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Chapter Twelve: Keep Your Friends Close

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One week to the day after settling things (if you could call it that) with his best friend, newest enemy-turned-friend, and crew, not to mention a half dozen escaped convicts, a frazzled prison planet that seemed confused on the meaning of the term "secure", and a board of dubious Starfleet officials, Jim was finally free of medical bay.

After half-an-hour of dodging final medical tests and promising Bones that yes, he was really feeling fine, and no, he wasn't going to be playing full-contact rugby with Sulu any time in the near future, he made it into the familiar darkness of his own quarters. Sadly, this room had nothing on the familiar darkness of his mind. Stripping down out of the same now sterile-smelling uniform he'd been forced to wear for his entire stay in medical, he donned a pair of sweats and a black shirt.

He made it to the gym unhindered, mostly by skulking around corners and making quick dashes across exposed hallways. As much as he loved his overly-concerned crew, he really didn't need to hear another cadet ask him if he was supposed to be up and about and if he was going to be alright.

The gym was empty. Maybe there was a god.

He made a beeline for the row of heavy bags on the far side of the gym, snatching up a pair of gloves from the equipment deck as he went.

Although he had technically been given a clean bill of health, Bones had prescribed three days of solid rest, coming off paranoid as usual. On the upside, the ship was running smoothly and it was the middle of Delta shift, so Jim knew there was little chance of someone hunting him down to perform some Captainly duty. Or to beat him over the head with over-complicated medical jargon and send him back to bed.

If he had to spend another minute in a bed of any kind, someone was going to get hurt.

Strapping on his gloves, he gave his bag a few experimental whacks, relishing the sound of leather on leather—or at least, that's how he could remember it from his old-fashioned gym back in Riverside. This sound was closer to synthetically-reinforced poly-fiber on synthetically reinforced poly-fiber. Not quite as romantic of a sound, but it would have to do.

Wishing he had some music—particularly something along the lines of the extremely outdated classic rock his old gym used to blare, he hunched his shoulders in and started laying into the bag. He was feeling uncharacteristically nostalgic and yearned for the feel, the sound, the scent of something—anything—familiar. Everything here was clean and sterile and almost featureless.

Blam. The gym echoed in the stillness as his strong right hook sent the bag spinning on its resin-coated chain. The sound was the laughter of an old friend, and did more to soothe Jim's fraying nerves than a week of McCoy's sedatives had been able to.

Jim kept going, trying to put a little more weight into every punch. He let his mind drift into fuzzy, adrenaline-induced bliss, trying to focus on nothing in particular. He felt sweat trickling down his back, running down his forehead and stinging in his eyes. Unwilling to stop, he screwed his eyes shut and kept going.

When his abused tendons began screaming at him in pain and his breathing got to the point where it really couldn't keep up with him, he gave himself a moment's break. So maybe he wasn't reallycompletely back up to par. Letting his eyes drift shut, controlling his breathing, Jim counted out the next sixty seconds in his head, giving his burning muscles and that oh-so-annoying twinge in his side a moment's rest. He couldn't let the adrenaline rush completely fade out; he wasn't nearly finished. Sure he might need a few weeks to convince his body of what his mind already knew: that he was back in peak physical condition, but that was all technicality.

Sighing heavily, he sent two jabs into the bag, trying to see dark, cracked leather instead of the black and yellow diagram Starfleet regulation bags so helpfully supplied. Particularly for those crew members who apparently needed help to ascertain the relative position of a human skull.

"May I join you, Captain?"

Still wheezing a little, Jim turned to see Spock standing across the gym, and damn if that pointy-eared bastard didn't manage to pop up just about everywhere.

"Aren't you supposed to be running my ship, commander?" Jim sighed.

Spock was halfway towards him, his blue shirt neatly folded over one arm.

"My shift ended approximately twelve minutes prior. Ensign Chekov has the conn, at present."

Satisfied with that answer, Jim followed the Vulcan over to the large sparring mat in the center of the gym where the security officers regularly drilled in hand-to-hand and grappling techniques. He taught them himself sometimes when the mood struck him.

Scoffing a little at Spock's regulation shirt and pants, Jim peeled off his gloves and his now sweat-soaked t-shirt and tossed it across the gym. He tried not to glean too much satisfaction from the sight of Spock's disapproving eyebrow.

"Well, have at it." He grinned at the Vulcan, lowering his weight into a back stance and lifting his fists to chin level. "I'm in the mood to hand out a beat-down."

As it turned out, Jim didn't have much of a beat-down to hand out. He'd known this of course, but damn if it didn't feel just glorious to lunge and punch and taste blood in his mouth because he was sparring with a friend, not getting his ass kicked by strangers while strapped to a chair. He always found it amazing how much of a difference that made.

Spock, as always, fought with all the grace of a dancer. No wasted movement: perfect control, perfect form. Carefully monitored breathing patterns.

