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-2119-

McCoy lightly rubbed Jim's back with his free hand as his lover sits up and pulls his vomit-filled bucket closer to him, and retches a third time. All that comes up is stomach acid, and Leonard hands him a cool cloth for his forehead.

This is all he can do. This is the only way his lover has allowed him to help.

His hand aches where Jim's fingers are clenched tight in his other hand.

"Are you gona eat tonight?"

"No."

"Are you gona eat tomorrow?"

"No." Leonard squeezes Jim's hand and fights back the prickles heat of tears. He won't cry in front of him. He can't, it just feels too much like giving up.

"The day after?"

Jim's voice is soft and vulnerable in the dark. "I don't know."

-July 31st, 0257-

McCoy ran a rough finger over emaciated ribs, earning a shudder from Jim. He thumbed protruding collarbones, wishing with all his heart that his captain would just get well. In his mind of convoluted reasoning, he knew there was no such thing. Much blood and sweat would have to go into helping Jim get better. He wanted the torment of his sick lover to go away. It hurt so bad; so bad.

Jim's emotions boiled and bubbled as he slowly awoke. His lover's touch had shocked him back into a reality in which his flesh was deteriorating. Staring at his own skeleton showing through pale skin, he felt a fraction of the pain Bones was enduring. Maybe he should get better. Maybe he should eat. Maybe. He felt something wet glide down the ridge of his sternum and pool at the shallow depression at his solar plexus. And then it happened again, and again.

Bones was crying.

"Please Jim…."

He grimaced. This man cared so much about him. Guilt flooded his system. How could he cause so much pain? He wondered about how much his actions had hurt McCoy, and a tear slowly rolled down his face. Still, the thought of food sickened him. Bones was choking back his tears.

"Please... I love you... Please..."

Fuck the "maybe". He had to get better.

-0816-

Jim picks up his fork. He wants to eat it, he really does. He knows he's hungry and now he knows, knows, knows just what he's doing to himself. He isn't stupid. He has absolutely no desire to develop something like bradycardia or osteoporosis which would affect his job, or, even worse, something like organ failure which would see him laid up in a hospital bed, unable to do anything. He needs to be fit and healthy. He wants to be well again.

He takes a tentative bite. McCoy is watching him from under his eyelashes, trying not to show it. He chews. He chews and chews and chews. The food is still in his mouth.

'Swallow,' Bones says quietly. 'Come on, you can do it.'

"I can't, I can't, I can't. My throat won't work." Jim's head screams, he thinks his thoughts must show on his face because Bones's faces scrunches in concern.

'You can,' he says. His voice is kind but firm. 'And you know you've got to. Come on. Swallow.'

Jim manages it. He then realises he has chewed and swallowed without once tasting what he was eating. Although he knows it's not physically possible, he can practically feel the food travelling down in his stomach. He hates it. It's hateful, but what's more hateful is the fact that he hates it in the first place.

Its so weak. All that's ringing in his head is No, no, no, no. Your so weak.

'Have another mouthful,' Bones whispers. He hates himself for having to say it. He hates himself for provoking the look that flits across Jim's face.

'No, I can't.' He says, pushing his plate away. Bones opens his mouth to answer, but before he can get a word out, he's pulled his plate back towards him. "Don't let it get to you. You're better than this." He thinks as he eats another mouthful. This one goes down more easily. It's Weak, giving in like that. He shoves another forkful into his mouth. He swallows. The food catches in his throat and he almost chokes.

Bones watches him clear his plate. He is torn. On the one hand, Jim's just eaten an entire meal. On the other hand, his face while he did so horrifies Leonard. Horror, revulsion, conflict, self-loathing – nothing he saw there was good. And the worst thing of all? He has no idea what to do about it.