Isolation

Conclusion

"Does that hurt?" Bones asked, hands braced on either side of Jim's right thigh.

"Yes, it hurts," Jim said crossly. The blanket had been pulled back to expose the mass of bruises spread across his leg. It was god-awful to look at and he turned away, feeling a wave of nausea overcome him. He felt Bones' scowling gaze. He knew he was being an asshole, but Bones had been examining him for over twenty minutes, poking and prodding, pressing and patting. His skin was unusually sensitive and the feel of Bones' hands on him was like being caressed by sandpaper. To add to his discomfort, he was continually nauseated and the sharp pain where the lines had been inserted was a constant reminder of his ordeal.

"Jim," Bones said.

He heard the tone in his friend's voice, the heavy I'm-tired-and-I'm-trying-to-be-patient tone Bones liked to use right before he launched into a lecture. And maybe he deserved it, but it'd been two days since the procedure had been completed and he still felt like shit. No one had come to visit him, and there had been no word on the Board's ruling. He was tied to the bed with IVs and too weak even to stand. So, yeah, he was in a pissy mood and he wasn't going to apologize for it.

"This would go faster if you'd talk to me," Bones said.

He didn't turn to look at Bones who had pulled out a small scanner and placed it gently on Jim's thigh. The cool contact of the scanner sent a shiver through him. He let out a soft, resigned breath, leaning back on the mattress. The bed had been elevated at a thirty degree angle, but he found the new position only added to the pain in his leg, which throbbed with a burning ache that stretched into his groin to settle in his hip.

Bones pocketed the scanner and pulled the blanket to cover his leg, catching the urinary catheter line. He grunted as the catheter tugged slightly.

"Sorry," Bones said.

"When are you going to remove that?" he asked, turning to face Bones with a scowl.

"When you go eight hours on full kidney function." Bones stared pointed at him. "You've got three more to go."

Fuck that. He was sick of sitting around waiting for something to happen, waiting for medical to clear him, waiting for results on the virus or bacteria or whatever the hell it was that had invaded his blood, waiting for someone other than Bones to walk through the door—

"Sit forward a little. I want to measure your lung capacity," Bones said, sliding a hand to the back of Jim's neck and urging him forward, off the pillows. The cool hand tightened as he listed to the side, suddenly dizzy. In an instant, Bones' hands were on either side of his shoulders, holding him steady.

"Okay?"

The room steadied as his vision came into focus. "Yeah," he managed to answer, feeling Bones' penetrating gaze as he blinked several times.

Bones kept his hands in place for a moment longer, then slowly, almost reluctantly, released him to retrieve an instrument. "This is going to measure how much air your lungs can hold and how much is left after you exhale. I'm going to hold it to your back and have you take a breath." He paused, studying Jim closely. "Jim? Are you up for this?"

Nausea was rising to the back of his throat and a stabbing pain cut into the left side of his chest. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The instrument was cool as Bones pressed it to his naked back.

"Take a deep breath, as deep as you can, then let it out."

He drew a breath, feeling the cutting sensation sharpen just beneath his ribs. As quickly as he filled his lungs, he exhaled. A faint chime sounded.

One of Bones' hands closed around his bicep and he realized he was swaying. "Try again, as deep a breath as you can."

Without understanding why, he did as he was instructed, his ribs catching, pulse racing.

The chime sounded.

"You can do better than that, Jim," Bones said quietly. "Try once more, really fill up your lungs."

His head was pounding and his leg throbbing like a son of a bitch. He wanted to tell Bones to go to hell and stick his damn instrument. Exasperated and irritated, he took another breath and released it. He heard the wheeze as air pressed out his sore lungs. Distantly, he felt Bones' hand on his arm tightening painfully as his vision went gray. And then like air being let out of a balloon, he sagged against Bones' solid muscles.

"Okay, okay," Bones said quietly, calmly.

The next thing he knew he was flat on his back, his vision clearing to the image of a scowling Bones. His heart was pounding rapidly against his ribs, amplifying the pain. He lay still, trying to catch his breath and watched as Bones studied the monitor with a grim face.

