost every inch of his skin was just the icing on the cake. He was like a walking-talking scarecrow, and living on a farm only certified the nickname.

Once he'd hit twenty-two, his metabolism had decided to give him a break and he'd finally gained some weight. It was a blessing. Instead of tall and lanky, he was tall and broadly built, which was intimidating enough to scare off the peers that had decided to use him as a verbal punching bag for so many years. In medical school, he'd managed to come up with a concoction that had essentially destroyed the acne, and with age, the freckles had dimmed and practically vanished so that they were barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. He'd been a completely different person as a teenager than he was now, but now he was here, on the Enterprise, the Federation's prized flagship, with a crew that had never known he'd been skinny as a twig as a kid with enough physical disparities to make someone cringe.

Chapel had seen him.

Oh, hell, Chapel had seen him.

He threw the mirror at the wall with enough force to shatter it, even though all it did was bounce harmlessly off the metal and return to the ground with a clang. Considering it was a gift from Jim, it shouldn't have been surprising, since a lot of his things were unbreakable (as a safety precaution), but it still would have been satisfying to hear the clinking of broken glass, if only for a fleeting moment. He wanted to scratch the disgusting red acne away, scratch the horrible patches of brown freckles away, to slam his head against the wall until he knocked himself out just to forget this had ever happened and pretend he was having a nightmare, but he couldn't. Because yeah, he was a teenager again (seventeen, it looked like, from what he'd observed in the mirror before his vision went red), but Jim and Spock were little, so very little, and he needed to take care of them. He trusted Chapel, but he knew she wasn't good with children, and Leonard was fairly certain that he was actually the only one onboard who was. Except maybe Chekov, with how often he talked about his little cousins and nieces and nephews, but there was no way in hell Leonard was letting him near Jim and Spock when they were so young and he looked like this.

Jesus Christ, he was seventeen.

There was a light knock on the door while Leonard ran his fingers through his hair – oh god, his hair was so much shorter, why did he ever like this style? – before a small voice spoke up, rather hesitantly. "Bones?" It was Spock. Dammit. He knew he shouldn't have cursed, shouldn't have shouted like he had. Jim was probably cowering under the sheets by now, maybe even under the biobed itself. Leonard wanted to punch himself in the mouth. He'd probably ripped the meager trust he'd gained to shreds because of his stupid teenage hormonal angst. He wasn't even an actual teenager anymore, for god's sake, and here he was – wallowing in self-pity!

He scrubbed at his face with both of his hands, hoping that would solve everything, even though he knew it would only make his skin more raw, before speaking again, more calm and collected than before, if only for Spock and Jim's sake. His voice was strained with the effort it took for him to make his accent less noticeable. "Yes, Spock?" he called to the Vulcan.

The boy was quiet for a moment on the other side of the door. "Are you alright?"

Leonard sighed, all the fight draining out of him. "Yeah… yeah, I'm alright." Frustration was still burning in his blood, raging just beneath the surface, but he couldn't act on it. He knew that. He needed to be calm for them. He could wallow in self-loathing and misery later, after they were all cleaned and in fresh clothes and fed and he had a sample of the dust to fix this entire mess as soon as fucking possible.

Spock was quiet for a moment. Leonard was fairly certain he could hear muffled speaking, likely with Jim, and then he said through the door, "Jim would like for you to come out."

"I can't, I'm getting us new clothes," he explained (as if that was the only reason; like hell he was going to let Chapel get another look at the horror that was seventeen-year-old Leonard Horatio McCoy unless it was strictly necessary). He moved stiffly towards where he'd set the new uniform and undershirts and socks. It was now clear that they wouldn't fit, and that it wasn't just a fluke that the clothes he'd woken up in just-so-happened to be too big. The revelation made him hold back a groan. "I'll come back out as soon as I'm done, okay?"

Spock was quiet again, likely conversing with Jim once more. "Jim wishes for you to allow us entry."

Leonard rubbed the back of his neck, squeezing the tense muscles coiled there like a spring until they released. He could feel a headache starting to build at the back of his skull, and tamped it down as much as he could. "Fine," he conceded, "But only you. Chapel?" he addressed the nurse.

"Yes?"

Good, she was still outside the door. "I need you to go to the Bridge and inform the crew what happened. But don't say what happened to me. Pretend I'm fine." God, if they found out what he looked like, he'd never hear the end of it. He'd be hearing wisecracks about being as thin as a twig and about how much acne he had behind his back for years. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if Jim and Spock remembered the whole ordeal when this was fixed.

"And what, exactly, happened?"

"We got caught in a dust cloud," Leonard explained, undoing his belt and dropping it like it was a piece of scalding metal. His pants hung low on his hips after it was removed, but he was already kicking off his too-loose boots to go with the discarded undershirt. "We all passed out. Pretty sure you can guess what happened next."

He heard Chapel snort. "I'll say."

Leonard ignored the tiny voice at the back of his mind that said that she was laughing at him. "Bring a PADD. Write down any questions they have. I'll answer them as honestly as I can when you get back."

"Alright." He distantly heard her fading footsteps, and then the hiss of an opening and closing door as she left.

He sighed in relief, and chucked the other boot onto the growing pile, socks whispering across the floor as he walked back over to the office entrance and pressed the manual release to open it. Spock stood there with Jim at his side, eyes wide and hands clenched tightly between them. Leonard looked between them as they looked up at him, until he knelt down and pulled them close, if only for a second, to reassure them that he wasn't going to hurt them and that he wasn't mad anymore. Spock was stiff in his hold, and Jim was trembling slightly, until he pulled back and held them at arm's length. "I'm sorry for yelling. I was angry, but I'm not now. Okay?" He was careful to keep his voice light, easy-going. He'd have to reign in his temper until he figured this whole thing out. Damn, that was going to be difficult. Spock had always said he was an emotional sess-pool waiting to explode.

"R'you sure?" Jim asked, and he sounded meek, wary. Not for the first time, Leonard felt the urge to beat the living hell out of whoever was responsible for Jim's less-than-stellar childhood, but he had a feeling that, by now, they'd be long gone.

So instead, he shoved the overly-protective part of his brain to the side and nodded to the five-year-old in front of him. "I'm sure." He squeezed their shoulders reassuringly, and then stood back up to full height, motioning to the interior of the office. "C'mon; I have some clean shirts that you can wear until I can find you some clothes that fit." He turned around and stepped back into the room, bending to snatch up a clean black pair of trousers from the pile of fresh clothes and shaking it out. He allowed himself a small smile when the door slid shut once the two crossed the threshold, and he turned back to them as he smoothed out the wrinkles in the fabric. "Close your eyes," he told them.

Jim cocked his head. "Why?"

"'Cause I don't want you to see my underwear."

The blond's lips twitched upwards, like he found the request funny (and he probably did), but before he could close them, Spock had put his hand in front of them, cutting off his line of sight. Jim giggled at the action, but Leonard felt grateful; Jim probably would've kept his eyes open just because. Spock had closed his eyes himself, more than likely out of respect for his request than because he thought seeing a human male in just a shirt and a pair of briefs was uncomfortable.

He kicked the dust-covered pants off and pulled on the clean pair as quickly as possible, because looking at his own seventeen-year-old freckle-spattered legs for more than a few seconds was more than a little unbearable, and told them they could open their eyes again after he'd secured the belt as tightly as he could to make sure they didn't fall down. Spock removed his hand from Jim's face and blinked at him curiously before looking around the rest of the room properly, taking in his surroundings.

"C'mere," he said, waving them over. Jim was the first to move, padding over to him so Leonard could pull off his overlarge dust-caked gold tunic and black shirt underneath (and, to his relief, to find that the black regulation briefs hadn't fallen off). He wiped the rest of the grime from his skin as gently as possible, cautious of the bright purple and yellow bruises and angry red scratches that dotted the otherwise unblemished skin. He'd managed to find a water bottle in one of the desk drawers (which was a surprise in and of itself, since he couldn't remember putting it there) and had turned his own filthy undershirt inside out to wet it and wash the dust off. It was sticky, and reminded him too much of the ceremonial glitter from the Giddidean welcoming party to be overly comfortable with. Jim was giggling while he wiped his face and arms off, probably because it tickled, and once he was done, he grabbed one of the remaining black undershirts and pulled it over Jim's head. It swamped his tiny body; Leonard was a good deal broader than both Jim and Spock when they were adults, and the fitted shirt looked like a nightdress on the five-year-old, so he had to roll the sleeves up so the blond's hands were visible. Trying to tug the fresh socks onto his feet just earned him more giggles and kicks, but he managed to wrestle them on either way.

Spock got the same treatment, of course, although he didn't giggle even if it tickled. Leonard had a feeling Vulcans weren't ticklish. Maybe he could test this hypothesis after this whole debacle was over and done with. Their hair, unfortunately, was unsalvageable until he could get them to a proper water shower. He debated the merits of commandeering Jim's own, since he was the Captain and had one in his quarters, but since they were as clean as they were going to get for a while and in fresh clothes, he decided that it was good enough. Now he just needed to get them some food and put them to bed, and then he could have his emotional freak-out.

As he stood back up and cracked his back with a grunt, he shook out his arms to work out the kinks and made a face at the way the cuffs shifted to nearly reach his fingertips. He folded the sleeves up to his elbows, shoving his feet in the stiff unused boots he'd dug out of the closet and maneuvering back over to the door, waving for the boys to follow him back out into privacy ward as he did so. The replicator out there was far more well-equipped than the one in his office, mainly because running down to get food from the Mess Hall for patients was too time-consuming and because the nurses weren't carrier pigeons. They wouldn't have to stand around while they waited for the food, and Leonard would also not have to leave the security of the Sickbay. It was a win-win. Hopefully Kid Jim didn't have even more allergies than Adult Jim, because finding out he was allergic to strawberries was not a pleasant experience for anyone involved. He was pretty sure the crew still had nightmares, occasionally.

"You hungry?" he asked, and lead them back to the biobed where the dirty clothes still sat. He was going to have to burn them after getting his dust sample. Maybe he could blow them up. That would be a pleasant experience.

Jim tugged on his pant leg, and when Leonard looked down to him curiously, his arms were held up, expectantly balancing on his toes. With a chuckle, he complied, lifting the blond up easily and settling him on his hip, bouncing him lightly to make him giggle. Spock was looking at them quizzically from where he stood next to the bed. Leonard was tempted to ask if he wanted to be picked up, too, but knew that he wouldn't be able to hold a seven-year-old the same way he could a five-year-old, let alone at the same time. He was used to dealing with children, to holding for them and comforting them and taking care of them. It came with being a doctor and a father, but he certainly wasn't a doctor or a father when he was seventeen, and his being underweight meant his otherwise normally up-to-par arm muscles were decidedly lacking.

"Are you hungry?" he repeated, first addressing the question to Spock, and then to Jim, who grinned and nodded happily.

"Apple juice!" he announced.

"Okay, apple juice," Leonard said, nodding, then asked, "Anything else?"

