A/N: Glory, I don't know. My sadistic side wanted a turn but I was really wanting a hero!fic and the result was this. It's only going to be about two chapters, something quick, but gripping. Parts may be a little bloody (at least in this chapter) so if you're squeamish about that sort of thing you have been warned. This isn't exactly a Hurt/Comfort fic, more like a Bad-Guys-Tried-but-Failed/Let's-Go-Kick-their-Sweet-Patooties fic.

Set after 'Requiem for Methuselah' though that's not really relevant to the story.

'Two Survivors' is still a go for those of you following it, just enjoy this little piece in the meantime. I don't own Star Trek (yet!) ;)

"Bridge to Sickbay."

"Sickbay. Chapel here."

"What's the situation concerning inoculation?" Kirk asked.

"Crewmen are reporting as soon as they're able. The forty-five or so who were already confined due to the prolonged illness are responding favorably to the treatment. Has everyone on the bridge been vaccinated?"

Kirk surveyed the bridge and received all nods. "Affirmative. What's the status of the medical department?"

Chapel read through to the underlying question. "Tired, but still trooping. If you want you can stop by and see for yourself; the flow's lessened since the shift change ended."

"Will do, Kirk out." The captain rose from his command seat. "Mr. Spock, you have the conn. I'm going to pay a visit to Sickbay."

Without another word the two men went to their positions- one to the 'big chair' and the other to the turbolift.

"Deck 5." As the lift started up Kirk began bracing himself for Sickbay.

The Rigellian Fever had been hard on the Enterprise. The medical staff had been working double-time to quarantine the infected and distribute Ritalin to the rest of the ship. For a while it had been touch-and-go. Now, it was a matter of seeing every member of the 430 people aboard, evaluating them for the fever, and administering the vaccine or cure appropriately. Several emergencies had cropped up involving carriers. It had been a long, hard battle, and Kirk knew of one weary doctor who had been pulling more than his own weight.

He stepped out of the lift and walked into Sickbay. A few crewmembers stood in a line receiving inoculation. Chapel looked up and nodded towards the back room. Kirk got the message and walked to where the most-affected crewmen were.

He spotted McCoy talking with Chekov. The young navigator was recovering nicely. Kirk hovered near the door, not wanting to butt in on their conversation.

"Hello, Jim."

Quietly cursing to himself about McCoy's uncanny intuition, Kirk put on a broad smile and walked further into the room. McCoy's sharp gaze halted him.

"What?"

"You've received your vaccine, right?" McCoy checked.

"Yeah, M'Benga gave it to me."

"Then sure, come on in." Kirk walked closer and smiled down at Chekov. He frowned when he heard a scanner run over him.

"Just making sure everything's working as it should be," McCoy defended. He put the scanner away.

"How is ewerything on zhe bridge?" Chekov asked.

"Just fine, Mr. Chekov. How is everything with you?"

"Dr. McCoy says zhat I am recovering nicely," he mentioned.

"It's taking him a little longer than the others to get back on track, but he was one of the first affected," McCoy added. Kirk noticed that the bags under his eyes seemed heavier and their vibrant blue color was dulled and bloodshot. "If you two want to chat, I'm going to help Chris with those inoculations-"

"Actually, Bones," Kirk said. "I came to talk with you. Do you have the time?"

"I've got to finish with the in-"

"Bones, I saw maybe at most five people out there and Nurse Chapel had it under control. Now, I know she has been working hard like everyone else, but at least she has the common sense of when to take a break. I'd say you're about due for that break, Doctor."

McCoy stared at him. He looked ready to argue when Chekov piped up. "Ve're all fine in here. If Brady ower there gets into trouble I'll be sure to let you know while you're getting a sandvich."

McCoy tossed up his hands. "Fine. My patients say they don't need me, my captain wants me to stop doctoring- okay. I'll eat a sandwich."

"And take a nap later," Kirk said as they exited the room.

"In the middle of Beta shift?" McCoy said incredulously. "That would be like deserting my post."

