Hey! It's almost been a stinkin' year! I guess I really don't have the strength to conquer this hiatus thing. Ugh, I'm so mad at myself! I was inspired by a song to continue writing this thing. I'm so sorry for another long wait, and I thank you all for the super nice reviews! I'm gonna try to pick this up again, but I can't promise to be fast. This chap is shorter than the norm cause I have some big plot stuff coming up next chapter... Hehehe. Thanks for sticking with me! :)

(We miss you, Leonard

March 26th 1931 - February 27th 2015)

Chapter Six

It's a decent day so far, McCoy will give it that. Then again, he has only been out and about for an hour or so. The CMO sits on his own, at the far corner of one of the tables in the galley, looking down into his lightly steaming soup, giving it a few stirs here and there. It will never touch his lips. He doesn't even know what kind of soup it is, not that he bothered to check before choosing it from one of the replicators.

The doctor breathes a gentle sigh, trying not to inhale the scent of the food in front of him as he does so, and gently closes his eyes, lashes barely skimming his pronounced cheekbones. It had been a couple of weeks since he had finally opened up to his two best friends about his dark, crippling fears, a production of the mental torture that he had received while in captivity by an unknown alien species.

McCoy swallows thickly at the thought, his stomach giving a familiar churn of anxiety. He drops his spoon and scratches at the scruff around his jaw, the scratch, scratch of it filling his ears.

Since the weeks of his coming clean to Kirk and Spock, they had at first heeded his demands to give him space and leave him alone. Though their ability to actually fully leave him alone were greatly lacking, McCoy mused. After only five days, McCoy would often come across Kirk in the hallways, which McCoy was somehow convinced was not entirely a coincidence. Kirk's usual routes rarely included passing by McCoy's quarters. Every time, Kirk would give him this huge, warm smile, and McCoy would just nod at him then lower his gaze.

While this wasn't something that Spock would do, he too was not terribly skilled in the ability of Giving McCoy Space and Privacy. After he had gained some confidence in actually leaving his quarters to eat, McCoy would almost always seem to be taking up meals in the galley at the same time as Spock and Kirk were, separate from each other. McCoy would openly stare at them, silently accusing, and Kirk and Spock would pretend not to notice him, and Kirk would be talking in low tones to Chekov, Scotty, glancing over at McCoy when he suspected that the doctor wasn't staring anymore. Spock would not glance, at least to McCoy's knowledge. He would only talk, and almost always with Uhura.

Eventually, it had gotten to be bit too much. McCoy began to give in to the distant shows of concern. He would force a smile for Kirk every time he passed by, and Kirk would just leak rays of happiness every time. McCoy will admit it, he began to give in. He began to feel a small spark of that familiar trust he had once felt for them, and then, one day, he'd taken up a meal with them. Kirk had been ecstatic, McCoy could tell, because he had put on an overly calm demeanour. Maybe that other familiarity, of being able to read Kirk's emotions, had been another little push into that kindle of trust, making it slightly brighter.

McCoy pulled himself out of his thoughts at the sound of laughter from a nearby table, forcing himself not to flinch, though feeling his face turn stony.

Although his Captain and First Officer were both willing to treat him normally, it wasn't the same for much of the crew. McCoy would often feel stares burning into his back every time he left his quarters, could see when a group of crew mates would speak quietly and with heads close together and they glanced at him. They were concerned. McCoy tries not to let it bother him, but it can grate on his nerves.

Mostly he wonders how sickbay is doing without him. He hasn't bothered to ask either Kirk or Spock, but he feels as if it is safe to assume that Christine and M'Benga both have it perfectly under control.

As for what he is still going through mentally... Well, he really doesn't want to fall back into dwelling on it for too long. It has been a decent morning, after all. Nobody is staring or whispering, at least, which would usually trigger him and make him want to disappear completely.

McCoy is about to push to his feet and get rid of his untouched meal when he senses someone approaching, and glances up through his eyelashes. It's Kirk, of course. He's carrying a tray of his own, giving McCoy a look of hesitation as he stops a few feet away.

"Morning, Bones. Er, may I?"

McCoy nods to the seat across from himself and stands up, dusting his shirt off unconsciously. "The space's all yours," McCoy replies, "I was just leaving."

"Ah. I see," Kirk replies dryly, giving McCoy an apologetic look as he sits down. "Where are you-" Kirk cuts himself off, then starts again. "Never mind. I actually wanted to ask if we could have lunch in each other's company, tomorrow?"

McCoy purses his lips, standing there with the hot soup bowl burning in his palms. "Well... Alright, fine," McCoy forces himself to agree, although he doesn't want to. He almost regrets the affirmation as soon as it leaves his lips.