"That bad?" he said in a whisper.

Bones looked at him. "Could be better. Your lungs are at seventy percent. Everything else is healing nicely."

He snorted. Where the hell did Bones get that idea? "My leg hurts…like a bitch on fire."

Bones winced sympathetically, but kept his professional mask in place. "Forcing that much blood through so quickly weakened the artery. We had to do some repairs."

"You're just now…telling me this?"

"I told you, Jim," Bones said patiently.

How much else hadn't Bones said? He frowned. "Why am I having…so much trouble breathing?"'

"You had a reaction to the filtered blood. Your body saw it as a foreign substance and started rejecting it."

So that explained the bouquet of IV bags hanging over him.

"Fuck," he said, closing his eyes.

"Yeah. You don't make things easy. It was an unforeseen complication. But like I said, you're healing. It's just going slowly."

He heard a metallic click and felt the pull on the IV in his hand. Before he could open his eyes and protest, the soft hiss of the hypo in Bones' hand filled his ears. A sudden rush of heat filled him as the narcotic pushed through the IV. "I don't need that."

"Your skyrocketing blood pressure tells me otherwise."

He hated the way Bones spoke in such absolutes, as if Jim was basically clueless and thank god Leonard McCoy had come along when he did to save Jim's sorry ass. He moved restlessly in the bed, despite the narcotic moving through his blood and the pain the movement caused. He wanted out – out of the bed, out of the room, out of the hospital.

"Hey, Jim," Bones said softly, watching the monitor with concern. He dropped his gaze and rested a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Just relax. It's only a mild painkiller."

"It's not the painkiller," he forced out. Well, it was, but he had a longer list he was focused on. He rolled his head away from Bones, hating the weakness in his body, the sound of his lungs wheezing now that his respirations were up, the cold sweat that had suddenly broken out on his skin, sending chills throughout his body. Christ, could he be anymore pathetic?

"Come on, Jim," Bones said gently but firmly. "You need to calm down."

He hated being told to calm down. Why should he calm down?No one had calmed down when Nero destroyed Vulcan. No one had calmed down when he was marooned on Delta Vega. His head began to pound and moving really hadn't been a good idea. But whatever Bones had given him, mild or not, it was taking some of the fight out of him, and he hated that most of all.

Bones pressed a cool cloth to his forehead and he sank into the sensation the way an addict sank into a fix. For an instant, the image of Bones was replaced with the image of twelve year old Sam, leaning over him while he moved restlessly with fever, whispering promises he knew Sam could not keep.

"Sam used to do this for me," he said softly. He wasn't sure where the words had come from. Narcotics always made him loose-lipped.

"Your brother?"

"When I was sick." His body relaxed a little more into the drug.

"You don't talk much about him," Bones said. "Sounds like a great big brother."

"Not really." He left me.

Bones stared down at him with a sad and oddly wise expression. "Maybe he did the best he could."

Shit, this was exactly why he hated narcotics. "Maybe he chickened out and left."

"You stayed."

"No, I came back." He really needed to stop talking.

Bones frowned slightly. "Back from where?"

He closed his eyes and took a soft breath, his muscles loosening. "Anyway, I'm never going back again." His words sounded slurred.

"You won't have to," Bones said as he removed the cloth. "The Board will rule in your favor. You'll be some hot shot captain flying from one galaxy to the next, a million light years from Earth."

A million light years…. Bones was so positive, so certain, and yet it sounded like a fairytale, something Sam would have told him when he was a baby. He opened his eyes again, but noticed it was more difficult to keep them open. Bones stood by his bed, dressed in a white tunic with the medical insignia clearly displayed on the left side of his chest. It occurred to Jim that Bones knew exactly who he was and what he was going to be doing tomorrow, and the next day and the next. Jim had had that feeling for a while, in the Academy, on top of the world, his sights set on being a starship captain. The only thing he was certain of at this moment was that Bones was here to take care of him, and that his friend would never leave him.