"Bones, you've pulled back-to-back shifts for I don't know how often in the past week," Kirk whirled. "You can barely stand up. Now, after we eat, you are taking a break to sleep. You can either do it in your quarters, or sedated in Sickbay."

McCoy grumbled quietly to himself but Kirk took it as a good sign that he wasn't outright refusing. They reached the mess hall and ate in silence. Kirk watched his friend slowly chew his meal, focused elsewhere.

"We reach Gruthar in a few days," Kirk said. "You should take a vacation."

The doctor grunted. "I might if everyone's healed up."

"Correction: you will." Kirk didn't like pulling his rank card, but his friend looked like he needed it.

"You're ordering me to take a vacation?" McCoy deduced.

"Three days," Kirk said. "Starting when we reach Gruthar. Then I want you to go down, rest up, and enjoy yourself."

McCoy sighed. "Right."

It was two days later that McCoy found himself standing in a sunny square of a bustling city. He sighed. The Rigellian Fever had finally cleared up completely, but he still wished he could've been there and not in his cabin when the report went out. He was fine, two days had allowed him to catch up on his sleep and he was eating regularly again, but Kirk still insisted that he take this damn vacation.

He straightened his medical tunic. Well, shore leave or not, he felt good sticking it to Kirk that he was beaming down in his Starfleet Uniform. It wasn't even out of the ordinary; they took shore leave all the time in uniform.

Well, since you're here for the next three days, might as well see what this place has got, he thought. Strolling through the streets, he passed numerous shops and diners, vendors and stores. Tantalizing aromas wafted out of some bakeries, and he bought a delicious éclair that just melted in his mouth.

Savoring the sunshine and the walk, his mood perked up and he wandered further, exploring. He stopped before a quaint-looking store and realized it was a bar. Might as well sample some, he thought lightly, strolling inside.

It had a cozy atmosphere and there weren't very many people inside. There were a couple of hunched-over patrons and three kids that barely looked old enough to drink in a corner. McCoy found that he liked the décor. It was ornate, yet not intricate, giving it a finished, modern look. He sat on a stool and admired the designs.

The bartender came by. "What can I get ya?"

"One brandy, please," McCoy said. He made it a point not to drink too much on shore leave just in case he was called back up for a medical emergency.

"Just one? With refills?"

"No thank you," McCoy said. He smiled. "I can't afford to get too drunk."

The bartender chuckled. "Well, I'll see what we have." He retreated into the back room. McCoy relaxed against the counter and noticed that there was soft music playing. He grinned pleasantly. He could really like this place.

One of the kids (well, technically young adult) breezed by him on his way to the back room. It occurred to McCoy that they might work here. He shrugged. No matter. As long as they didn't over-indulge in the booze.

The bartender returned. "Pardon me, but I missed it earlier; are you Starfleet?"

"Yes," McCoy answered.

The man smiled. "Well, welcome to Gruthar! The reason I asked is because we have a discount here for Starfleet personnel. I noticed the uniform, but it didn't really register with me until I was back there makin' your drink."

"That's alright, and thanks," McCoy said lightly. He was really liking this place.

The bartender stepped out and reappeared carrying a glass of Saurian brandy. "Here you go, on the house."

McCoy's eyes widened. "Some discount."

"Well, we appreciate your service," the bartender said. "It's the least we can do."

"Thank you," he replied, touched.

They engaged in a long conversation following that. It wasn't like anyone else was coming in. Some of the other patrons left, including the kids in the corner. Soon it was just the two of them and a man reading a newspaper (though he appeared to be asleep). McCoy looked down into his empty glass. He swirled the ice, savoring the sound.

"Well," he said when the conversation started to dwindle. "It's been lovely speaking with you, but I'd best be on way."

The bartender looked surprised. "Really?"

McCoy laughed. "Well, I may be on three-day mandatory leave, but I've never been to Gruthar before and I'd like to keep looking around." He stood up. "Thank you for the drink, though. It was delicious."

"Of course…" the bartender trailed. He sat and watched the doctor walk out of the bar humming quietly to himself.

Maybe Jim was right, McCoy thought as he walked back out on the street. Maybe you did need shore leave.