Kirk instantly grins, his teeth exposed and his eyes squinting. "Wonderful. Here, in the galley, then? Around lunch hour?"

"Right, okay," McCoy replies slowly, then turns to leave without a backwards glance, ignoring the eyes that burn into the back of his neck on his way out of the galley.

Kirk is aware that McCoy is still deep in whatever hell he had started out in, when he had first been saved from captivity. He could still see the torment in McCoy's eyes, the anxiety in his body language, the lack of eating, resulting in an even bonier appearance than normal for him.

The Captain would be lying if he said that all of this did no bother him. Because it does, greatly. With nothing to do about the current situation, Kirk can only hope that McCoy is warding off his inner demons, and keeping from loosing his grip, falling back to the bottom of that pit of mental torment. He can see that his CMO is fighting a harsh battle, and while he cannot do anything about it, he still has the ability to discreetly check up on him, when he feels that he needs to. It irritates McCoy to hell, of that Kirk is sure.

Where his best friend Spock would usually be a source of wisdom and support in this stressful- to say the least- situation, he is not this time. After their cold confrontation on the day that Bones broke down, they hadn't bothered with speaking to each other much. Verbal exchanges on the bridge had been nothing more or less than terse. Kirk hadn't had much time to think about it, but every time he does, he feels festering anger burn in his stomach.

Kirk sits by himself as he finishes his meal. Then he's back to work, mind buzzing with too many thoughts.

When Kirk reaches the galley, he feels an irrational nervousness that McCoy won't show up. He orders his lunch and takes a seat near the corner of the room, where McCoy likes it, and begins to eat, knowing that McCoy won't be eating, and assuming that it would probably be more comfortable for the doctor if he wasn't expected to eat along with Kirk.

The Captain takes small bites and chews slowly, exploring texture and flavour as he tries to distract himself from over analyzing the situation. Surely McCoy will show up. Surely everything will go just fine. He's known McCoy for a long time, but he still has this nagging feeling, and it makes him uncomfortable. He stares unfaltering towards the entrance of the galley, not wanting to miss McCoy's entry.

Kirk is half way through with his meal when McCoy finally shows up. He looks tired slightly wary, large blue eyes darting around until they make contact with Kirk's. Kirk puts on a smile and waves gently. McCoy walks steadily over to Kirk, sitting down opposite him and returning Kirk's smile with a dry, minute one of his own. As usual- over the past weeks, at least- he is dressed casually. The scruff on his face is slightly darker than it had been yesterday.

"Morning, Bones," Kirk greets him, just like yesterday. "I'm glad that you came."

McCoy rolls his eyes, then meets Kirk's gaze again. "I said I would, who the hell d'you think I am?"

Kirk huffs a laugh, tossing another piece of food into his mouth. "I've been meaning to ask you how you've been doing."

McCoy replies shortly, resting his chin on his fist and drumming his frail-looking fingers on the table. "Fine."

"Have you been resting well?"

McCoy can't seem to keep eye contact, and his fingers drum harder on the table. "C'mon, Jim. You know I don't wanna talk about-"

"Right, I'm sorry," Kirk quickly amends, and McCoy gives him an irritated look. "I just want to make sure."

"It's not your place to 'make sure'," McCoy replies, without the heat that he would usually apply to his tone of voice while arguing.

Kirk struggles for a moment with how to reply. "You're right," he eventually says, picking his fork back up and stabbing at his leftovers, just for something to do.

"How was the bridge this morning?" McCoy asks after a few moments of silence.

Kirk smiles weakly. "Quiet. Boring."

"Spock there too?"

Kirk's brow twitches at the mention of Spock, but his smile doesn't falter. "Yes, he was."

McCoy raises an eyebrow, scratching absently at the scruff on one side of his face. "Hm."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for another few moments.

"You two aren't getting along," McCoy states.

Kirk's eyebrows shoot up involuntarily.

McCoy stares back at him, raising an eyebrow of his own.

Kirk holds in a sigh of resignation, shoulders slumping. "How did you know?"

"Really, Jim? It's pretty obvious."

Kirk grimaces. McCoy is practically avoiding them for heaven's sake, and he noticed.

McCoy leans slightly forward onto his elbows. "I wouldn't be surprised if everyone was wondering what's going on between you two."

Kirk sighs, scratching a hand through his hair. "It's... complicated."

"Is it really, though?" McCoy tilts his head slightly, blue eyes dancing with ghosts of broken amusement.

Kirk isn't sure whether to smile or scowl. McCoy knows him too well.

"Jim, I know that it's because of me."

Kirk's brows furrow. "No, Bones. It's not your fault."

"I know that," McCoy rolls his eyes, "It's both of you who are acting immature."