"PB-n-J," Jim told him, clapping his hands in excitement at the prospect of the sandwich.

"How about you, Spock?"

The Vulcan looked to his feet, as if they held all the answers, and then raised his head again to say, a bit hesitantly, "My mother… she often makes a morning meal, consisting of oats and a Terran spice called 'cinnamon'. Do you have that here?"

The way Spock casually mentioned his mother with such childlike innocence made his heart clench. He quashed down the feeling before Spock could see it on his face, and offered a somewhat strained smile in response. It made Spock look at him suspiciously, but he ignored it. "Yeah, we have that." He nodded to the biobed. "Why don't you hop up there and get comfortable, and I'll get the food?" Spock obviously found this a logical request, as turned on his heel to do just that while Leonard moved to get the food from the replicator.

Getting the food and then setting Jim back in the bed and tucked in and eating said food was the easy part. The blond had been fascinated by the replicator, likely never having seen one before, and was certainly enthusiastic when he ate, but he got jelly all over his mouth in the process and Leonard had needed to clean it off (which was a challenge in and of itself; Jim'd just started squirming like it was his life mission), but aside from that, they'd eaten everything and Jim had even finished all of his apple juice. It was the 'making them sleep' part of the equation that was difficult. Spock's eyelids were drooping – both of theirs were, the energy they'd had before drained from them with their full bellies – but Jim wasn't going down without a fight, because he was stubborn as a mule even as a five-year-old.

"Story!" the blond demanded from where he was snuggled in the sheets next to the Vulcan, slapping his hands against the covers as if to solidify his point. It was hard for him to look intimidating when the covers were pulled up to his chin. Leonard was tempted to coo at how adorable it was, but refrained; he had a reputation to uphold, after all.

He almost rolled his eyes, and then reconsidered; it wouldn't get him anywhere anyway. "Jim, I don't have any story books."

"So? Make one up!" As if that fixed everything – and to him, it probably did.

Leonard was about to sigh and attempt to explain to him that his imagination wasn't exactly the best around, before it hit him; he didn't have to make one up. He had enough thrill-seeking adventures under his belt that had actually happened to satisfy bedtime stories for at least a year (and if they were like this for a year Leonard would probably wind up killing someone). With a smirk, he sat on the foot of the biobed, crossing his legs beneath him and sifting through the vast memory bank labeled 'Stupid Shit Jim Got Him Into' before he finally settled on one, and the memory made him snicker. "Alright, I've got one." Jim looked at him with unabashed glee, shuffling down further in the cocoon of blankets he was in, and pulled Spock closer so they could listen to it together. The Vulcan was looking on with an interested raised eyebrow, despite the fact that his eyelids were still heavy with fatigue.

"Once upon a time, the Starship Enterprise was travelling through space, like it usually did, on route to an unexplored planet deep in a faraway galaxy…"

Spock fell asleep two minutes in, but Jim managed to make it a solid half-hour before he dozed off with a light snore. Knowing Jim, he'd probably make him retell the whole thing when he woke up again, but he wouldn't mind so long as he didn't interrupt the tests he'd be running on the dust. It would have to be a very delicate process; Leonard didn't want anyone else getting affected by this stuff, so he'd have to be the only one working on it. He also didn't want anyone else even remotely near the vicinity of seeing his face, but that was only secondary to the safety of the crew at large.

He climbed off the biobed with a bone-deep sigh, and was tempted to crack his back again, if only to relieve the tension gathering at the base of his spine and in his shoulders. He'd settled for rubbing the back of his neck and squeezing at the tendons his fingers brushed over when someone coughed near the entrance to announce their arrival. He'd like to say he didn't flinch at the sound, but considering it had just been him and the two squirts for a while, he hadn't been expecting anyone. They could have at least knocked or something.

He threw his head over his shoulder, only to see Chapel standing in front of the closed door, arms crossed with a PADD in her hand and an amused expression on her face. He didn't want to think about the prospects that amused expression held. He also didn't want to think about how long she'd been standing there, hoarding blackmail material. His voice had cracked at least twice while he was telling the story, in the midst of making laser sounds and warped bad guy voices; he'd probably chop off a limb to keep her from telling anyone about it, especially if she had evidence.

With a scowl, he crossed his arms defensively over his chest (his too-skinny chest, and damn that was going to be difficult to get used to, again) and snapped, "Did you tell them?" He was probably being more irritable than strictly necessary, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If he had his way, no one but her was going to see what he looked like until this was solved, but he already had a feeling that was too much to hope for. Keeping two young boys cooped up in a medical facility would only lead to trouble, and Chapel wasn't a carrier pigeon. She certainly wasn't going to stand for his 'teenage insecurity' bullshit. He'd gotten over it anyway. He'd totally gotten over it.

"Yes," she told him, and moved forward, bringing the PADD out in front of her and skimming through the notes she'd taken. The amusement had settled behind a sheen of professionalism that Leonard appreciated. He took it when she held it out for him, scanning the questions she'd recorded from the crew. There weren't as many as he'd expected, but most of them were from Uhura, which he had expected. Things along the lines of 'report whether or not you can cure this thing before we have to meet with the Scelareans in two months' and 'I'm going to see them whether you like it or not', the usual. Most of it was threats, actually, or orders. He knew he and Uhura weren't exactly close – they rarely spoke to each other unless it was for medical reasons, despite the fact that she was friends with Spock and semi-tolerated Jim – but he'd never really been on the receiving end of her fury before. He knew the repercussions of a woman's fury, and personally, he'd prefer to keep his relationship with the Communications Officer as amiable as possible. Clearly, she thought he wasn't capable of taking care of two rowdy kids. And yeah, those kids were the Captain and First Officer of the ship, but still. She should have more confidence in their Chief Medical Officer than that.

But wallowing in the self-doubt that sprouted up thanks to the damned 'questions' weren't going to get them anywhere. He rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh, and handed the PADD back to Chapel, who was looking at him expectantly. "Yes, Sulu is now officially sit-in Captain until I can fix this," he told her. He sounded tired. "And no, no one else is allowed to help. I know I'm not exactly the best choice right now, but I don't want anyone to see them like this." He motioned to the sleeping duo in the biobed behind him. "I inhaled some of the stuff, too, and I don't know why I'm the only one who remembers anything. Maybe because I only got a small amount of it into my system, I don't know. The point is, I'm going to be running tests barring no more interruptions, and I would prefer it that way." He shot her a pointed look, which she was completely unaffected by, as usual. There was a reason she was his head nurse. "I insist that you only interrupt if someone is trying to barge their way in, we're being attacked, or they wake up. Okay?"

Chapel nodded. "Of course."

"Good." And with that, Leonard maneuvered around her to make his way back to his office to scrape off a sample of the dust before burning the rest of the clothes just for the satisfaction of it. He'd probably scrounge up a pair of goggles and rubber gloves for the whole mad scientist effect, too. That'd take his mind off of this disaster for a little while.

"Leonard?"

He stopped in his tracks, and felt the urge to slam his head into the nearest wall. He righteously tamped it down. "Yes?" He was still more snappish than usual, the whole situation weighing over his head like a dark cloud. It was taunting him, lingering doubts about whether this thing was even curable and the fact that he was that disgusting gangly farm boy again and that his two lovers were now children and might have to grow up with more than half of their memories permanently erased from their minds and just…

God, he needed a drink.

Chapel sounded like she was trying to fight a thousand-man army single-handedly when she next spoke. "Don't beat yourself up about this. About any of this. If I have to promise not to interrupt you, you have to promise not to treat this as something you could have prevented, because you and I both know it's not true." She paused. "Okay?"

Leonard was tempted to argue, to tell her to keep out of his business, to do any number of things that were threatening to burst out anyway. The stress of the situation was threading through his veins like a virus, but he needed to push past it and start the tests before he decided to turn in and dwell over his hellish day and stare at his ceiling like it was the root of all evil for a good few hours whilst battling his insomnia.

So instead, he agreed, if only to get her off his back. "Fine. Fine. I promise."

And with that, he shuffled into his office.

—

Leonard woke up with a snort, his head shooting up and a hand rushing to rub at his eyes to chase away the blurriness of his vision. He groaned, his neck aching from the hunched position it had been in for the past few hours and his head swimming with muddled thoughts and memories that could have been dreams. There was a bunch of glitter and self-loathing, he remembered that more clearly than he should've, to be honest. Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe he'd fallen asleep at his desk again and his mind had decided to concoct a wild incarnate of hell for him to fester in while he slept. It happened more often than he would like, but those were the breaks of being the CMO on a ship as big as the Enterprise.

He muttered curses under his breath, rubbing more fiercely at his eyes with both hands and blinking them open once the blobs of color began sharpening with clarity. Damn. Guess it wasn't a dream. There were test tubes in front of him, beakers and flasks and two separate PADDs measuring four readings each. The burner had turned itself off, which he was grateful for, but the room still smelt of fresh-picked apples and a hint of cinnamon. It was a nice smell, one that gave him a vague sense of homesickness, but he couldn't exactly appreciate it when it reminded him of the fact that, no – this whole situation wasn't just a dream and, yes – he was well and truly fucked. If he'd passed out at his desk (and he had, that was clear; he could even see the cheek smudge on the PADD in front of him), that meant everything an hour before he'd fallen asleep was probably locked into some semi-conscious part of his brain that his conscious one couldn't communicate with, lost in the depths of sleep-addled delirium. He'd lost an hour of work because he was too damn stubborn. It made him want to scream with frustration, but he was still too worn down with fatigue to get really overly angry about it just yet. He'd wait until he had something to eat; he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something. He vaguely recalled eating a pear before Jim had dragged him and Spock down to the planet's surface, but that was hardly healthy enough for a day, and he'd been running on empty for more than strictly necessary. Hopefully in his former exhaust-ridden state he'd managed to write something of value down on one of the PADDs so he wouldn't be going in blind.

There was a shuffle and a clang just beyond the door, and he was out of his chair and pressing the manual release on the panel beside it before he'd actually processed he had. It slid open with a hiss, and he had to lean heavily against the doorway when a bout of vertigo hit him like a train. He brought a hand to his forehead, as if that would stop the inevitable headache from coming, and nausea roiled in his gut like two armies going to war. Fighting his gag reflex tooth and nail, he shoved the urge to hurl back down to a semi-manageable degree. He didn't even have anything to throw up; it would all be dry-heaving and stomach acid, and that would be more painful than anything else. His eyes clenched shut against the bright lights of the Sickbay, and he moaned rather pitifully, pushing past the intense dizziness that had overcome him to step into the rest of the room. The door slid shut behind him.

An arm curled around his shoulders and a hand clamped down on his bicep, steering him towards one of the beds. He could hear a voice, right next to his ear, someone with a Scottish accent – Scotty, his mind supplied – but he couldn't make out the words. His sudden wooziness combined with the thick foreign inflection made discerning what the Chief Engineer was saying a challenge in and of itself. All he knew was that he was being hauled up onto a biobed and that Scotty was talking to someone – rather agitatedly, as well.

