Archive of Our Own

He was bleeding again.

Despite the vascular stabilizer Bones had placed around his bare abdomen, Jim could feel the warm wetness growing beneath his prone body, enlarging the sticky pool already congealed on the cold warehouse floor.

His gold tunic had been sliced open by Bones’ expert hands the moment he collapsed. The skillful cut with the laser scalpel had quickly opened his tunic from hem to collar, exposing the two entrance wounds that wept blood in steady streams. The twin steams of blood had saturated his uniform top, then quickly soaked the waist of his pants before Bones managed to get the bleeding under control. Now – hours later – it had dried, making the fabric stiff and uncomfortable.

At least the pain had leveled off, he thought gratefully. If he didn’t breathe too deeply, he could keep the gnawing discomfort coiled within his abdomen at a tolerable level.

Bones had scolded him several times over the past hours to remain still, but the pain made him twitchy and restless, and his vulnerable position – flat on his back on the dirty floor of the warehouse – made him feel too exposed, too helpless. Staring up at the featureless gray metal ceiling didn’t help in the least. It was as if time had stopped in their little corner of the planet.

And that made him even more anxious about the invaders gathering outside the secure facility. It had been quiet since he and his crew had rushed to the safety of the building. A little too quiet. The invaders were no doubt planning the best way to penetrate the formidable walls at this very moment.

The warehouse, once the main storage unit for the bulk of the new colony’s construction materials, hadn’t been used for years, though there were still some bulky crates and a few shelves of excess supplies – most now outdated – stored inside the smaller rooms in the back. The main room, where he was lying, was expansive, the grimy overhead lighting dimmed by years of neglect.

The colony had been well-established long before Jim was born. The town the Away Team had beamed down to had once been a place of thriving growth, the tidy public buildings and small, immaculate homes a source of pride. Now, though, the warehouse was the only structure that hadn’t been damaged or destroyed by the invader’s bombs, and it had offered the safest, closest structure for the colony’s survivors to shelter within while they waited for rescue.

Once everyone was inside, Security had sealed the entrance and taken up positions on either side of the large, metal doors, but Jim hadn’t been able to relax. They were safe for the moment but if the invaders managed to breach the doors...  

The invaders had already graphically demonstrated their aggression. They had methodically destroyed the colony – and almost every federation citizen residing in it – sparing no one.

Slaughtered, was a more apt description.

Too late, Jim thought as he observed the heavily armed guards and the small assembly of citizens who had managed to escape the massacre. They’d arrived too fucking late.

Wasn’t that the story of his life?

Too late to stop Nero from destroying Vulcan.

Too late to take command of Enterprise and save Pike from a life at a desk.

Just too fucking late.

A soft chime activated, a sound he instantly recognized. The alert on the medical bracelet Bones had fastened to his wrist had triggered.

It wasn’t the first time it had gone off, unfortunately.

Bones’ damn medical bracelets were great snitches, but they were useless under their current circumstances.

He wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. The Enterprise, and the tech residing in its Sickbay – the tech that Bones needed to treat his injuries – might as well be on the far side of the galaxy for all the good it did him.

Jim forced his growing unease aside and focused on the civilians. Over two thousand citizens in the small colony had been murdered, four hundred of them children, and only a handful of survivors had made it to the safety of the warehouse that now served as their refuge, escaping their neighbors’ grim fate. The building had become their last bolt-hole against the unidentified aliens who had abruptly claimed the planet – and the colony – as their own.

“Take it easy, Jim,” Bones ordered, moving to his side.

The chime continued to sound, but Jim barely registered the steady dinging, his thoughts preoccupied by their precarious situation.

The survivors were huddled in a group along the far wall, away from where he was lying. The dimly lit facility barely illuminated their stricken faces, but Jim had no trouble seeing the uncertainty and fear etching their faces, or the unspoken accusations in their eyes when they looked over at him.

He should have been here in time to save them.

“Hey,” Bones said again, pressing a warm hand to his bare shoulder. “Listen to me, Jim. You need to take some deeper breaths. Slowly and carefully,” he cautioned, “so you don’t dislodge the stabilizers. The alarm is sounding because your O2 level is dropping.”

Right. Breathe. Breathing was good.

It took an effort to refocus on Bones. Jim took a deep breath as ordered –

and a tide of hot pain washed over his chest, causing the room to spin and darken. He closed his eyes, keeping them shut until the vertigo subsided, wary of retriggering the nausea that had already caused him to throw up everything he’d eaten for dinner on the ship only a short ten hours earlier.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Bones kneeling on his right side, looking grim-faced and tight-lipped.

“I’m okay, Bones. It’s not that bad,” Jim said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded faint.

Bones’ tense expression didn’t relax. “Not that good, either,” he countered. “I know it hurts, but I need you to take a couple more deep breaths.”

For a man who’d recently been in a firefight, Jim thought, and was facing an uncertain situation, Bones looked pretty damned calm.

Even with a substantial amount of Jim’s blood covering his uniform.