He walked at a sedated pace. The afternoon felt notably hotter than earlier in the day. He wasn't sweating, though he was a tad thirsty.

Maybe there's a water stand nearby, he thought. He rounded a corner and the sidewalk warped. He stopped and swayed, feeling a bit dizzy. Is it really that hot? I can't be dehydrated, I just had a brandy…

He was interrupted from his musings by a shout. He turned and staggered, feeling dizzy again.

"Hey, Starfleet!"

It was the three kids from the bar, only with two friends. McCoy blinked at them, squinting. His vision was slightly blurry. "What?"

He registered two things at once. One, that the narrow street he was on was completely deserted, and two, that the kids were actually closer than he realized.

The first blow told him that.

The street tilted and he was flat on his back before he even saw the fist coming. All he was suddenly aware of was that his heart was beating painfully fast. There was another blow to his head and he tried to deflect it but blast it, he could barely see. He suddenly felt two pairs of hands grip him under the arms and drag him someplace. He knew it was somewhere shadowed because the light suddenly vanished. McCoy twisted, gasping as his heart beat even faster.

They dumped him unceremoniously on the ground and he fought to hold down the contents of his stomach as his world swayed. He was very disoriented. He struggled to rise.

"Oh, now it's working."

"Should we leave him, Cutler?"

"Nah, we already started it, might as well finish it."

Finish what? McCoy barely thought. A blow landed on his ribs as they set upon him. He felt his communicator leave his side.

It was five against one and McCoy could barely process what was happening. He was aware of the sharp blows that landed everywhere on his body and the rapid thud, thud, thud of his speed-racing heart. He thrashed uselessly, trying to dislodge himself, and got hit in the head again.

Screw it, a detached part of his mind said. He couldn't win this. So he opened his mouth and yelled as loud as he could.

"What the hell!?"

"Shut up!"

Someone punched him in the throat and he choked, coughing violently. Then someone was hitting him violently over and over again on his right shoulder. Unable to scream through his raw throat, he groaned as something gave.

It was a small blessing that the weight left him. The blows stopped and it seemed that most of the youths had backed off. Except for one. The main one. He was still sitting there, and he was talking, but McCoy couldn't hear what he was saying. There was just his mad heart pounding away in his ears.

"…alright."

McCoy suddenly jerked and gasped when a cold blade was rammed into his abdomen, just underneath his ribs. Automatically his limbs lifted up to push away from the attack, but some hands gripped his legs down. "George, get his arms out of the way." There was a slice across his stomach and he cried out, flexing again. "I said, get his arms!" "I'm trying, they're all over the place!" "Pin them over his head, then!" McCoy's shoulder groaned in protest, but then the knife was back in his stomach and he couldn't think, there were just sensations of his gut being laid open and something cold and sharp against his right wrist and he was dizzy and sick and his heart was screaming from exertion…

It was a blessing to lose consciousness.

Kirk's shift on the bridge ended and he left with a tired sigh. There had been a dispute over transporter usage between them and the government of Gruthar when the operator planet-side left after his shift and was replaced with an operator who didn't believe it was legal to beam people down elsewhere than their platform. The disagreement had been resolved (after an agonizingly lengthy amount of time) and crewmen resumed transporting to the planet's surface. Kirk rubbed his head, staving off a slight ache. The dispute, or rather misunderstanding, had been more frustrating than interesting. He didn't mind a good interruption when they were simply in orbit around a planet, provided that the interruption didn't tax his patience or the definition of stupidity.

So he left Spock with the conn and went to lie down in his quarters. Idly he thought of Bones, and wondered what he was up to. There were several other crewmembers planet-side, so the doctor needn't be lonely. They'd never been to Gruthar before, so he didn't know what the natives were like.

Maybe I'll ask Mr. Spock, he thought lazily as he drifted off to sleep.

Blue.

He was looking at blue.

For a while, now.

It just now registered.