Now that he wasn't moving, the vertigo wasn't as staggering, and everything didn't feel as warped or elongated anymore. He ran his hand over his face, swallowing down any remaining nausea before it crept up on him unawares, and rested his palm over his eyes to keep the light from filtering in and blinding him before he opened his mouth to speak; "What…?" It wasn't a very good attempt, but considering he'd nearly thrown up, he felt it was good enough. It tasted like something had died on his tongue, and his voice was hoarse with sleep, barely loud enough to hear over the din that seemed to be happening just out of his range.

"Don't move, McCoy," he heard, and then the mattress dipped by the foot of the bed, twice, one after the other. One of the weights moved until it was right next to his chest, and then two tiny hands planted themselves on his sternum, and tried to shake him (unsuccessfully, might he add).

"Bo-ones," the thing said, drawing out the vowel in his name for all it was worth, and that was when Leonard realized it was Jim, shaking him and slapping his tiny little palms against his ribcage in an attempt to grab his attention. He felt himself smile against his will, and he rubbed at his eyes one final time before he blinked them open to try and get them adjusted to the too-bright fluorescents the room was home to.

Jim crawled up onto his chest, sitting there comfortably, and reached up to pat his cheeks and tug at his hair. Leonard grunted, his smile widening, and he swatted lightly at the blond's hands, if only to make him giggle. "Hey, squirt." His voice was still rough, but his vocal chords were gradually loosening as time went on. From where he was squinting against the lights, he could see Jim grin that semi-toothless grin down at him.

The second weight that had been at the foot of the bed moved closer, and Spock came into view beside Jim, looking at him curiously. They were both wearing pants and boots that actually fit underneath the too-big black undershirts, which made him somewhat suspicious, but he would deal with that and the fact that Scotty more than likely had something to do with it later.

Oh, shit, Scotty was here.

Oh, shit, Scotty had seen him.

Suddenly he was very much awake, and sat bolt upright, quickly enough that Jim tumbled off his chest and into his lap with a laugh. He had to bite his tongue to keep back the curse that would have spilled out otherwise, because if he got angry with Jim so close to him he'd never forgive himself. Before he could remove the squirming bundle of giggles that was five-year-old Jim Kirk from his lap (and that was something Leonard had been fairly certain he would never think in his life, and yet, here he was), there was a heavy hand on his shoulder that was pushing him back down into a lying position.

"Breathe, McCoy," the owner of the hand said, and the engineer appeared in his line of vision, giving him a concerned look. Leonard took a deep breath and let it out slowly, repeating the motions until he wasn't as tightly wound with anxious energy. His gut was twisting with more than just light nausea at this point. "Good god, when was the last you ate?"

"Not for a while," he admitted, voice sluggish, while Jim crawled back up to his chest.

"Did you not eat anything when we were fed?" Spock asked, and he sounded the slightest bit confused at the possibility. When Leonard looked down at him to where he was sitting cross-legged at his hip, his brow was furrowed. It made him look cuter than it probably should have.

"No."

Scotty crossed his arms in the 'disappointed parent' routine that Leonard himself tended to use when dealing with Jim (not that Jim paid any attention, but…). "Spock, when were you fed?"

The Vulcan was quiet as he counted, whereas Jim had decided that curling up on his chest like a cat would be a great idea. Leonard found himself combing his fingers through the boy's hair before he realized he'd even started, but Jim wasn't pushing his hand away, so he figured he wasn't doing any harm. The hair wasn't as matted or dirty as it was when he'd fallen asleep, as if someone had washed it, thoroughly, and all of the dust was gone. The dark yellow locks were silky to the touch instead of wiry, and from what he could see, Spock's hair was in a similar state of cleanliness.

"Approximately 19.1 hours ago, Mr. Scott," Spock answered the engineer's question, and even Leonard was visibly surprised by the calculations. He was sure it hadn't been that long… well, it could have been, but he could have sworn it had only been a few hours since the incident, he couldn't have been sleeping that long –

"19.1 hours," Scotty repeated, and Leonard shot him a look that was readily leveled back at him. "McCoy, you're more likely to waste away to nothing if you don't eat with all the" – he gestured to his entire body from where it was laying on the biobed – "skin and bones, you are. You need meat on your bones, is what you need. Good god, 19.1 hours…" And then off he went, moving over to the replicator to throw something together and muttering curses under his breath as he went.

Leonard had stiffened painfully at how casually Scotty had said 'skin and bones', as if it was normal, like it was totally normal for a seventeen-year-old to be this thin. It wasn't healthy – it was disgusting, it was humiliating, and he didn't need anyone else here to remind him of it when he was so agonizingly aware of it himself. He'd told Chapel not to let anyone in, to interrupt if anyone tried, if the boys woke up, but clearly, she'd ignored his orders. Where was she, anyway?

"Scotty." It came out as a hoarse whisper. He coughed, his vocal chords protesting, and Spock even gave him a somewhat worried glance before he spoke again, and this time his voice was decidedly stronger. "Scotty, why are you here?"

"Nurse Chapel was needed for an emergency, since the CMO had essentially collapsed at his desk," the man replied, rather tersely, and sent him a pointed look from where he was stationed next to the replicator. "One o' the plants in the science labs had decided to, well…" Here, he made a face. "Needless to say, it let out a nasty bit o' pus, nearly burnt through two o' the floors and five o' the ensigns that tried to stem the flow. You were out like a light, and she'd said she'd been told to keep everyone out, but she couldn't just leave the li'l tykes unattended while you slept. And so, here we are."

"But, weren't you working on the engines? They're still out of commission, aren't they?" Oh god, here he was, getting worked up over something he apparently hadn't even been told had happened in the first place. "Has anyone been – ?"

"Relax." Scotty raised his eyebrows at him in an attempt to soothe his rising unease to no avail, so he just kept talking. "The situation is taken care of now. Chapel is sleeping the adrenaline off, and the engines'll only take a matter o' hours to patch up by now. And, according to her, I'm technically the only other person onboard who knows about what actually happened, so I didn't mind my time being taken up by a li'l babysitting." He put a certain amount of emphasis on the word 'actually', and Leonard immediately understood that he was talking about his own current personal dilemma. It made him shrink up pitifully under the scrutiny before he shoved the feeling away.

"We're not babies!" Jim announced, clearly picking up on the most important part of the conversation and sounding positively scandalized at the prospect of being compared to an infant.

Scotty just laughed. "'Course you're not, you li'l gremlin. It's just an expression. As for you." Here, he rounded on Leonard again with all the strength of a man on a mission, and Leonard probably would have been intimidated if he was anyone else. Instead, he just scowled at him as Scotty started talking. "This isn't something you can just carry on your shoulders, McCoy. There's a crew here for a reason. This thing isn't your responsibility – quite frankly, I think it should be the Captain's responsibility, but as you can see, he's not exactly here right now."

"What, you think I don't know that?" Leonard snapped, irritated. He felt Jim tense slightly against his chest, and let out a long breath to let the anger simmer instead of boil over. He let his hand continue the soothing motions on Jim's scalp. "This isn't just gonna go away, and to be honest, there's not a lot of people I trust on this ship enough to help me in this condition. There's not a lot of people I trust on this ship at all. So personally, I think it would be in everyone's best interests to stay out of this until I can get it fixed, okay?"

"No, not okay!" Goddammit, Scotty. "Look, I know you have an issue, a privacy issue, but this" – he waved his arms, to encompass the whole of the room – "this is a safety issue. I know you don't want anyone else up here, and fine, alright, I get that, I do, but for god's sake, you can't just take all o' this stress and shove it down your throat. It's not healthy, and it's sure as hell not going to get us anywhere quick, so unless you want Lieutenant Uhura to come up here and tell you exactly what I'm telling you in much harsher terms, than maybe you should consider taking a little less of the payload, yeah?"

Leonard glared at him, but it wasn't as intense as it should've been. He knew Scotty was right, but he didn't want him to be. He was being unreasonable. He was always unreasonable; Spock had even made it official, once, had a plaque made and everything ("for logical reasons, of course, doctor" but Jim had just laughed his ass off). But, dammit, he couldn't just not take responsibility for this. He could have prevented it somehow, strapped Jim to a biobed, knocked him out, something so that they wouldn't be in this situation right now, but he hadn't and so this was where they'd ended up.

He felt a hand on his face, a small one, fingers splayed out on his cheek, and looked away from his heated staring match with Scotty to find Spock's arm outstretched and an expression with more outright apprehension than usual on his young face. "You must not blame yourself for our current situation," he said, quietly, like it was the answer to the universe. "It is out of your jurisdiction."

Leonard appreciated the sentiment, but it wouldn't do much to cure him of his self-deprecation in the long-run. So instead, he let out a condescending snort, and muttered, "Easier said than done, kid." Spock just narrowed his eyes and kept his hand on his cheek.

That was when Scotty decided to appear at his side, carrying a bowl of something and a plate stacked with four sandwiches on it. From where he was laying, Leonard could see that the bowl was steaming, and the sandwiches were all grilled cheese. Leonard had a hunch Spock didn't eat cheese, but maybe Little Spock didn't have as many dietary restrictions. He knew Vulcans were vegetarian, and Spock preferred everything to be either vegetables or soy, but he wasn't sure if they were vegan or not.

Apparently he wasn't, because when Scotty set the plate and the bowl (which he could now see was tomato soup) down on one of the unoccupied areas of the biobed, he and Jim both reached for one with equal amounts of enthusiasm. Leonard gently pinched Jim's stomach, which made him giggle (a lot seemed to make him giggle), and told him, "You're not eating on my chest, short-stuff. Up you get." Jim rolled off his torso to sit next to Spock, blowing on the toasted sandwich so it wouldn't burn his mouth when he took a bite.

Scotty had to help him sit up, because his stomach was cramping from being empty for so long and didn't want him to use his abdominal muscles. Even that small movement nearly depleted his strength. "Christ," he muttered, wincing, and Scotty pushed the warm bowl into his hands.

"Eat," he told him, giving him a sharp look. "You won't be able to stomach anything but that for an hour or two."

"Then who's the other sandwich for?"

"Me."

Leonard snorted, but didn't argue, and stirred the soup restlessly with the spoon it came with. It smelled heavenly, but he felt like he'd puke it up as soon as it went down. His stomach was still doing backflips. "Y'know, the whole 'mother hen' look isn't good on you."

"Everything's good on me," was what he shot back, and Leonard just shook his head, tamping down a smirk. There was a reason he liked Scotty; the man was like a walking-talking snark machine when he wanted to be. It made good conversation.

Talking died down, after that, and the only noises were the brats chewing their sandwiches. He had to tell Jim more than a few times to keep his mouth closed while he ate, and then he'd just say "sorry Bones" around his mouthful and the food would nearly spill out again. Leonard even managed to get about half the soup down, even though Jim kept double-dipping his sandwich in it (and had convinced Spock to follow his lead). He had to give Scotty back the bowl after he'd finished, because he really didn't feel like he could move. The biobed had become irrationally comfortable, and although the nausea was still there, it wasn't as prominent as before. Besides, after Jim crawled back up onto his chest, he didn't really have much of a choice.