"Get some rest," Bones said, turning away.

Without conscious effort, his fingers clasped the sleeve of his friend's tunic.

Bones stopped and looked at him quizzically.

"Thanks."

A soft smile played on the corners of Bones' mouth and his eyes softened. "You're welcome."

The Starfleet Academy Board delivered a communication to him the next day, informing him that the Board would rule on their findings after he was released to full duty. At least they aren't ignoring me anymore, he thought. It was a small comfort.

As the days passed, Jim measured his success in terms of less, not more. First his urinary catheter was removed, and then one by one the IV bags disappeared, until there was only one left. He slept less, and that was both a blessing and a curse. As he lay in the bed waiting for the next round of therapy, or for a visitor to walk through the doors, he found he had too much time to think.

He eyed the single clear tubing that hung from the bag, stretching down to his right hand. His stomach tightened at the sight of it penetrating the pale layer of skin. Turning away, he looked around the empty room and let out an exasperated breath.

Scotty had come to visit a day earlier. He'd been awkward and animated as he explained why he had shared his formula for long-range transwarp beaming with Starfleet Engineering and how he was no longer status non gratis, but now the most popular engineer in Starfleet.

"Congratulations," Jim said with a smile, leaning back into the bed.

"Aye." Then Scotty deflated a little in his enthusiasm and sobered, looking around uncomfortably. "They going ta spring you from this place, laddie?"

"Soon." He'd just finished a respiration therapy session and it had left him drained. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

The Scotsman's eyes lit. "Well, when they do, the first round's on me. If you hadna come along, I'd still be buried on Delta Vega."

Jim liked this man, with his blatant disregard for protocol and his righteous contempt for authority. Maybe it was the camaraderie between two men who had done time – Scotty on Delta Vega and Jim on Earth. Or maybe it was their shared love of space and adventure and the belief that anything was possible.

"It wasn't just me," Jim said.

"Aye." Scotty let his word hang in silence for a moment. "I tried ta find him, but there are thousands of Vulcans on Earth now. They're gettin' ready ta move on. Found a new planet."

Fatigue was weighing him down, making it difficult to keep his eyes open, but he didn't want his visitor to leave. "Enterprise?"

Scotty winced noticeably. "She'll need some repairs, that's for sure. She took a beating, but she's safety tucked in space dock. A lot better than the rest of the fleet. Thanks to you."

"Not sure if anybody noticed," he said softly.

"They noticed, Jim. Everybody on that ship knows who got them home."

His eyes drooped sleepily.

"Ach! Dr. McCoy warned me not to tire you. That man's gotta wrath that would put a highland lord ta shame."

The image made him smile.

The door to his room hissed open, interrupting his thoughts. Bones entered as he always did, as if he owned the room. The sight of Bones' smooth gait closing the distance between them made him envious. His first excursion out of bed had been less impressive. Despite Bones' gentle warning to take it slow, his legs had buckled almost immediately. He cried out as the muscles in his thigh stretched and convulsed under the pressure and he was being ushered back into bed before he could catch his breath. By his third attempt, two days later, he'd been able to make it to the door and back in a wobbly, uncoordinated shuffle that left him shaking and covered in sweat.

"How are you feeling?" Bones asked. A PADD rested securely in his hands.

"Terrific," he said absently. Bones always asked the same question.

Bones focused on the PADD. "You didn't eat your breakfast."

That's because he'd thrown-up his dinner and he didn't want to make it two for two. "Not hungry."

"Uh-huh." Bones sounded distracted, but Jim knew he was paying attention. "Your pain levels are down."

Jim didn't like the way Bones studied the PADD, fingers tapping commands to get the information he wanted. It was perfunctory. Bones already knew he'd thrown-up his dinner and refused his evening respiratory therapy. And, no doubt, the medical staff had well-documented his restless night – coughing fit and all. The PADD was a stall tactic.

Finally, Bones looked up and stared directly at him. "You can't skip your respiratory therapy sessions, Jim."