Jim, for his part, was already exhausted, and his body was in such a state that it soon began to completely ignore his mental resolve. He stumbled, he made mistakes. He was infuriated to realize that Spock never took advantage of these openings.

"Don't you dare hold back on me." He snarled at his first officer, lunging wildly.

"Is that an order, Captain?" Spock dodged easily, his voice as cool and calm as ever, but Jim saw the sweat stains dampening his shirt. The Vulcan wasn't quite as impervious as he would have the world think.

"Does it have to be?" Jim feinted, twisting around his opponent and following with a spinning back kick.

Spock threw his kick aside with one hand, almost casually. Jim felt himself slipping.

But he was here, in the ring, with Spock, who knew—who had delved into his mind and ripped years of protective barriers away from Jim's most painful memories. From the things his own mother didn't know; the things he would never tell her or any other living creature if he could help it. Because goddamn it he wasn't a basket case, he didn't need protection, and he sure as hell wasn't weak or helpless or incompetent. And he'd spent too long proving it to the world and to himself to let this emotionless alien that he barely knew take that all away from him

It was hard to believe that such an inhuman sound come from his own throat, but it did and Jim charged. At the moment he wasn't thinking about tact or strategy or technique. He was only wondering if this bastard knew how much pain he'd caused Jim and how the hell could he prance in here and claim to be his friend after all of that?

Another spinning back-kick—one of Jim's favorites—and suddenly he wasn't meeting air or forearm, but striking square across his first officer's jaw. Back on both feet, Jim froze, breathing hard in labored gasps as he stared at Spock.

"What the hell?" He demanded, voice rough.

Spock touched the corner of his split lip, looking down calmly at the dot of green blood that came away on his fingertips.

"I detected your emotional need to inflict pain on me." Spock answered, sounding a hell of a lot like there had been no pain inflicted. "I thought it might be healthy for you to succeed."

"So you let me kick you in the chin?" Jim glared. "I could have broken your neck!"

"That was an unlikely result given your state of exhaustion and it's impact on the force generated by your blows. I was not likely to incur permanent damage."

Jim threw up his hands in exasperation, dropping down onto the padded floor. "Well I'm glad you thought that one out." He fell back flat onto the mat, breathing out heavily as the cold seeped into his bare skin. Now that his sweat was drying he felt a chill creeping on, but if a phaser blast to the gut hadn't managed to off him he doubted the temperature on his own ship was going to prove lethal any time soon.

Spock surprised him—and wasn't he just full of surprises lately?—by sinking down beside him. Granted, he managed to do it in a far more graceful manner, adopting a stiff-backed, cross-legged meditative pose, but still. It was the thought that counted.

Jim pressed a hand to his side, flinching a little at the sharp tug of healing muscles so keenly aggravated by his strenuous workout. He didn't think he'd done them any real damage, but either way it was probably best if Bones didn't find out about this. Spock glanced pointedly at Jim when he caught the gesture, but was wise enough not to say anything. It wasn't as if he was bleeding out at the moment.

There was a long, not-completely-comfortable silence between them, spreading in the spaces between Jim's labored breaths. He had nothing to say, and wasn't willing to play a guessing game to figure out Spock's motives for being there. He'd given that tactic up long ago.

As it turned out, he wasn't forced to wait very long.

"I feel that I may have damaged our friendship, James."

Jim instantly regretted ever giving the Vulcan permission to call him that. It made him feel like he was talking to an old man.

"I thought we agreed that we didn't need to talk about this." Jim sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He had the illogical wish that a black hole would open up n the middle of space and suck them all into limbo—a limbo where they couldn't have this conversation.

"You made that request while under medical care, and I agreed that it was an inappropriate time."

"Okay. I'm making it again."

"I cannot concede, this time." Spock was staring at him intently—Jim could feel his eyes on him, boring into his skull.

"Of course not." Jim mumbled, feeling extremely tired.

"I wish to extend my apologies." Spock went on, staring now at a spot on the wall across the gym. "I had not anticipated that revealing the knowledge I inadvertently gleaned from your mind would lead you to resent me so deeply. This was not my intention and I have since been seeking a method by which I may mend the rift between us."

"There's no rift." Jim cut in, feeling relieved that all of his spent energy in a physical fight had left none remaining for this one. He paused, drawing a deep breath for his confession. "There's me being a nutcase because I spent fifteen years hiding things and you found most of them out in the space of fifteen seconds." He sat up with some effort to meet Spock's surprised expression. "I didn't want you to find out about… any of that." He balked a little at his own words. "But you did. And I can't change that. So I guess I'm just going to have to trust you."

Spock's surprised expression evolved into near-shock.

"I will admit, I was not expecting such a response." He spoke slowly. "It seems that you will never cease to amaze me, James Kirk."