"I'm not a piece of furniture, kid," he told him, but there was fondness in his tone, and Jim had obviously heard it, because he'd just snuggled down further and mumbled, "You're comfy." and then left it at that. Leonard couldn't exactly argue with this spectacular logic.

"Now," Scotty said, and plopped down in the chair he'd pulled up from somewhere with a sigh. He cast a short look at Leonard (one he ignored as dutifully as he could, given that it was kind of obvious Scotty was trying to convey that they would be talking about something thoroughly later, and he had a feeling he knew what that conversation would be about) before he brought his hands together with an exuberant smile. "Who wants a story?"

"I do!" Jim exclaimed, shifting around on Leonard's chest to grin at the engineer.

"I would not be adverse to one, as well," Spock admitted, and he settled for lying against Leonard's hip on his side, giving Scotty all his attention.

"McCoy?"

Leonard rolled his eyes. "I don't need a bed-time story, Scotty. It's not even late –"

"Aw, but Bones…" Jim whined, pouting at him and batting his eyelashes pitifully. Leonard had become immune to Adult Jim's puppy dog eyes, but he did not have the same immunity against Little Jim's. His eyes were almost unnaturally large and blue. He had no choice but to concede defeat. So he sighed, and nodded to Scotty, who looked particularly smug about it.

"Once upon a time, there was a Starship Captain who was too stubborn…"

Leonard wound up falling asleep ten minutes in.

—

When he woke up, Jim was wriggling in his arms and racked with giggles from where Leonard had managed to roll onto his side and clutch him tightly to his chest with his face pressed into his hair. Spock was a solid weight against his thigh, but sat upright to look at him curiously when he grunted into the pillow under his head. His body was still heavy with fatigue, but it was steadily drifting away as the rest of his senses kicked in. He stretched his legs out to get the joints to pop, and let Jim crawl out of his arms to roll onto his back and reach his arms up to relieve the tension that had collected in his neck and shoulders. The biobeds weren't the most comfortable thing to lie on, but they did well enough in a pinch, and he'd already gotten more than enough sleep for the day. His exhaustion was cutting into the precious time he could've been using to work out the dust.

"Christ…" he muttered under his breath, bringing his hands down to rub at his face and get himself to wake up quicker. Jim was bouncing with the boundless energy that every small child seemed to have, and even Spock seemed a little restless. It was clear that being holed up in the Sickbay wasn't working for them. Dammit. He hoped they could have held off a little bit longer; he hadn't come to terms with the fact that he was eventually going to have to show his face yet. He wanted to be able to keep this part of his adolescence secret from the crew for as long as physically possible. Seems like his luck was running dry.

"Bo-ones," Jim said, clapping his hands animatedly. He was beaming, face flushed with happiness. "Scotty said we should go to the Bridge. Can we go to the Bridge? Can we, can we?"

Oh, he did, did he? Leonard pushed himself into an upright position, scratching the back of his neck as he looked around the room for the engineer in question. He was nowhere to be found. With a sigh and a promise to himself to get back at Scotty as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he shook his head at the two boys. Their faces immediately fell – well, as much as Spock's could fall, but he did look disappointed, and Jim looked positively crushed. Ah, shit. "Scotty isn't the Captain, y'know; he can't just dictate what happens when and where."

"He told me I was the Captain," Jim told him fervently, and even set his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest in an attempt to make his argument stronger.

I'm going to kill you, Scotty. Leonard let his head fall into his palm, rubbing his temples in hopes that the headache that would no doubt sprout up thanks to this whole brand new situation that he'd been planning to desperately avoid would be somewhat delayed. So much for keeping the truth hidden. "What else did he tell you?" He could hear the resignation in his own voice, and it made his shoulders slump in defeat.

"He said Spock was First Officer," Jim dutifully replied, and the energy started coming back to him, because he began humming with delight again. "And that we were a lot older. Like, way older. And that you were, too! And that you were the greatest doctor in all of this side of the universe!"

Leonard had a feeling that Scotty had known that Jim would rat him out, and had snuck in the compliments to his profession in an attempt to placate him. He still wanted to punch him in the face, but he supposed that a black eye would be a good consolation price. He let out a heavy breath, and said, "Look, Jim…"

"Come on," the blond whined, drawing out the last syllable the way every child tended to. "I don't like this room. It's smelly."

He meant the disinfectant, Leonard was sure, but that didn't stop him from scoffing in disbelief. "Didn't say that before."

"Didn't bother me before," he shot right back, then turned to Spock to get him to help. "You think this place is smelly too, right, Spock?"

The Vulcan looked conflicted, caught between being bored in a medical facility and pleasing his new friend, and respecting his elders the way he'd been taught. Apparently, logic won out (as it tended to, with Spock), and he said, quietly, "According to Mr. Scott, Jim is Captain. As the ship's Chief Medical Officer, you are obligated to follow your Captain's orders."

Clearly, Jim hadn't thought about it that way, and had been relying on his childish wiles to get his way. He looked back at Leonard with a broad smile. "Yeah, what he said!"

Leonard shook his head and let out a huff of laughter. "You're not my Captain yet, kid."

"Am too!"

"Are not. You're five."

"Five-and-a-half," Jim emphasized, giving him a scandalized look.

Leonard let out a proper chuckle, this time. "Right, five-and-a-half. Well, five-and-a-half Jim Kirk isn't my Captain. Thirty-and-a-half Jim Kirk is."

"But the DNA is the same," Spock spoke up, brows furrowed. "Logically, he is still your Captain."

"What, r'you gonna give me orders, too?"

Spock looked rather uncomfortable at the prospect. "No. But Jim is not averse to doing so."

The blond nodded rapidly in affirmation to the claim. "Yeah! Come on, Bones, it's boring in here. There's nothing to do and I've already slept, like, twice."

Leonard considered whether he'd be able to assert his authority as current adult, but from the look Jim was giving him, it wouldn't do much. He decided to go for the facts instead, in a rather pitiful attempt at delaying the inevitable. "You know how you said Scotty told you that we were all actually a lot older than we are right now?" Both of them nodded. "Well, I look nothing like this when I'm older. No one'll recognize me, and they certainly won't recognize you."

"Yeah-huh!" Jim said, and he sounded determined the way Jim always did. Leonard had a feeling this was going to end badly. "We just have to try really really hard!"

"It's not that simple, Jim –"

"Bones," Spock interrupted, and he seemed to be moderating the words he was saying as they left his mouth. "If it is not too much trouble, I also wish to leave. This area is…" His lips twitched in discomfort, and folded his arms over his chest. "…unaccustomed to average Vulcan temperature. I am cold." He looked physically uneasy at admitting such a human 'weakness'.

Leonard felt the rest of his resolve slowly slip away, and he sighed for one final time. "Fine. We'll visit the Bridge."

Jim let out a cheer, and hopped off the biobed, nearly stumbling as his feet touched the ground but managing to catch himself by swinging his arms out. Then he whirled back around, bouncing on his toes, the grin on his lips lighting his face up. "Come on, we gotta go! I wanna sit in the Captain's chair!"

Leonard let out a genuine laugh, the first in at least a solid twenty-four hours, and swung his legs over the side of the mattress to set his feet on the floor. The muscles were tense with disuse, static numbness prickling up the tendons in short bursts, and as he stretched his arms up to pop the coils that had sprung up in his back, he heard Spock slide off the bed to stand next to Jim. Now that he was paying more attention, he could see the minute shivers racking down Spock's spine, and how he was trying to stay unnaturally still to keep them from being overly noticeable. He wondered if the Vulcan found the Sickbay cold when he was an adult, as well, despite the fact that he'd never complained. But then, Spock never really complained. About anything. Ever. He was going to have to take it up with him face-to-face once this situation was over and done with.

"D'you want a piggyback ride?" he offered instead, addressing the seven-year-old, who looked up at him with confused brown eyes. The boy was quiet as he thought it over, looking at the tops of the fitted black boots that encased his feet like they held all the answers (and he'd have to ask Scotty where he got them tiny Starfleet regulation pants and boots when he went down there to kick his ass), so Leonard looked up to see where Jim had gotten to in the meantime. The blond had managed to wander over to the exit, squirming and trying to reach the manual release latch despite being a solid foot shorter. When he looked back to Spock, the boy was holding up his arms timidly, and Leonard couldn't stop the warm smile that crossed his face at the shyness of the gesture. He crouched so Spock could move over and climb onto his back, locking his arms around his neck and his legs around his chest like a padlock. It was painfully obvious that he wasn't used to being carried, from the way he was holding himself unnaturally still and how he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth when Leonard tucked his arms beneath his legs to carry most of his weight and carefully stood back up to full height. There were minute trembles that Leonard could feel against his back, but he couldn't tell if it was from discomfort or his body temperature.

"Jim," he called to the five-year-old, and made his way over to the door, measuring his gait to be as balanced as it could so Spock wouldn't feel like he was going to fall off every other step. Jim looked up at him, wringing his wrists and shuffling his feet as Leonard told him, "You keep close to me, you hear? There's a lot of stuff on this ship that could hurt nice young men like you if you're not careful. Grab a hold of my pant leg and don't let go, okay?"

"Okay," he heard the boy say, and felt the tiny fingers curl around the black cloth just above his knee. He could feel the anxious excitement radiating off of him, and it was starting to rub off on him, too. The all-around wariness and self-loathing over everything that had happened since yesterday morning was starting to dwindle in the face of Jim's undying enthusiasm for literally everything.

Leonard reached over and punched in the exit code, and could immediately tell that Jim had to hold himself back from booking it past the doorway once the door slid open from the way the grip on his pant leg tightened. He held back a laugh, strides slow and paced so that Jim wouldn't have to run to catch up with him. The main ward of the Sickbay was mostly unoccupied, save for a few sleeping ensigns tucked into five of the biobeds (no doubt the victims of the plant pus emergency that he was going to talk to Chapel about thoroughly, and where was she, anyway?) and two nurses, who were checking their vitals. They glanced up at the sound of the door hissing shut, but then did a double-take and couldn't stop staring. Leonard had to glare at them pointedly and clear his throat to get them to stop, and even then, they wouldn't stop looking up every few moments with furrowed brows and questions on their lips. He was more than relieved to exit the room and enter the adjacent hallway, of which was blessedly empty, because he could feel the dark flush crawling up the back of his neck and staining his ears. He hadn't blushed in years, not since he'd asked Virginia Daivies to be his date to junior prom. If he was going to act like this every time someone stared at him he was gonna be in for a hell of a day.

Spock leant closer to his ear and asked, "Which way is the Bridge?" Which was a legitimate question; Jim was looking more and more antsy the longer Leonard stood contemplating what his life had become.