"I was tired." Which was a lie, of course. The sessions left him deflated and drained with a headache that felt like an ax had been impaled in his skull.

"I'll prescribe a mild analgesic before the sessions. That should make them less uncomfortable."

Sessions? How many more were there?

Bones tapped a few commands into the PADD before lowering it and coming to stand next to the bed. "You know you're lucky to be alive."

"So you keep telling me." He raised his right hand, showing the IV that was stuck in him. "When do I get rid of this?"

"When you start eating. That's a complex mixture that helping to balance your electrolytes, among other things."

"It's not medicine?" He frowned, looking at it.

"Not medicine per se," Bones said, checking the IV regulator. "It's enhanced fluid replacement. Healing takes a lot of energy and resources from your body."

Yeah, no kidding. He was surprisingly tired for a man who was lying around all day.

"How's your leg?" Bones asked, pushing aside the blankets to examine his thigh. "Still painful?"

"Stiff. A little achy." It didn't begin to really hurt until he stood, and then it felt as if someone was driving a blade through his leg.

Bones nodded. "That'll get better. The muscles were traumatized a little during the procedure. They take longer to heal." He pulled the blanket in place again. "I want to get you on your feet this morning, and I've ordered your respiratory therapy for this afternoon."

Fantastic. He could look forward to throwing up his lunch and dinner.

"When do I get out of here?"

Bones crossed his arms over his chest, a stance, Jim noticed, he used when he was trying to throw his weight around. He fixed Jim with a determined stare. "That depends on your level of cooperation."

"Bones…"

"Two or three days at the most, unless something sets you back."

"Nothing's going to set me back," he said with a frown.

"Like skipping your therapy sessions."

The door hissed open and Spock stepped forward, only to stop suddenly at the sight of the two of them. "My apologies, Doctor. The room's privacy signal was not activated. I did not intend to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting." Jim had spoken a little too soon, a little too quickly. "We're done, right, Bones?"

Bones' gaze bounced between the two of them. "Right. I was just leaving." And then to Jim he said, "I'll be back in one hour."

Spock waited until McCoy had left before stepping to the bed. Wearing the uniform of an Academy trainer, it was clear that Spock had retained his position with the Academy, despite having been removed as Captain.

"You look markedly improved from the last time I saw you," Spock said.

"That's not saying much." He felt a grin tug at his mouth, then abandoned the effort when Spock's face remained impassive and all too serious. "That was a joke."

A single eyebrow rose.

He was glad to see Spock, as if they were already old friends who had shared many adventures and hardships together, and Spock standing by his side was the most natural thing in the world. In fact, they hardly knew one another, and the little they had interacted was not exactly in the way that endeared them to each other. Jim could still clearly recall the Vulcan standing stiffly at the podium accusing him of cheating, which, oddly enough, hurt more than being marooned. Maybe it was the effects of the Vulcan mind-meld that gave him that sense of familiarity with Spock. Maybe it was the other Spock he felt close to and not this one.

He shifted in bed, cautious not to set his leg throbbing. Bones would be back in one hour to get him on his feet whether he was ready for it or not, and he'd just as soon not have his leg be a mass of pulsating agony when he did it. He looked at Spock, feeling less familiar with each uncomfortable passing minute. Why is he just staring at me? For the first time he could remember, Jim didn't know what to say, and neither, it appeared, did the Vulcan.

"Scotty said Enterprise is under repairs." It was a lame start to a conversation.

This seemed to relax the rigid shoulders. Spock inclined his head slightly. "Indeed. Starfleet Core of Engineers estimates it will take six months to repair the damage."

He nodded, realizing there was nothing left to say on that subject and fussed with his blanket, searching for words to say about what he felt, what he wanted, and not to sound like a girl who had just gotten her heart broken.

"I suppose Captain Pike isn't too impressed with my command style." The words just fell from his mouth.

"On the contrary, he found your ability to command under difficult circumstances admirable. Which brings me to the purpose of my visit."

"You're not going to say thank you again, are you?"