He moved his head to the right and the blue vanished. He frowned. Where did it go? He looked straight ahead again and it returned. There it is, he thought. He watched it for a while, then looked around. It vanished. He moved his head forward and was surprised at the resistance he met. Gradually he realized it was because he wasn't looking forward, but up. He was on his back. The blue was above him.

Slowly, he sat up. The world was slow in catching up with his movement. It was like reality lagged behind him. He sat there uncomprehending it all.

Bracing against the ground, he stood. There was a distant tickle, and he looked down. He was very wet. Why was he wet? He touched a hand to the liquid that soaked through his shirt halfway down and dripped onto his boots. He held his hand up and examined the wetness. Try as he might, he couldn't identify it, couldn't think about it. It was unfamiliar. He didn't even know what color it was, except that it wasn't blue.

He started walking, and as he moved he felt literally beside himself. Like he was numb all over and not quite aware of what he was doing. He would move an arm, and an arm would move, but he would watch it move.

Aimlessly, he wandered away from his blue spot. At times the body he commanded would move, but occasionally it wouldn't. He'd just stand there and wait for it to move again. While he was waiting he would watch reality slide around like soap on ice. Blurred lines would drag across his vision, and then shapes would snap into startling focus. Then they would unfreeze back into blurred motion.

He didn't know what was happening, or where he was going. He couldn't think about it. Instead, he simply followed a step beside his body and looked down at the curious wetness he left behind.

There was eventually noise. What did it mean? He found himself nearing the noise, and then inside of it. Shapes were very fast. Faint smells, but a lot of noise. He wandered further, sucked in by the noise of a distant chaos. He tried to look. Freeze-flash. A plate. The blurred shapes of speed. Freeze-flash. A flowerpot. What was a flowerpot doing here? More blurriness, now he was dizzy and jostled and he whined in distress. Freeze-flash. A face, eyes widening. He knew that face. It was a bad face. Blurred. Freeze-flash. It was leaving. Good.

He looked up and saw the blue again. It made him feel better. His eyes tracked down. Freeze-flash. Another face, also alarmed. This one better. He was looking down, and watched as the ground slowly floated up to him.

Pressure around him. Turning. There was the blue again, coupled with some blue eyes. He smiled slightly. Blue was so pretty and nice. And safe. He closed his eyes.

Chapel gripped McCoy harder. "Leonard, stay with me! Enterprise, repeat, Enterprise, please come in!"

Kirk jolted awake suddenly, thinking something's wrong. His red alert was going off, but there weren't any alarms ringing. A quick check with Engineering told him that everything was alright with the ship. He sat back down on the bed, trying to figure it out.

The comm whistled. "Kirk here," he said.

"Nurse Chapel," she said through the other end. "Dr. McCoy is in surgery."

Kirk frowned. "I thought I told him to take the day off."

There was a pause. "Captain, he's not operating," she said quietly. "He's a patient."

The words slammed into Kirk. Bones is in surgery. I sent him to the planet and now he's in surgery.

He was sprinting down the hall before the link closed.

Spock met him in Sickbay. He'd been on the bridge when the call came in and promptly turned the conn over to Sulu.

"Do you know anything?" Kirk asked, breathless as he rushed in.

"Negative. Only that an urgent medical beam-out was called in by Nurse Chapel and that it involved Dr. McCoy."

"He's," Kirk swallowed. "He's being operated on. I know that much. I started running here and didn't catch anymore."

They looked back at the door leading into the operating room. Kirk moved towards it, but was braced by Spock. "Captain, are we allowed in there?"

"We have been before," he said. Bones let us in before… as long as we kept our distance.

The first thing that hit Kirk was the smell of blood. It stopped him in his tracks. They'd often come back injured from various adventures before, but blood had never smelled strong enough to fill a room. He felt Spock freeze behind him and looked to where a flurry of activity was centered around a biobed. He couldn't see Bones, but a medical alarm was ringing incessantly on the panel above. His stomach clinched as he heard the medical staff urgently shout orders and the occasionally expletive.

"I need physostigmine NOW!" M'Benga boomed over the operating noise.