He nodded to the right side of the corridor, and began walking. Jim nearly tripped over his feet in his eagerness to move faster. There was barely a soul on their way to the Bridge, aside from one communications ensign who hadn't even looked up from her PADD as she passed them, something Leonard was grateful for. His comfort with the situation, which had been steadily rising, began steadily declining the closer they got to the Bridge, and before long they were in front of the door and he was having a silent mental freak out.

He'd told Chapel to tell the crew that he hadn't been affected by the dust. Clearly, that was a big fat 'LIE' in capital letters. Uhura, who had already seemed at least half-hostile in the notes she'd left for Chapel to read to him, would probably be frosty with him for a good few months after he walked into that room, or at least until this was fixed. To be perfectly honest, she was the one he was most frightened of, at this point. His own discomfort over his physical state was still a very prominent and very petrifying thing, and he didn't want to think about what kind of second hell he was going to be thrust into after he set foot on the Bridge and let everyone actually see him, despite how much he didn't want to, but an angry Nyota Uhura was a just as terrifying prospect.

Jim and Spock were lucky he had a soft spot for kids, or he'd have said 'fuck it' and shut himself in his office for an indeterminable amount of time.

Speaking of Jim and Spock. "Bones?" the blond spoke up, tugging on his pant leg, and Leonard looked down to see a very tiny Jim Kirk with a very Adult Jim Kirk look of curious concern on his face. "R'you okay?"

Leonard let his shoulders slump, and allowed himself to gather his bearings before he answered the question. The smile that he plastered on his face that was supposed to be reassuring ended up coming out strained and blatantly fake, and felt more like a grimace than a smile. "Yeah, Jim. I'm fine." Jim was eying him with a curiously frustrated look, no doubt seeing just how not okay he was.

Spock shifted on his back uncomfortably at the now awkward tension in the air, and leaned forward again to say, "I believe it would be prudent to enter the Bridge now."

I couldn't agree with you less, Spock. With a sharp nod, Leonard punched in the entrance code, and stepped inside before he could convince himself otherwise. Jim was back in full-on excitement mode, humming with eagerness and clenching his pant leg as he bounced on the balls of his feet, looking around at all of the high-tech machinery that made up the Bridge with an awe-struck grin. He even heard Spock let out a silent gasp at the sight. It nearly made the feeling of insecurity eating away at him worth it.

"Sulu," he said, and stood up straighter when the man looked up, more so because he didn't want to be seen as that spineless country boy he'd been so often accused of being back in Georgia by the crew than because he was intimidated. He nearly flinched and hunched back over when the curious look turned into one of confusion and surprise, but he managed to hold it in.

"… Doctor McCoy," the sit-in Captain said, and it was said slowly with an air of question tinged to the words, like he wasn't sure whether it was him or not. It was something that Leonard had expected, but it didn't make the blow any less hard-hitting. Then Sulu focused in on the two brats that had dragged him into this situation to begin with, and his eyebrows raised. "Oh. Er…"

Jim had to hold onto his pant leg with two hands to keep from running all over the room, he could tell. Even Spock was beginning to squirm with barely contained curiosity at his new surroundings, at the stars seemingly just out of reach through the window. With a sigh, Leonard carefully ignored the growing amount of stares they were getting from the rest of the crew as best he could (despite the heat crawling up his neck and ears) and bent down to let the Vulcan slide from his back. He had to reach out and grab Jim's forearm before he ran off, and told him in no uncertain terms that, "You don't go wandering off now, you hear? You stay close to Spock and don't touch anything unless you're given permission. I have to go back to the Sickbay. If you want to leave, you tell someone, and they can page me to come and get you. You are not allowed to leave unless I'm with you. Understand?"

Little Jim was apparently much more agreeable than Adult Jim, because he just nodded, all serious and purposeful, and said, "Right." Then he moved forward and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek before turning on his heel and running off, dragging Spock with him by his wrist. Leonard rolled his eyes and stood back to full-height, attempting to ignore the too-many pairs of eyes that were trained on him as he made a hasty retreat from the Bridge. He could hear Jim talking animatedly with Sulu as he crossed the threshold, trying to convince him to let him sit in the Captain's chair, but Sulu wasn't budging (Leonard could tell from the way he was drawing it out, though, that he was going to give in eventually, because no one could resist Jim's puppy dog eyes).

Leonard considered it a new record that he managed to make it two corridors over before Uhura cornered him.

The look on her face wasn't as angry as he expected, but Leonard figured that was because Jim and Spock weren't shut up in Sickbay anymore. She had a scrutinizing expression in her eyes, looking him up and down like a piece of meat, and after a few silent seconds of fidgeting under her stare it made Leonard snap. "What?" he said, probably louder than he should've, but Uhura wasn't even phased.

"Chapel told us you hadn't been affected." It was said curtly, the intensity of her eyes giving away just what she thought about the fact that he'd told his head nurse to lie to the entire crew.

Leonard shifted uncomfortably and folded his arms across his too-thin chest defensively, averting his eyes to the other end of the hallway. They were alone – thankfully – but maybe it would've been better if there was an audience, so that way he wouldn't be torn a new one too badly. "Yeah, well." He shrugged, drummed his fingers against his arm. "It didn't seem important –"

"You are the ship's only qualified surgeon and you thought that telling the crew that you were unaffected by the dust that shrunk our Captain and First Officer into children wasn't important?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Y'know, I'm still a surgeon. My training hasn't been thrown out the window just 'cause my body hasn't gotten used to the precision work just yet."

Uhura gave him a long, inscrutable look that made him start fidgeting again. "I'm going to be honest with you, McCoy." Her voice was cool and collected and made him feel like he was about to be given the lecture of a lifetime. "I know you're still a surgeon, and I know you're still qualified to be the ship's CMO. That's what worries me. You're the only one of the three of you who remembers anything in present time. If you're insistent about being the only one working on a cure, then you can't watch Kirk and Spock 24/7. You have to be able to trust one of us to watch them while you work. I don't want them to be exposed to the dust any more than I want you to be or anyone else to be without proper protection, but none of us don't have a choice. You need to trust us, okay?"

Leonard raised his hands to scrub his face and pull his hair in frustration. He knew he couldn't watch the boys if he wanted to fix this as quickly as humanly possible, but he also didn't want them to be so far away for so long. A Federation starship as big as the Enterprise wasn't meant for children, let alone the two top commanding officers who just-so-happened to be turned into children. They could get lost or get hurt or get stuck somewhere, and he'd be none the wiser because he would be on the other side of the ship. The prospect made him edgy. He wanted to keep them close and keep them safe, but the Sickbay wasn't the best place to keep two small boys. Like Jim had said, it smelled too strongly of disinfectant, and was too cold for Spock. They would probably be more comfortable in Jim's quarters, where the bed was, at the very least, two times bigger than the biobeds in the Sickbay, and the room was set to a higher temperature, which would definitely be more comfortable for Spock.

The only problem was that it was four decks away from the Sickbay.

Damn, this whole thing was just becoming one big headache.

"Fine," he ground out, playing with the rolled up cuffs of his tunic to distract himself. "Fine, yeah, okay. They need to get out of Sickbay, anyway; Jim'll go stir-crazy otherwise."

Uhura nodded once to show her satisfaction at his agreement. Her eyes became less piercing. "Good. We'll make a list of who gets them and when for you to go over, okay?"

Leonard nodded; that sounded fair. "You know what Jim's allergic to, right?"

She let out an undignified snort. "Like I could forget the strawberry incident."

Leonard made a face. "Don't remind me. I'll give you a list after I bring them back to Sickbay later."

"Alright," she said, then shot him one more sharp look. "We'll be having a very frank talk after all this is over and done with."

Leonard let out a resigned sigh; he knew he wasn't going to be able to escape her unwavering scrutiny for that long. "Yeah."

With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back to the Bridge.

—

Leonard managed to get in three and a half hours of solid work before Sulu paged him. With a sigh, he pushed the goggles he'd been using up to his hairline and lowered the face mask propped over his mouth and nose, setting down the tongs and the PADD he'd been tapping out equations on to pull his communicator from his belt and flip it open. Now that he wasn't as engrossed in the mathematics and scientific properties accompanying the dust, of which was currently boiling in a flask to catch the magenta colored vapor that resulted, he could feel the tension in his shoulders travelling down his spine. He rolled his neck to work out the kinks. "Ugh," he grunted, then brought the communicator up to his ear, rubbing at his eyes. "Sulu?"

"McCoy?" Leonard let himself relax at his tone of voice; he'd been afraid that Jim and Spock had managed to get lost somewhere, or get hurt. Sulu didn't sound anxious, which was a relief, but he'd expected that the boys would want to be down on the Bridge for another hour, at the least.

"What is it?"

There was a pause, and a shuffle before his voice came back. "They're hungry."

Leonard shook his head and chuckled to himself; he should've figured. "Alright, I'll be down in a minute." He flipped the communicator shut and secured it back on his belt before standing and stretching properly, starting to clear up the equipment that wasn't currently in use and needed to be sterilized. "Computer, monitor the vapor. Inform me immediately if there are any sudden changes."

The AI didn't respond, but the heat being given to the flask moderated itself to a lower temperature. He tugged the goggles and face mask off and set them down on the closest empty area on the desk before sweeping from the room, combing his fingers through his hair and making it stand on end as he did so.

He had to practically sneak through the hallways to go undetected, and even had to slip into unattended rooms to avoid being seen, which was something he wanted to curse his blasted teenage insecurity for. But, when he made it to the Bridge and finally stepped through the doorway, his legs were immediately tackled by a tiny bundle of excitement, hopping up and down and clutching his legs for all he was worth. Leonard let a smile cross his lips, and bent down to hook his hands under Jim's armpits and lift him into the air. He settled the blond up against his side, resting comfortably on his hip, and saw Spock standing at attention next to his leg, eyes wide and speaking volumes although the rest of his face was expressionless. Jim was babbling happily in his ear, about how Sulu had let him sit in the Captain's chair and how Chekov had let him play with the buttons at his station.

"That's very nice, Jim," Leonard said, bouncing him lightly in his arms just to make him giggle. He raised an eyebrow to the sit-in Captain, who shot the look right back, before turning his attention back to the two squirts. "Sulu told me you were hungry?"

"Starving," Jim corrected, rubbing his tummy and pouting to illustrate his predicament. Leonard outstretched his hand to Spock, who took it without a moment's hesitation and followed him dutifully back out of the Bridge and into the adjacent hallway. It made him smile; any of the distrust the child had felt for him before had clearly vanished, by this point, and Leonard was glad for it. Having a stubborn seven-year-old on his hands would be hard enough, but a stubborn seven-year-old Vulcan would be like talking to a wall. He didn't even want to think about whether Little Spock would be even worse than Adult Spock. It made him mentally cringe.

"Sorry, starving," he reiterated with amusement. "Do you want to go to the Mess Hall or back to Sickbay?" Personally, Leonard would rather avoid the Mess Hall and literally almost everywhere else on the ship like the plague, but he knew that the boys' curiosity was nowhere near sated by just visiting the Bridge for three hours.