"No."

But whatever the purpose of the visit, the Vulcan was as uncomfortable as Jim. And that was making Jim very nervous. He waited expectantly, wondering if the Other Spock had found his way to his doppelganger. But no, they were never to know of each other's existence.

Spock pulled his hands behind his back and drew his shoulders straight. "I came to inform you that you were right: the Kobayashi Maru is flawed. It is not a true test of one's command abilities. The circumstances of our confrontation with Nero posed a real no-win scenario. One I could not have devised under any program constraints."

Jim was too stunned to speak. Of all the possible reasons he'd thought might bring Spock to talk to him, this was not one of them. "You're capitulating."

"Hardly. I am merely re-evaluating the merits of the test based on new information."

Which, Jim figured, was Vulcan bullshit for: I was wrong.

Jim studied him for a long moment, and then said, "I accept your apology."

Both eyebrows rose. "I am not offering an apology, Cadet. Your actions were unethical."

He grinned. "What's semantics among friends? Don't answer. That was a rhetorical question. Anyway, I don't think it'll matter much to the Academy Board." He leaned back into the bed, suddenly feeling fatigued and a little breathless. "I don't think I impressed them with my ingenuity."

"You may have succeeded in doing more than that, Mr. Kirk."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Starfleet Academy has been training Starfleet officers for service for over one hundred years. Their methods are proven and verifiable. But they have become…"

"Fossilized?" It was a word Pike had used three years earlier to describe Starfleet.

"Outmoded. Every idea or entity in nature follows the same cycle – it is birthed into existence, grows to maturity, stabilizes and begins to decay." He looked at Jim with a penetrating gaze. "The only logical method of survival is to continue the growth by offering something new to the existing methodology."

Which is what he had done, he realized, in manipulating the Kobayashi Maru by changing the conditions of the test. It could look like a well-thought plan to expose a flaw in the methods of training, but in truth, he had just wanted to win. He thought back to the day Pike had recruited him in the bar.

"Yeah we're admirable," Pike said of Starfleet. "Respectable. But in my opinion we've become overly disciplined. The service is fossilizing."

At the time, Jim had barely given Pike his attention, other than to show his contempt. Pike had seen something in him that he hadn't seen in himself. Did he do exactly what Pike had recruited him to do?

"I believe you have given the Academy Board and Starfleet something new to think about," Spock said, as if in confirmation of his thoughts.

For the first time in weeks, he felt relief. He might not graduate from the Academy, but by god he'd made his mark on the Academy. "Thank you, Commander."

"I have done nothing to warrant your gratitude. It is the function of a first officer to provide the captain with the best options available."

Captain?

"You still must stand before the Board and answer for your actions, Mr. Kirk."

He leaned back into the mattress, suddenly more tired than he realized. A grin tugged at his mouth. "The customary response is you're welcome."

For a moment, they said nothing and Jim liked the silence between them, no longer awkward. It was the silence shared by friends when words were unnecessary.

"I am fatiguing you," Spock said, moving to take a step away.

"No." He sat up, rallying his strength despite his sudden weariness. "I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile to enforce his words.

After a moment, Spock inclined his head ever so slightly and settled in place. Silence fell on them again and Jim had an opportunity to study the man he had seen as both an adversary and an ally, seeing beneath the Vulcan veil for the first time. What he saw was a man divided by cultures and philosophies, by duty and desire, by who he wanted to be and who others thought he was.

"Earth is the only home I have left," Spock had said.

But would Earth ever really be Spock's home any more than it would be Jim's?

"How are you doing?" Jim asked unexpectedly.

The question caught Spock by surprise. "I am well."

But he wasn't, Jim could see. There was something in his eyes, a softness that reflected sorrow, something he had seen in the Transporter Room on the day Spock had lost his home planet. It was a look Jim was very familiar with. He had grown up seeing it in Sam's eyes every day. "I'm sorry about your mother."

The narrow shoulders dropped a few millimeters and he shifted almost imperceptibly. The mask remained in place. "Thank you."