Jim was suddenly reminded of a much older, wiser version of Spock; a Spock who had insisted they would someday develop a defining friendship. Maybe this was it: they were toeing the line. Someday, it might just be possible for that friendship to emerge.

He must have been looking at the Vulcan oddly, because Spock frowned at him.

"Captain?"

"Yeah. Just thinking." Jim sighed down at his feet, pulling his legs into an Indian-style position to mimic his companion. He looked up at his first officer. "I'm the one who owes you an apology, Spock. I've been treating you poorly over the past few weeks."

"Given your physical and mental condition at the time, I am sure that your reactions were expected."

"Expected and acceptable are two different things." Jim nodded. "I expect better of myself. I should be able to perform at peak levels, regardless of my physical condition. I should be able to maintain a professional attitude towards my officers and my crew." He smiled slightly. "And especially towards my friends."

Spock looked thoughtful. "May I assume that you have accepted my apology then, Captain?"

"Yes." Jim grinned. "If you accept mine."

"I deem it unnecessary, but I extend my forgiveness quite readily." Spock seemed pleased. "I find your intentions admirable and I am relieved that we were able to repair our misunderstandings so easily."

"Me too. I guess one of us had to stop being so stubborn." Jim chuckled as he stood a bit stiffly. He extended a hand down to his First Officer. "What do you say we raid the mess? I'm starving."

Spock took his hand, but did not release it as he stood. "Jim."

"Yeah, this is a little weird." Jim tugged on his hand just enough to get his message across. The Vulcan did not release him.

"I would like to make you aware that your secrets are safe with me." Spock was staring at him too intensely for comfort. "You need not fear that they will be revealed to another living creature. A Vulcan's word is his oath."

"Spock." Jim finally managed to free his hand. "I know." He clasped his first officer on the shoulder. "I told you I was going to trust you, didn't I?"

Spock smiled, a near-human expression that lit up his eyes. "Indeed you did, Captain."

"Good." Jim headed for the door. "So how about that food?"

Smiling, Spock followed.

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Jim was bone-tired. As seemed to be the pattern, lately. His stomach was full, his room was dark, and he was finally in a place that didn't smell like antiseptic and unnamable medications.

And yet, he could not sleep. Instead he sat in the same spot and in the same position he had collapsed into an hour ago, slumped against the port window above his bed, face pressed against the cool glass. It wasn't necessarily the most comfortable way to sit, but he was simply too tired to put all that effort into unfolding his limbs or propping up a pillow.

Too. Much. Effort.

He sighed against the thick glass, his breath making tiny patches of fog on the window as he watched the stars zip by. As a kid, he'd spent entire nights lying on his roof, staring up at the constellations whose intricacies and patterns and behaviors he had long ago memorized. He knew each by name, each color and star and planet by heart. He'd even entertained the childish delusion for some time that his father was still up there somewhere. He'd had no logical reason for this belief—it wasn't even anything his mom had ever taught him—just a rumor he'd caught in passing from a kid at school once. The boy had insisted that death was a myth, and those lost to their families and loved ones simply wandered the stars, searching for a reason to come back. The child in question had also been Bajoran, which probably accounted for most of his strange theories and beliefs.

Jim had been a smart kid. He'd had no excuse for believing something as far-fetched as that. And yet, the part of him that had never really grown up desperately wanted to. And so, for too long, he had searched the stars above for answers that never came.

Frank never found him up on the roof. No matter how long he screamed and ranted and cursed, he could never figure out where Jim went. He was a scrawny kid and he could be quiet when he needed to be, and pressed flat against a dark roof on a dark night he could turn practically invisible. Frank never found him there, and somehow reality never did either.

"You're not really there." Jim reminded the ghost of his father's face in the passing constellations. He'd learned this truth long ago, after years of talking to an empty sky. He'd worshipped that sky, learned to hate it, and finally returned to it. Ironic, in a way.

"Not there." He mumbled again against the glass. His eyelids were heavy and he still couldn't summon up the energy to move his limbs. He was caught in memories of the past, but they weren't all bad ones this time: and he didn't really want to give that up just yet.

He remembered blue skies and open fields, his childhood escapes. Motorcycles, fast cars, mountain climbing and cliff diving. Anything to bring some feeling into the numbness. He remembered his mother when he'd been very young: she'd treated him like he'd treated the stars. Worshipped him for what she'd lost for a few years, and then learned to hate him for the same thing. She'd yet to return, however. He doubted that she ever would. Running was a hard pattern to break.

None of those things mattered here, on this giant structure of flying metal that had somehow become more to him in eight short months than an Iowa farm had managed to be in twenty years. It was everything that the old farm had never been: family and home and heart and soul. His very heartbeat.