This hypothesis was proven correct when Jim clapped his hands in delight and proclaimed, "Mess Hall, Mess Hall!"

"What about you, Spock?"

He seemed conflicted. "Does the… Mess Hall" – he stumbled slightly over the words, likely never having heard them before – "have substances suitable for Vulcan consumption?"

Leonard nodded. "It has pretty much everything, even though it's all replicated. What do you want?"

"Applesauce," Jim announced, snuggling in against his chest. Leonard had a feeling he was just as unused to positive physical contact as Spock was; the blond was soaking up the affection like a leech. "And, and, um… mac-n-cheese."

"Spock?"

Contemplatively, he said, "I am unsure. Is the Mess Hall able to replicate Vulcan food?"

Leonard didn't know, but then, he'd never really seen Spock eat anything other than Terran vegetables and soy. "We'll be able to work something out, okay?" The grip on his hand tightened momentarily before Spock nodded.

The trip to the Mess Hall was uneventful, with Jim rattling off all of the cool things they did on the Bridge and how Lieutenant Darwin had given them the tour and how all of the ensigns were super nice and how Spock had had to drag him away from one of the consoles before he broke it ("Even though I totally wasn't gonna break it, Bones, honest!"). Spock told him about how Uhura had held a conversation with him in Vulcan and then let him investigate her control panel. All-around, they were very happy about the visit (even though Spock didn't show it). Jim was getting even more excited about exploring a new part of the starship he was on, and Leonard didn't know whether it was because of the prospect of food or because he could see even more people. He figured it was a combination of both.

When they actually reached the Mess Hall, Leonard was relieved to note that it was mostly empty, and that the only officers present were a few ensigns that had commandeered one of the back corners. It made him much more confident in approaching the food counter, since the corner was far enough away that no one would be able to distinguish that he was actually a seventeen-year-old duplicate of the very-much-supposed-to-be thirty-six-year-old CMO. The less people onboard who knew of the situation, the better. Of course, keeping that kind of information on the down low never really worked out well. Gossip spread like wildfire through the ship, what with its 500+ crew and enclosed space, and it would only be a matter of time before everyone onboard knew that the two commanding officers and CMO had been, ahem, 'compromised'.

The yeoman at the food counter was utterly unaffected by his and the boys' condition, and took their orders as efficiently as usual without so much as a second glance in their direction, which was a blessing. Jim was starting to squirm in his arms, gazing around the Mess Hall with a look of awe on his face. Leonard supposed that to a five-year-old who was more adept in his element ('his element' being a worn-out farm in Iowa), seeing such an expansive, high-ceiling'd room as the Mess Hall was as interesting as the Bridge. He'd probably never been in a room this large in his entire life.

The yeoman handed Leonard the food, and anything he couldn't manage to carry Spock did instead as he lead them to a farther off table, on the opposite side of the room from the ensigns. When he sat and placed the bowls down with him, Jim wriggled out of his grip and into his lap, and Spock hopped up onto the bench beside them, settling in and spreading the napkin Leonard handed to him on his lap properly. Leonard was glad that at least Spock knew how to keep food off his clothes. Jim, on the other hand, had stuck his spoon in his mac-n-cheese and was shoveling it down his throat like a man starved. He was lucky it'd managed to cool down before he started eating or else he would've burnt his tongue off.

Spock was poking hesitantly at the salad Leonard had ordered for him, one he knew from experience that Adult Spock enjoyed. Before he could begin to worry that he wouldn't eat it, the boy scooped up a forkful of the vegetation, eyed it warily, and cautiously placed it in his mouth. Leonard could see the spark in his eyes, the immediate recognition that it actually tasted good, and after that, he practically scarfed the whole bowl down. Jim had finished his mac-n-cheese (and Leonard had needed to wipe the excess cheese from his mouth) before Spock had eaten the last of his salad, and even then, he was already digging into his applesauce. The blond wound up sharing with the Vulcan because Spock had, apparently, never been privy to applesauce before, which, to Jim, had been equivalent to blasphemy.

When they were finished (Leonard having not ate anything, as he was still running on pure force of will and the small amount of tomato soup he'd eaten a few meager hours ago), he asked if they wanted to return to the Bridge and investigate more.

To his surprise, they both declined.

"I find that the consumption of Terran vegetation combined with the lowered release of adrenaline due to our exit from the Bridge has left me in a state of drowsiness," Spock reported, and he was leveling out his words more, saying them slowly, to make sure they were said properly and not slurred with fatigue. His eyelids, while not ultimately drooping, were blinking in slow intervals.

Jim was in the same boat. He'd curled up on his lap like a cat, snuggling into his chest and nuzzling his cheek against his tunic. His eyes were fighting a losing battle to stay open, but he managed to open his mouth to mumble, "Tired." It was clear that the warm food had spread an overwhelming feeling of contentedness from his stomach to the rest of his body, and that the drop in excitement from leaving the Bridge had made him sleepy. He was nodding off against Leonard's chest as he spoke.

With a chuckle, he carefully got to his feet, gathering the compliant blond up in his arms, stacking the empty bowls on top of one another to dispose of them and motioning for Spock to follow his lead.

They managed to make it back to the Sickbay without encountering anyone, after that, and the nurses who had looked at them strangely a few hours earlier were careful to ignore them after the tongue lashing Leonard had given them about "minding their own damn business, with the amount of crazy shit that goes on on this ship you should be immune to it by now!". They were able to get into the isolated ward with no incident, and Leonard set Jim down on the same biobed the duo had slept in yesterday before helping Spock up next to him, removing their boots and tucking them in, fluffing their pillows afterward without realizing it. It made Jim giggle and Spock's eyes shine gratefully, so he figured the unconscious gesture was worth the flack he'd get if they both remembered this when he reversed it.

Leonard climbed off the biobed, planning to head back to his office to keep up the experiments on the dust after grabbing a quick bite from the replicator, but stopped in his tracks when a tiny hand found the hem of his tunic and tugged. It was Jim, with a pitiful expression on his face, blinking at him with wide blue eyes clouded with drowsiness. "Bones, y'gotta finish th'story," he said plaintively, voice slurred with exhaustion, tugging harder at his tunic until Leonard was forced to sit back down on the edge of the bed.

He smiled softly, prying Jim's fingers from the blue cloth, and Spock blinked slowly at the exchange from where he was nestled next to Jim in the sheets. "It can wait for later, okay? Little boys like you need lots of sleep to grow up big and strong."

Jim pouted, unhappy with the arrangement, but let Leonard give him a parting kiss on his forehead nonetheless. Spock got the same treatment, and didn't flinch back at the touch, which Leonard saw as a definite improvement. He smoothed down Jim's hair before moving off the mattress and telling the computer to dim the lights. With the artificial lights dulled and the squirts' breathing evened out in sleep, he grabbed a sandwich from the replicator and returned to his office.

When he was inside and informed the Bridge that they weren't coming back until they woke up from their nap (how long that would take was undetermined, but Leonard figured it would be around two hours or so), Uhura insisted that she come down to the Sickbay to negotiate the list of who gets them and when and Jim's allergies. Leonard knew it was the logical course of action (and Jim would have a field day if he knew Leonard had thought that), and despite his discomfort with her invading his working space, he allowed her to come down. Even if he hadn't given her permission she would've come down, anyway, so really, he was just keeping her level of irritation with him as low as physically possible. It was a win-lose situation, but Leonard was just happy that the boys were asleep in the meantime.

The whole affair wound up being very professional in the way it usually was whenever Uhura was involved, with them exchanging ideas and information ("Jim's allergic to pomegranates, too, y'know." "That explains a lot."). They finally settled on a schedule of Leonard bringing them to the Mess Hall in the morning for breakfast before dropping them off at the Bridge. The Bridge crew would take fifteen-minute rotations looking after them, from Sulu to Uhura to Chekov to Darwin to Parker and to all the other ensigns and lieutenants until they were back with Sulu. Chekov would then take them for lunch (and would have a very detailed list of what Jim could and could not eat because Leonard was not going to let him have an allergic reaction to something like, god forbid, honey) and then back to Sickbay for an afternoon nap. Leonard would bring them down to Engineering after they woke up. It was something Leonard had opposed to, at first, what with how many engineering ensigns managed to come in to the Sickbay with minor burns and bruises daily. There was no way in hell it could be safe enough for children, but he knew Scotty would watch them like a hawk, and eventually caved

Scotty would then bring them to one of the (admittedly many) recreation rooms so Security personnel could watch them while they played. They were hoping Scotty or Chekov could manage to hijack one of the replicators and give them some actual toys so Jim wouldn't have to play chess all the time. They both knew that, while Adult Jim found playing chess with Spock pleasing (especially when he managed to distract the Vulcan enough to win the game, although only Leonard knew that part), Little Jim would probably be bored to tears, and none of them wanted that on their conscience. After a few hours of playing, Security would bring them back to the Mess Hall for dinner, and then back to the Sickbay, and Leonard would put them to bed. He'd need to get them toothbrushes and actual day and night clothes while he was at it, but he figured he could just raid Jim and Spock's quarters for the toothbrushes and then ask Scotty where he got the fitted boots and pants from so he could get shirts. Done and done.

They were in the middle of discussing whether or not either of them knew if Spock was allergic to anything when there was an urgent knock at the door. Leonard nearly jumped at the sudden noise, and after sharing a look with Uhura she was the one to key open the door. As soon as there was enough space, there was a black-blond blur that slipped through the crack and Jim was behind the desk and crawling into his lap before Leonard even realized he was the black-blond blur, trembling with harsh breaths and clutching at him like a lifeline. Spock stood at the edge of the entrance hesitantly, partially hidden behind the doorway and looking on with a furrowed brow of concern, all traces of exhaustion gone.

Leonard grunted when Jim's knees dug into his thighs as the boy sat up to loop his arms around his neck and tug, but his heart nearly stopped when he heard the stifled sobs being pressed into his shoulder, shaking the five-year-old down to the core. He carefully wrapped the child in his arms, murmuring softly in his ear and rocking him lightly back and forth, locking eyes with Uhura over Jim's shoulder and nodding for her to get back to the Bridge. She tilted her head in understanding, despite her evident concern, sweeping easily from the room and out of the Sickbay after sharing a worried look with the Vulcan still hovering just out of reach, until it was only the three of them.

Rubbing soothing patterns into Jim's back, trying to calm the shudders that racked through him, he outstretched his other arm to Spock, motioning for him to come closer. He seemed tentative and weary, but stepped past the threshold and made his way to Leonard's side nonetheless, taking his hand as soon as he was in range and squeezing to convey his discomfort. It was obvious that he was painfully unused to such intense displays of emotion; Leonard could practically taste the tension pouring off of him.

"What happened?" Leonard asked, his voice a mere whisper, and Jim shifted in his arms, rubbing the top of his head under his chin for comfort.