"You haven't had much time to mourn."

"Vulcans do not mourn."

He fixed his gaze on the dark eyes, seeing his own reflection in them. "But you're half human."

Spock thought for a moment before answering. "My mother's heritage is proving to be an inconvenience."

Jim studied Spock and again thought how alike and yet how different the two Spocks were, raising the question again in his mind: Could they become friends?

He motioned to the uniform. "I thought the Academy was on recess."

"It was. Classes resume tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Where had the time gone?

"You need not be concerned about missing classes, Mr. Kirk. I reviewed your academic record. You are well ahead of your classmates in every discipline."

He felt the pull of sleep, but still managed a small smile. "They can still kick me out." And then he wanted to change the subject. "What classes are you instructing?"

He listened as Spock spoke, his eyelids growing heavy.

Somewhere in the middle Spock's monologue, he drifted into sleep.

Epilogue

Jim stood nervously in his newly tailored cadet uniform. He'd lost a few kilos in the hospital and, despite Bones' diligence, hadn't gained much back. Taking a quick glance in the mirror above his dresser, he cringed at the fading bruises on his face. He looked like he'd been through a battle. Or two. Medical had cleared him for light duty yesterday, and he still tired easily, spending most of his off-duty time sleeping.

He turned away from the mirror and stood in the tiny space of his dorm room, not knowing exactly what to do. He wasn't due at the assembly for an hour, and now that he was in uniform it seemed all he could to do was wait. This was the last time he'd be in the dorm. His personal possessions had already been removed, leaving him oddly displaced. But tonight he would sleep in Officers Quarters. In another hour, he would be captain.

The door slid open and McCoy walked in, his eyes quickly examining Jim's nervous form.

"Got your hair cut," he said, noticing Jim's close crew. "Uniform looks good."

"I won't miss it." He'd always hated the red cadet uniforms, one identical to the other. Then again, there were a lot of things he wouldn't miss about the Academy, and Earth was one of them.

"You're like a filly that's been taken away from its momma for the first time." McCoy studied him for a moment longer. "This is what you wanted, Jim."

It was what he wanted, what he'd fought so hard to get, and he'd really never thought he wouldn't get what he wanted. The day Pike had recruited him, he knew he was destined to be a Starship captain. It was why he'd told Pike he'd graduate in three years. But he hadn't thought he'd get it this way. He didn't know why, but it felt like cheating.

"I can see the wheels turnin' from here," McCoy said. His Southern drawl was heavy today, as it always was when he was relaxed…or intoxicated. "You deserve to be captain, Jim. They're giving you the best ship in the Fleet."

Jim looked at his friend. "You're coming with me."

It was a statement, not a request.

"Know anybody else who will put up with your bullshit?"

He smiled and looked around the room again, not knowing what to do.

"Come on," McCoy said. "Let's head over. You need to expend some of your energy. You're going to burst out of that uniform before you get your promotion."

They stepped outside and Jim could see that other cadets were already walking toward the assembly hall.

"Everyone is going to be there," he said aloud. "Everyone I upstaged, outsmarted and pissed off."

McCoy looked sideways at him as they stood in front of the dorm building. "Everyone you saved."

He looked at McCoy, expecting to see the familiar scowl and tight mouth, maybe a little sarcasm the doctor found so comforting. But instead he saw genuine admiration.

"What's it feel like to be captain?" McCoy asked.

He looked at the campus grounds, the red uniforms navigating away from him. The cadets were animated, their steps light. They would be graduating soon and on to their own assignments, some of them on Earth, some in space. They would be explorers and ambassadors and peacekeepers. He would be all of that and more.

He smiled. "Feels like coming home."

A/N – A special thanks to Carol, my soul sister, who shares my love of Star Trek…among other things. And to Alice, who stayed with this story and gave me great edits and insights (despite having writers block). Dear Alice, love your Bones who loves Jim.

This was a different piece for me, because Jim, Spock and Bones are so new to each other and still finding their way. I, also, am still finding my way with them.