Kirk feels indignant, but he is careful not to raise his voice or give any violent gestures. "I'm acting perfectly reasonable, if I say so," he replied hotly.

"And how d'you think that? Ignoring your best friend is reasonable to you?"

Kirk remains silent. This is the most that McCoy has spoken to him at once in weeks, and he laps it up attentively.

McCoy continues, not seeming to notice Kirk's change in attitude. "I'm assuming the two of you got into some type of argument over me."

Kirk hesitates, then gives a pitiful nod.

"And why?" McCoy asks in a gentle tone. It makes Kirk's heart ache.

Kirk shakes his head again, biting at his lower lip before responding. "We... It was right after the day you came out to us, about what was happening."

McCoy shifts in discomfort at that, but nods.

"Well... After we had left together, I discovered that Spock had already suspected that you were... struggling," Kirk forces the word out. He finds himself unable to look into McCoy's eyes anymore, not wanting to be disrespectful, because he somehow feels like eye contact is, in this moment.

"I was angry, because he- he hadn't even thought to tell me. I felt as if he held you back from being helped."

McCoy lets out a mirthless laugh, as if the notion of being helped is ludicrous to him, but he does not interrupt Kirk beyond that.

Kirk continues. "So, I confronted him about it, obviously. I couldn't just let him think it was alright."

McCoy closes his eyes for a moment, shaking his head slowly and rubbing t one temple. "Jim... why is it not alright? What's your view of not alright in this case? Spock made it clear that he didn't wanna bother me, and it's not like he'd know how to 'help' me anyway, he's a damn machine."

"He put you in danger," Kirk says weakly.

McCoy brings his fist down firmly on the table. "How many times are we gonna have this argument?" The doctor snaps, his accent getting slightly thicker. "I'm a grown damn man. You two aren't my god damn parents. I wanted to take care of it myself! If anything, you were in the wrong for forcing me to tell the two of you!"

Kirk flinches, his golden brows furrowing. "Bones, I..."

"No, Jim," McCoy interrupts, "Listen. This little squabble you two're having? It irritates the hell outta me. You two work together all day to keep this damn ship in check, and this fight isn't doing it any good. I refuse to be the reason for this. Spock is not at fault."

Jim lowers his head. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

McCoy slumps, looking more tired than when he'd first came into the galley.

Jim swallows dryly. "I promise I'll try to make things right between us." He isn't sure how soon that would be, but the passion of McCoy's argument has unhinged him a bit, even shocked him.

McCoy breathes a raspy sigh. "Thank you."

After the two of them have gone their separate ways, Jim mind is still going over their conversation.

When McCoy gets back to his quarters, he's exhausted. The doctor's feet drag as he goes over to his bed and sits down gingerly, hands trembling with cold as they run over his face and through his hair. His fingers catch on a few unbrushed knots near the nape of his neck and he winces, slowly bringing his hands down to press into the bed.

"Those damn idiots," he grumbles to himself. Of course, he'd noticed that they hadn't been getting along a while ago. The two of them had never eaten even a single meal together ever since that day of vulnerability, and, apparently, the day they had stopped talking.

For my sake, I hope the two of them work things out.

McCoy glances over at his computer, staring at it contemplatively for a moment before sighing and falling onto his back, hands resting on either side of his head as he eyes the ceiling.

Recently, his thoughts had been running rampant. He is unbearably lacking in things to do, and he cannot go back to work. Not yet. He still needs time.

But he can't help thinking about Christine Chapel. He misses her. Her calming gaze, her humour, her kind words. He has not seen her in so long, and he really doesn't know how to approach this particular problem.

He really has not been anywhere besides his quarters, the galley, and the space between them, too skittish and too paranoid to wander anywhere else.

But still, he thinks about Chapel, and he feels as though he has left a weight on her shoulders. It is something he wants to change, something that scratches at his conscience. And perhaps something he should attempt to change soon. To see her, he would likely have to check in at Sickbay.

McCoy bites down harshly on his lower lip. He feels an inexplicable rush of nervousness at the thought of returning to that place, somewhere he has been to so many times. Back to his office, back to his work. He thinks of the nurses whom he had worked with.

What would they think of him now, looking as he does? Skeletal, tired, unkempt, so unlike how he used to be. Would they still respect him like they had before, working under his skilled eye?

McCoy's stomach clenches. What must Chapel think of him now? Would she still look at him with that loving respect in her expression?

McCoy can't help but feel irritated at himself for letting his mind go in this vicious circle, tearing himself up over and over. He has to do something... He has to do something...

But he can't find the strength. For now, he lies still, and lets his darker thoughts creep in, eyes drifting closed.