Spock seemed to struggle for words, but only for a moment. "I woke up to Jim thrashing in his sleep. I managed to awake him, and he insisted that he see you." He gave Leonard a wide-eyed, half-scared look that he'd never seen on the Vulcan's face before. It was unnerving. "Will he be alright?"

Leonard pulled Jim closer, feeling the thumping adrenaline-rich heartbeat pounding against his sternum and letting out a calming breath when it finally started to slow as Jim's sobs dwindled into small hiccups and sniffles. "Yeah." His voice was much rougher than it should have been, but he ignored it. He stood, rearranging Jim in his grip so that he was cradled in the crook of his elbow, resting his chin on the top if his head the way Jim had been trying to get him to and squeezing Spock's hand in reassurance. "C'mon, we're going to my quarters."

"But what of your work?"

Leonard eyed the equipment on his desk with disdain, the fact that the dust was the sole reason they were in this situation in the first place making a sharp bullet of anger strike through him, but he stomped it down before his temper got the better of him and he wound up destroying all of his work in a petty fit of rage. He maneuvered past his desk and out of his office, Spock hot on his heels. "It can wait. This is more important."

If he felt Jim's arms tighten around his neck at the words, he didn't mention it.

They made it out of the Sickbay and to Leonard's personal quarters without seeing anyone or anyone seeing them, and it made a weight he hadn't even known was there lift from him in relief. Leonard didn't want to think about what kind of hell would brew up if someone found out that their Captain had broken down after a nightmare, five-years-old or no. Jim would never forgive him.

As soon as they were in his quarters, he made the computer crank up the heat, and felt Spock relax minutely at his side. The bed hadn't been used in over a day, but it would work fine in a pinch. He would've removed his tunic to keep from sweating too much, but Jim refused to let go of him, and whimpered every time he tried to put him down to change. In the end, he wound up climbing into bed and kicking the sheets to the foot of the mattress with Jim still tucked close to his chest, and tugged Spock up so he was on Jim's other side, radiating waves of heat and his calm Vulcan presence, which seemed to soothe Jim even further from where he was squished between them. He still shook every few seconds, holding back sniffles when his breath hitched and his fingers fisted so tightly in the blue cloth that it felt like the fabric was going to give.

"Jim," he whispered, and the blond made a sound to show he was listening. "Jim, what were you dreaming about?"

A shiver raked down his spine, and it took nearly thirty seconds for him to respond. When he did, his voice was wavering, barely audible; "I – I dunno. There was a lotta noise an' everything was dizzy an' hurt an' – an' there was a real big shadow monster with big red eyes an' big sharp teeth an' real big claws, an' it kept chasing me all over even though I ran really really fast, an' when I tried t'hide in the closet it just came in anyway! An' no one was around an' I was all alone an' I didn't know where you were an'–" Here, he stopped with a broken off sound that got caught in his throat, voice hitching on fresh tears, and he rubbed his face on Leonard's tunic to dry his flushed cheeks.

Leonard let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He was pleased that the nightmare seemed to be just a nightmare, the kind little kids tended to have all the time, especially when they were thrust into a new situation and were going in blind (he vividly remembered the terror he felt when Joanna would wake up screaming her lungs out in the middle of the night when she was four and they had moved for the first time). The kind of nightmares Jim usually had were much, much worse – images from a life past that he didn't want to remember but couldn't let go.

On the other hand, Jim had had a nightmare. Despite the somewhat mildness of the dream, it was still a nightmare, and had scared him enough to cry, and to frighten Spock. He needed someone with him, needed someone to be there for him, and Leonard was hit with the overwhelming thought that Jim had probably never been hugged like this before, been taken care of like this after a bad dream.

"I'm here now, Jim," he told him, rubbing his hand up and down his back in soothing, rhythmic strokes. Spock moved forward, cautiously placing his arm over Jim's side. His form was rigid with unease, but the fact that he was putting aside his own discomfort to clear Jim's conscious was, in and of itself, something Leonard found honorable. "We're both here."

Jim sniffled, then, after a few moments, said quietly, "Can you tell me a story, Bones?"

Leonard huffed under his breath, let the corners of his mouth twitch up, and said, "Of course I can."

—

After that, it became easier. The schedule worked out just fine – Jim and Spock took to it like a dog to a ball – and Scotty was pleasantly surprised that Leonard had even let him on the list (of course, he hadn't been as pleasantly surprised when Leonard had threatened to castrate him if they came back to the Sickbay with so much as a prick on their finger, but that was neither here nor there). The engineer had also promised to keep the ship docked while the situation worked itself over, so they could head out to the surface on a whim if it was needed, which Leonard appreciated. The crew became used to seeing him bring them down in the morning for breakfast before heading over to the Bridge to fool around and get in everyone's business. Or, as much as they could, since Spock was a stickler for rules and wouldn't let Jim get away with much. Leonard got more and more comfortable leaving his office and coming out into the real world, but only when Jim and Spock were with him. It was easier to deflect discomfort when in the company of two energetic children, especially when anyone they came into contact with was more interested in trying to pinch their cheeks and cooing than giving Leonard condescending looks. It made him feel better, but not altogether at ease, so he still tended to stick to his office or the privacy ward unless forcibly dragged against his will.

He wound up having to explain the whole "Jim is Captain and Spock is First Officer" thing the next day during breakfast, since he didn't want them asking Chekov or another ensign and then have them being told the wrong thing. He explained how Jim had dragged them both out onto the planet and they'd gotten attacked by a dust cloud (but then had needed to explain that, no, they hadn't actually been attacked, because Spock had looked somewhat frightened at the prospect of animate dust). When he'd woken up, they'd been littler. A lot littler. And the rest was history.

Jim had announced once he'd finished the story, "But so are you, Bones! You said so!"

Leonard had just nodded, and told him, "Well, sure, but I'm certainly not as little as you two youngin's."

Jim had hummed thoughtfully, at that, before nodding in agreement. Spock had looked puzzled, his eyebrows furrowed, and when Leonard had asked what was wrong, he had asked, "Then why do you remember what we cannot?"

"I'm not sure," Leonard had admitted, "But I am working to fix this thing. It's the reason all that stuff was in my office, remember?"

Spock had nodded, placated, and that had been the end of it. Well, aside from Jim wanting to go around bragging about how he was the Captain of the great big starship Enterprise to anyone who would listen, but Leonard had expected that.

The schedule went on for another week and a half. Jim only had two more nightmares, which was a new record, and Leonard had always been sure to bring them back to his quarters to comfort them back to sleep. Jim would always wake up and pretend that he couldn't remember what he'd dreamt about the night before, but from the way he seemed to gravitate closer to Leonard and Spock it was clear the images were still clear in his mind. They had even managed to go six solid days before one of them got hurt down in engineering (and Scotty had groveled at his feet for forgiveness in the aftermath). Spock had received a minor cut, more of a pinprick than anything, right on his palm, and with humans it wouldn't have been that serious. But Leonard knew that with Vulcans, hand sensitivity was exponentially higher, and Spock had been on the verge of tears when Scotty had brought them back up to the Sickbay despite his ever-so-present Vulcan control. So, Leonard had treated the wound carefully, cleaning the injury of any bacteria or chance of infection before regenerating the skin and wrapping it up with bandages to make sure the pain wouldn't get any worse. Spock had looked so grateful, and had even hugged him afterwards, but Jim had interrupted to tell them that they should give Spock some pudding so that he'd feel better. It had ruined the moment, but Spock had enjoyed the pudding, so he figured it was fair. There hadn't even been another ship-wide emergency, which was a blessing in and of itself.

Everyone on the ship had gotten used to seeing the two little devils running about causing havoc and being adorable in the typical small child fashion. Even Leonard had gotten used to the routine of watching them and taking care of them, and it left him with a feeling of nostalgia that hung over him like a cloud

That is, until Leonard finally had a breakthrough on the dust.

As it turned out, the dust that he wound up mixing with the magenta-colored, peach-smelling vapor he'd condensed into liquid and collected created a paste. That paste would age whatever it was rubbed onto within an hour.

He'd found the solution.

Unfortunately, that solution was a paste.

He couldn't expect a five-year-old and a seven-year-old to rub an alien paste on themselves in hopes it would make them older. That was a stupid and all-around ridiculous idea, and even if he managed to convince himself that it wasn't as stupid or ridiculous as it actually was, there was no telling how much paste was needed to get them to the right age again. Hell, when he'd tested it on an apple, most of it had aged into rottenness. He'd have to be very careful, measure out the portions as carefully as physically possible, get it right to the exact detail to make sure there was no chance of failure. There was no room for failure.

The math wound up leading to him discovering that for each year that needed to be aged, there needed to be twice as many grams of paste. "Nineteen years, thirty-eight grams…" he muttered to himself, arranging the paste into the proper quantities in the three spoon bowls he had before him. He'd figured that if rubbing it into the skin wouldn't work, then ingesting the paste would. After all, they'd inhaled the dust; in the same boat, the paste should work similarly. Hopefully Jim wouldn't be allergic to it like he was to everything else. "Twenty-five years, fifty grams… twenty-six years, fifty-two grams…"

Got it.

He sat upright, pulling off the goggles and face mask with a heavy sigh that came from his stomach. Finally. Fucking finally. A week and a half of watching two restless kids on a starship in the middle of deep space and trying not to be self-conscious about his teenage body, again (and he could've sworn he'd heard a few ensigns giggling over his acne a few days ago, which had just made him barricade in his office until Chapel forced him to tell the boys their bedtime story), and it was finally coming to an end. He felt as relieved about it as he did regretful. It was clear to him that Jim and Spock were actually having fun. The two of them were never this care-free as adults, either because of emotional suppression or in an attempt to act aloof to keep from being hurt in the long-run. The crew was taking advantage of the lax commanding control – mainly by playing a few more poker games and spoiling the kids whenever they could in hopes for good karma, but that was neither here nor there.

This was something that needed to be resolved, and be resolved as soon as possible. He hoped it would be painless.

He prayed it would painless.

He decided to wait until Chekov brought the boys up for their afternoon nap and they were tucked snugly into their officially rented biobed to tell them about the solution. Spock looked curious at the prospect, whereas Jim seemed wary.

"Will it hurt?" he asked, fiddling with the sheets, and it was such an endearing gesture that Leonard felt his remorse over the situation grow. He wanted his Jim and Spock back, but he knew that, for the two children before him, they would, essentially, be leaving forever. Just because they were going to be adults again didn't mean that they were still going to really be there. Leonard just hoped they didn't remember this, and didn't hold it against him if they did. It would make it easier for everyone; the entire crew had already gotten attached to the little devils. He prayed no one would go through withdrawal. He already knew he was going to; that was going to be hell in and of itself.

"I don't know," Leonard admitted from where he sat at the foot of the mattress. "But I'll be here if it does, okay?" He was going to eat it the same time they were, to even everything out. If it all went according to plan, the three of them would be the right ages within the hour, at the most.

Jim still looked anxious, so Leonard leant over and kissed his forehead, combing his fingers through his hair. "I promise. You have to trust me, okay?" Here, he gave them both a reassuring smile, one that felt strained at the edges with uncertainty.