Sluggish fingers pressed against the cool metal, trailing across the ridges and planes of an almost featureless, regulation wall, across the featureless, regulation window. He had this vessel memorized, and never missed a chance to recite. He'd mentioned it to Sulu once; tried to explain how much personality this ship had in his eyes. How complete it made him. He'd only managed to rack up one more vote for the "tha Cap'n is crazy" theory.

He loved this ship. And he didn't know what he would have done if he had lost her.

A door breezed open somewhere behind him, but he still couldn't find the energy to turn around. He felt quite comfortable where he was, and his silent visitor could figure that out all by themselves.

Said visitor was neither silent nor apparently very perceptive, and Bones grumbled to himself as he pulled Jim down onto the bed and stuffed him beneath the covers.

"Stars, Bones." Jim mumbled groggily. He felt a little sad he'd had to leave his window, but the warm blankets weren't really all that bad either.

"Yeah. Real pretty." Bones sounded gentler than usual as he pulled Jim's boots off and set them beside the bed, exactly where they belonged. He'd grown accustomed to Jim's obsessive-compulsive need for order long ago.

Jim's eyes were still glued to the port window, tracing the lines of planets and stars.

Bones' firm hand on his chin pulled his gaze back to his friend. "You." He leaned over Jim, peering into his face suspiciously. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

Jim didn't really have an answer that, so he just stared at the doctor for a few moments, his mind wandering.

McCoy sighed heavily. "Move over." He grumbled, climbing up to sit by Jim's shoulder.

Jim rolled onto his side towards the window, sighing in contentment as he felt McCoy's leg press against his back. The Doctor's rough hand came to rest in his tousled hair, stroking absently. It was a nervous habit the medical officer had picked up long ago, having spent too many hours sitting at his friend's bedside, waiting to find out if he would wake up or not. The gesture was equally comforting to Jim, though he tried his best not to let Bones see it.

The truth was that both of them needed each other a lot more than they were willing to admit.

"You're such an infant. I've got to hold your hand to get you to do anything, don't I?" The complaint came out sounding almost affectionate, and Jim smiled as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

"Yeah." He agreed sleepily. "That sounds 'bout right."

Bones sighed. "Glad you made it home this time, kid." His hand stilled for a moment.

Jim smiled as his eyes slid shut against his will. Feeling completely content for the first time in weeks, he drifted to sleep with the stars in his eyes and his best friend at his back.

He was home.

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FINIS

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Wow. Well that was an adventure.

I've actually had this chapter done since Monday: I was going to wait a whole week to post it, but I just CAN'T! I'm too anxious to hear what you think of the last part, hahaha.

Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me through this entire story! It was so much fun to write, and I'm actually really shocked I managed to finish. You must have really inspired me. :)

I already have another story in the works: in fact, the first three chapters are already complete! What can I say; I've been inspired. I guess that means you'll be getting steady updates for a while. :)

Reviews:

ILoveSupernatural: Let me guess; you love Supernatural? Haha, me too! I only just started watching, but I finally decided that I am more of a Dean than Sam fan. Though they are both pretty delicious. ;) Thank you so much for your wonderful long review! You made me smile with glee. I do most of my writing and reading at work too, so I completely understand! Haha. I hope you enjoy the final installment, and stick around for the next story which I will be posting next week. :)

frozenlaughter: Haha, yes that was actually a detail I deliberated over for some time, believe it or not. I'm a little overly-paranoid about accidentally ripping off someone else's story, so in the end I had Jim call Bones 'Leonard' to be serious, not mad. I knew that would throw someone for a loop. :P I am glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope this final chapter lived up to your expectations!

Elfsong: I know right? Bones needs love too! I am so glad you're enjoying, you'll have to let me know what you thought of the final chapter!

ackeberylnn: Ahhh, that made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy the last chapter as well as the next story!

laynee: Join the Hurt!Jim addicts club! We will soon be able to take over the world. ;) So glad you're enjoying the story, and I can't wait to hear from you on story numero dos!

val313: You bought me! How can I say no to that? I guess I'll just have to give you this last chapter, and a whole new story posting Monday or Tuesday! ;)

SquigglyText: Aw, thankies! :) You made my day with your review! Hahaha. Hope this final chapter is up to par—and the next story, too!

TipsyTippyToes: Yay, so happy you liked it! Thank you, I've been trying my best to bring a good balance of action and fluff to the tale. Not quite as easy as it sounds. :P I hope you enjoy this final chapter, and possibly the next story? It will be up soon. ;)

Loves Jack, dustykingdom, Thelittlemonster17, bowlfullofcherries, Snowy midnight 942, Sparkiebunny, Thomson, irezel: Thank you so much! I hope this final chapter did you proud!

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Keep a look out for "Perfect Strangers", the next fic and the predecessor to this one. It should be posting early next week. I look forward to seeing you all there!

Love and Star Trek,

DeepBlueSomewhere