A nurse ran past them for the medical cabinets. She returned almost immediately carrying numerous quantities of the drug. Kirk watched in anticipation as various equipment were set up and as M'Benga bent over and continued operating… Kirk couldn't see what he was doing. Chapel entered carrying bags of blood to load into a machine which added to the smell.

"Jim."

Kirk felt a light touch at his elbow and it led him away from the operating room. The doors closed behind them, abruptly drenching them in silence. Spock kept his light hold on him until he felt the tension- that he hadn't known was there- leave.

"Spock," he stilted.

"You seemed distressed," Spock said. "And since we can do nothing in there it seemed illogical to remain and cause more worry than needed."

Kirk nodded, breathing deeply. They waited in Sickbay for a while, not speaking. At times it looked like Spock meditated. Kirk could only worry.

At last, nurses and orderlies started filing out of the operating room. They still waited for an all-clear sign to enter. Chapel came out and she looked tired. They rose and met her.

"Nurse?"

"He's stable," Chapel reported. "Finally," she muttered.

"Can we see him?"

"You can, but he's unconscious," she said. "All that took a toll on him."

Kirk braced himself for his next question. "What happened?"

"You'll have to ask Leonard that," she said quietly.

Spock picked up when Kirk didn't answer. "What was wrong with the doctor?" he asked.

"Do you want the long version or the short version?"

They looked at each other. "The long version," Kirk tried.

"Dr. McCoy was bleeding internally and externally from four major piercings located across the abdomen and lower rib cage, he had several contusions all over his face, throat, torso and legs, a fracture in his collarbone was aggravated from stress in the right shoulder, and he was suffering heavily from anticholinergic toxidrome due to an overdose of atropine in his system which caused dilation, confusion, dryness, terrible tachycardia, and mild delirium."

Kirk looked at her, trying to follow. "What's the short version?"

Chapel sighed. "The short version is that he was poisoned, beaten, and stabbed. In that order."

For several moments, Kirk could only gape. His brain and mouth started working again. "Is he okay?"

It was a very stupid question, as obviously the doctor was not fine but unconscious, but Kirk meant it towards the future, a 'will he be okay?'.

"We're hopeful," Chapel said. She bit her lip. "He lost a lot of blood. Stomach wounds bleed like crazy and he had four different stab wounds. And he had so much atropine in him that I'm not even sure how he was still walking.

"Walking? Bones was walking?"

Chapel nodded, and shivered at the memory she recounted to them. She'd finally found time for shore leave and was sitting in a lovely little outdoor café when a disturbance attracted her attention. Someone pushed by her in a hurry, looking like he'd seen a ghost. And maybe he had. She pivoted in her seat to see what the commotion was and saw Leonard stumbling straight through the dining area. What made her insides freeze was the blood drenching him like a waterfall. He looked extremely unfocused and unsteady, and nearly tipped over when a wide-eyed waiter jostled him. The next thing she knew was that she was rushing to slow his fall as he slumped forward in slow motion, turning him over and seeing his eyes open, but dilated almost black. She called the Enterprise.

"I don't know where he came from," she finished. "Or who did this to him."

"It's something we'll have to find out," Kirk figured.

M'Benga exited the operating room. He stopped in front of the trio. "He's resting," he reported. "You can see him now, if you want, but he probably won't be conscious for another couple of hours."

"In that time we can find out who did this to Bones. Spock," Kirk turned to him. "Do you have any pressing matters to attend to other than accompanying me to the transporter to investigate McCoy's attempted murder?"

"None, Captain," Spock replied. "The coordinates of the Nurse Chapel's diner are still within the transporter's memory. It is logical to begin there."

"Agreed, Mr. Spock," Kirk said. They thanked Chapel and M'Benga and exited Sickbay, determined to find the attackers of their friend.

The outdoor café they'd materialized in was still abuzz from the disturbance. The local police was talking with several eyewitnesses, but having already heard the story from Chapel, Kirk and Spock kept away from the proceedings. Instead, they surveyed the diner, trying to replicate the situation.

"Do we know which direction he came from?" Kirk asked. "We could trace his footsteps… find out where he went that got him caught up in a situation like this."