Jim shuffled into a more upright position against the pillows and shoved his fear to the side, the way he always did in the face of danger. It was selfless and Leonard was glad for it. It would make it easier, even if it made his heart hurt. "Okay."

Spock eyed him directly, refusing to avoid eye contact. Although Leonard could see the disappointment in his eyes, the way he was upset that they weren't going to be on the ship much longer, he was ignoring his own emotions in his typical fashion in favor of nodding once to show his confirmation. Leonard climbed off the mattress and moved over to the tray that carried the spoons to carry it back before he lost his nerve. If Jim kept staring at him like that he was going to start fighting a losing battle.

He settled back down on the bed and felt the tension in his spine ratchet up just that much more. He shook it off. "Okay." He picked up the spoon labeled 'Jim', looking up to find wide, blue eyes staring straight at him. His lower lip was trembling minutely, and Leonard's resolve nearly crumpled, but he held it up with pure force of will. He moved the spoon closer to the blond's mouth. "Open up."

Dutifully, with only a moment of hesitation, Jim opened his mouth just wide enough for Leonard to slip the bowl of the spoon past his lips. When he pulled it back, every last speck of the paste was gone, and Jim was chewing thoughtfully, a morose look on his face. "It tastes like cherries," he said, but his eyes looked shuttered, less open and expressive. Like he'd condemned himself to his fate.

Leonard felt a stab of guilt pierce his heart, but he shoved it down with nothing more than a grimace to account for it. He set the spoon down gingerly, like it was made of glass, and picked up Spock's. "You're next."

The Vulcan took it like a champ, face blank as he swallowed the concoction. It was almost more nerve-wracking than Jim's look of betrayal, but Leonard refused to dwell on it. It was his turn, after all.

As soon as he'd swallowed the stuff down, Jim fidgeted in the sheets just enough to reach out to grab at his hand, clutching it tightly. His eyes were shining, but they were still shuttered, blank, and it made Leonard want to scream. "Bones, can we have ice cream later?" He sounded hopeful, like he wasn't aware that this was the last time he was ever going to see him, and Leonard felt the back of his eyes burn but he held it in. He hadn't cried in years, and he wasn't going to start now. After all, Jim wasn't really leaving.

That didn't make the sting ache any less.

So he offered the two of them a wavering smile, and rubbed soothing circles onto the back of the tiny hand in his palm with his thumb. "Sure, Jim." As much of a valiant effort he made in trying to drown his overwhelming emotions, his voice was hoarse with it, throat dry. The words were practically scraped from his vocal chords, and he concealed the wince it caused behind the strained smile. "We can have ice cream later."

Jim didn't say anything, but let go of his hand with a parting squeeze and shuffled back down until the blanket was drawn up to his chin, and Spock followed his lead. He could see the Vulcan shifting, could tell he was clutching Jim's hand under the blankets. He didn't know whether it made the situation better or worse. "I want strawberry," he said, quiet, and Leonard almost didn't catch it.

The claim made his lips twitch up involuntarily, and he swallowed around the lump that had managed to form in his throat. "You're allergic to strawberries, Jim."

"So?" And the look he gave him was enough to make him smile. It was a childish, innocent look, one he'd never seen on Jim's face and would probably never see again.

The thought made his chest constrict. "Okay," he said, and he was whispering now. He could see their eyelids start to droop with exhaustion, and hoped they'd be asleep while the paste did its work. "I'll get you strawberry ice cream, Jim."

"I would like vanilla," Spock admitted in a murmur, but his eyes were already closed, breathing starting to even out.

"Then I'll get you vanilla, Spock."

They were both asleep before he'd finished speaking. Leonard took the time to breathe in and out, rhythmic and soothing, squeezing his eyes shut and scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair and pulling until his scalp protested. He knew this was going to happen. He fucking knew it. Every time, he could never keep his emotions in check, keep himself distant. No, he always got over-attached, and managed to tear his heart out afterward.

He shook his head; no, shut up. He needed to be professional right now, needed to ignore his stupid emotions for once in his life. He heaved himself up from the mattress, setting the bed's coding to give the proper informational outputs for the two sleeping children on it (something he'd never thought he'd need to program into it, but here he was), before moving over to the only other biobed present in the ward and reconfiguring it for his own vitals. Chapel was just outside the door; they'd talked this over, that she'd make sure they weren't interrupted unless there was an emergency. Leonard genuinely appreciated it, but he had a feeling that no amount of 'protection' was going to actually mentally prepare him for the reality that this whole thing was finally going to be resolved.

He felt both relieved and heartbroken about it, and it made him want to scream.

So instead, he climbed onto the mattress, and tried to make himself and comfortable as possible against the stiff sheets and unwelcoming pillows. He was going to be there for at least another hour as the paste did its work. Hopefully, he'd doze off in the middle of it and delay the inevitable.

—

As it so-happened, he did wind up falling asleep during said hour. He couldn't exactly blame anyone but himself for it, either; he'd been running on almost non-stop replicated caffeine and pure force of will since this whole debacle had started. He'd've probably passed out while standing if he let his guard down enough.

Leonard properly woke up with a snort and a cough, and the arm he raised to his head to rub at his eyes was heavy and sore. It reminded him of the way his bones ached when he'd woken up on the outskirts of that forest a mere ten or so days ago, and the thought made his eyes snap open to examine his hand. Instead of the wiry, lanky appendage he'd had to deal with for the last week and a half, it was now broad and calloused, the sleeve that encased his arm stretched tautly over the muscle, leaving no loose fabric or swaying cuffs. His collar no longer threatened to hang from his shoulders at every opportunity, and his torso filled out the rest of the blue tunic like it was supposed to, leaving little to no excess cloth in its wake. But good god, his belt felt like someone had taken pliers and were squeezing at his hips until they'd crack. He was somewhat surprised the leather hadn't snapped from the pressure yet. He was sure there'd been bruises come tomorrow.

Quickly, he reached down and loosened the obscenely tight buckle, disregarding the ache in his joints in favor of sighing in relief as the pressure lifted almost immediately. The over-sensitized skin throbbed dully as it was released from its restraints, but he ignored it, and raised both of his arms to run his now thirty-six-year-old hands through his now longer, more well-kept mop of hair with a sigh of relief. He'd have to check a mirror to make sure there were no residual side effects, like – god forbid – blue spots or something similar, but for now, all seemed healthy and in working order, if not for the pain simmering in his stretched muscles and bones. No wonder he'd been sore that first day; having your physique stretched beyond its limits was painful.

"Psst. Bones."

Rolling his head to the side to investigate the staged whisper brought him face-to-face with a now thirty-year-old grinning Jim Kirk, who was decidedly too close for Leonard's liking. He lurched backwards with a (highly dignified) squawk, nearly managing to make himself fall off the bed in the process, and that just made Jim bark out a laugh at his expense. Someone behind kept him from flailing over the edge by planting their palm on the small of his back and rolling him back into the center of the mattress, which just made the sheets tangle around his still kicking legs until he finally settled down with a huff. He shot a sharp look at the blond, who was still snickering away from where he was now standing upright at the bedside, and then the now properly-aged Vulcan on the opposite side of the mattress, who was eying Jim with his typical raised eyebrow of fond amusement. They were… oddly, without pants. They still had on their briefs and the black regulation socks as well as the undershirts Leonard had lent them through the week, but their legs were decidedly bare, especially without the boots. It made him pause. "Where're your pants?"

Spock nodded over to the only other biobed within the ward, where their abandoned pants and footwear sat neatly atop the bedspread. "When we awoke, the seams had torn, and our feet were numb. It was only logical to remove them."

Hearing Spock's voice after a week and a half of its absence – hell, hearing him say logical again after so many days without it – was more relieving than he'd ever admit. From the way the Vulcan's eyes softened, he could definitely tell. Leonard found that he couldn't care less.

Then, Jim had to interrupt the moment by clambering onto the too-small mattress and squeezing himself beside Leonard despite his too-broad ribcage and too-long legs. He immediately used them to kick the sheets still curled around Leonard's own down to the foot of the bed so he could wrap them around his lower body like a leech. It was suffocating in the best way, after not being able to sleep next to him and lay next to him and just hold him for so long, but the way Jim purposefully shoved his elbows into his ribs made Leonard scowl. It may or may not have turned into a honest-to-god grin when Jim finally settled, but it just made Jim laugh and tuck his face right into the column of his throat and nuzzle his nose into the sensitive skin he found there until Leonard squirmed and pushed at him to get him to stop. "Let go of me, you parasite –"

"Aw, but Bones…" the blond whined, "You know you love me."

"Love ain't got nothin' to do with the fact that you're clingin' to me like it's your life mission, so let go," Leonard said, and twisted his head away with an over-exaggerated gagging noise when Jim responded by wriggling even closer (which Leonard hadn't even thought was possible) and pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach.

Then, he raised his head to give him a devious grin. "You sap."

Leonard quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm a sap, am I?"

"Total sap." Jim nodded in mournful confirmation, and then leveled himself up so that he could plop himself down on Leonard's chest. It made a whoosh of air escape his lungs, and he had to cough to clear them, but Jim just cocked his head and gave him his 'I'm adorable' smile before turning his gaze to the Vulcan who had decided to sit on the scant edge of the mattress that was available. Spock looked as emotionless as ever, if not for the way Leonard could read him like a book. He could tell he was merely silently amused by Jim's ridiculous antics, the way he usually was (when Leonard took the brunt of it, anyway)

"Bones is a total sap, right Spock?" the blond asked, and Leonard could feel his chin moving against his sternum as he talked. He found himself raising one of his hands to card through his hair, if only because it was there to be carded through, and Jim certainly wasn't complaining, the way he was leaning back into the touch. Leonard would've believed he'd done it subconsciously if not for the way he gave him a side-eyed look that made it clear this was going to be used as blackmail.

Hell, now that he thought about it, if they remembered everything, Jim had enough blackmail to last a lifetime.

He found he didn't mind as much as he should've.

"If that is what you wish to believe, Jim," Spock acknowledged with a short tilt of the head. It made Leonard snort out a laugh, whereas Jim pouted and huffed.

"Whatever," he murmured, then looked back up to Leonard, a genuine smile curled on his lips. It was the private, sincere little smile he only ever used when they were alone, and Leonard found himself strangely privileged to be able to see it again. "Y'know, you may be a sap, but you're our sap."

Leonard snorted. He may've been trying to sound indignant, but the burst of warmth in his chest said otherwise. "'Your sap', huh?"

"Oh, yeah, totally," Jim said, nodding, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, his eyes got the glint they tended to when he was plotting something, and the smile on his face twisted into a smirk. "I mean, you owe me strawberry ice cream."

"Oh, no I don't –"

"Oh, yes you do –"

"Spock –!"

"I do not believe I would be a particularly helpful to your side of the debate, Leonard. After all, you promised to retrieve myself a portion of vanilla ice cream, as well."

"Spock!"