Spock had walked a few feet away from Kirk, and turned back around with an odd look on his face. "We can very well do that," he said softly.

Kirk frowned at his tone and walked over to where Spock was standing. He looked down at the pavement. His stomach churned inside of him. Footprints. Shuffling, red footprints. He was reminded again of the bloody smell so prominent in Sickbay.

"Well, Mr. Spock," he said, surprised at his unsteadiness. "Let's see where they lead."

They moved away from the square, following the faint red trail. At times there was barely anything; other times the blood had pooled. With each step Kirk felt himself growing angrier. Once he found the bastards who did this…

The trail meandered, following no set direction. McCoy had apparently wandered the empty parts of the city. Trash blew around from the alleyways, mice skittered by. One building bore a red handprint where he stopped and rested. Kirk turned to face Spock.

"Just how far did he walk?"

Spock didn't reply with the exact distance, as he spied something up ahead. "I believe we have reached the point of origin," he said, picking up his pace. They rounded a corner and stopped before an alley.

There was the scene of the crime. If the blood itself didn't give it away other signs of a struggle sure did. Kirk tore away from the ominous spilling and noticed a broken communicator discarded to the side. He picked it up, knowing it was McCoy's.

"So Bones was obviously passing by here when he was attacked," he said, looking around the area. He had to admit it was a fairly good place to stage a murder: quiet streets, nobody to see or hear, nowhere to run. "Any areas nearby that he may have come from before this?"

Spock had out his tricorder. "Mostly dwelling places or abandoned buildings," he reported. "However, about 500 yards in that direction is a small bar. Knowing the doctor and his tastes, it is very possible that he visited it before continuing on his shore leave."

Kirk tried not to think about how he was responsible for this 'shore leave'. "We'll try there first. See if anyone has seen him."

Shortly thereafter, they entered the bar and looked around its quiet settings. It was empty, but they nevertheless approached the counter and waited for someone. A moment later the bartender walked out.

"Hiya, gentlemen. Can I getcha anything?"

"Have you been on shift for the last couple hours?" Kirk asked bluntly.

The bartender blinked in surprise. "Well, yes I have. I work the full day. Why?"

Spock had pulled up a picture of McCoy on the tricorder. "Was this man in here earlier?"

The bartender leaned in closer, stroking his dark beard. "No, no I don't think so. We haven't had many customers so I would remember. Why, is he wanted?"

Spock was about to reply but Kirk cut him off. "Not exactly," he said flatly. "But thank you for your time." Kirk abruptly turned and marched out of the bar, with Spock trailing after him.

"He is lying?" Spock ventured when they were back out on the sunny street.

"Oh yeah," Kirk said. "His eyes lit up with recognition but he still denied it." He turned to his first officer. "I'm sorry for interrupting you there, but if the bartender's in on it then we definitely don't want him to know that it failed and Bones is still alive."

"Logical," Spock assessed.

"We'll have to get him to talk somehow…" Kirk mused. The problem was that they didn't have any evidence to launch an investigation against the bartender. You couldn't interrogate a man based on sheer suspicion…

His communicator beeped. "Kirk here," he said, opening it.

"Captain," Uhura said. "Sickbay reports that Dr. McCoy is awake and recovering. You may see him now, if you wish."

Kirk grinned, but there was a grim edge to it. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Beam Mr. Spock and I up." He closed the communicator and looked at Spock. "Let's see what Bones knows," he said as the transporter beam started tingling around them. A moment later they vanished from the street.

Atropine is a real substance and in large enough quantities is considered a poison (physostigmine is its antidote). It can cause blurry vision, dilated pupils, dissociative hallucinations, nausea, tachycardia (which is when the heart beats really, really fast; like 100 beats per minute when resting) confusion, dryness, and a variety of other problems that you can find on Wikipedia (that's where I got my information). Yikes. Also, too bloody? I was noticing there near the end that I may have indulged... but they have to trace his steps (if literally).

Anyway, if you want to see sweet justice served, then please review! For the sake of tough ol' Bones, lemme know what you think!