But then, Bones was a doctor, one who was adept at hiding his worries.

Jim concentrated on carefully filling his lungs. The movement fanned the sullen coals of pain lying deep within his gut. He closed his eyes, ignoring the growing discomfort, trying to breathe as Bones had instructed him to do.

Bones’ fingers tightened on his shoulder in support. “That’s it. Slow and easy.”

‘Slow’ was the only way he was going to get it done, but he didn’t waste any breath informing Bones of that fact.

Sharp, stabbing agony suddenly flared to life, igniting just below his ribs. It clawed its way inward toward his spine and his breath froze as his body went rigid. Long moments later, the pain crested, then receded a little, but it didn’t completely ease its sharp-taloned grip. Through clenched teeth, Jim forced more air into his lungs before exhaling in a shuddering breath.

“One more,” Bones coaxed.

Jim braced himself for another breath, gritting his teeth. As his lungs fully filled for a second time, his entire torso felt like it was on fire, throbbing and burning with each beat of his heart.

“Good job, Jim,” Bones said encouragingly. “Your numbers are coming back up.”

Distantly, Jim realized the chiming had ceased. His ears pounded in concert with his heart, the rush of blood deafening. Suddenly, his vision and awareness shrank to a single point. He heard Bones’ muffled curse, then nothing more.

Darkness claimed him, covering him in a cold, smothering blanket. He was only dimly aware of his body and Bones’ searching hands.

Slowly, too slowly, light began to return, the darkness lifting. Bones’ scowling face came into focus.

“You didn’t tell me you were bleeding again, moron.”

Jim repressed a shrug. “There’s not a whole lot you can do about it,” he whispered hoarsely. The effort to speak clearly was harder than he’d expected, leaving him feeling weak and hollowed out.

Small wonder. He’d been struck twice with the projectiles from the invader’s weapons while providing covering fire for the colonists’ retreat. One projectile had punched through the skin and muscle of his right side, creating a messy exit wound, but missing anything vital.

The other, however, was still in him in, a hot, molten metal slug that had stopped beneath his ribs, tucked in behind his liver. At least that’s what Bones had said, after slicing open his uniform and quickly initiating emergency treatment.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bones said sternly, returning a spent hypospray to his open medical bag.

Jim hadn’t even felt the hypo being administered, but his thoughts felt less muddled now, and his vision was clearer. The pain, however, still radiated from his wounds, so whatever was in the hypo hadn’t been a painkiller.

“You must be running low on supplies,” Jim said. He tried to make it sound like a statement rather than an accusation. Bones was doing the best he could under trying circumstances.

Medical had been pressed thin during the short, intense battle. Bones had depleted most of his emergency medical supplies before Jim had been wounded on their retreat to the safety of the warehouse. Even if that hadn’t been the case, there was only so much that Bones could carry in his medical bag – much to the doctor’s eternal aggravation.

And it wasn’t as if Bones could perform surgery or give him a blood transfusion, even if the medical bag had held a synthetic unit or two. Jim’s touchy immune system required the autologous blood that Bones kept stored in Sickbay. Synthetic blood had almost killed him on a previous occasion, and Bones had learned through hard experience not to introduce anything new or foreign into Jim’s body without Sickbay’s resources close to hand.

“Let me worry about that,” Bones said, staring down at him, concern visible in his hazel eyes. “I’m the doctor; you’re the patient. All I want you to do is lie quietly and rest. We need to keep the bleeding controlled as much as possible. The more you move around, the more you stress the vascular stabilizers.”

Jim nodded. What could he say? There was nothing to do but wait quietly – unless the invaders managed to break down the doors. If that happened—

A sudden stab of pain flared from beneath his ribs, sliding into his stomach like a hot knife, scattering his dark thoughts. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth, to keep from groaning aloud.

Fuck.

He didn’t remember getting shot. The projectiles had pierced him during the height of the firefight. It wasn’t until Lt. Veci saw the blood spreading across the front of his uniform and shouted for medical that Jim realized he’d been hit. The pain, held at bay by the adrenaline rush, hadn’t come until a short time later, nearly incapacitating him as he was ordering his crew to get to the warehouse. It had been sheer will and determination that had kept him on his feet until they made it inside. The moment the doors of the warehouse were sealed shut, he’d collapsed.

He hadn’t moved since.

Finally, the pain receded enough for Jim to open his eyes. Bones was staring down intensely at him, his brow wrinkled in concern.

“I can’t give you anything for the pain yet, Jim,” Bones warned. “It’s too soon.”

“I can wait.” What other choice did he have? he thought, as he shivered. The floor of the warehouse felt increasingly cold, leeching the warmth from his broken body, the discomfort exacerbated by his blood loss.

“Ensign Ricci,” Bones called out.

“Yes, Doctor.”  The tall, dark-haired ensign abandoned her place against the wall and walked over to them.

“See if you can’t find something to cover the captain with in one of those storeroom crates. Blankets, or even a tarp.”

She nodded and quickly walked off toward the back of the warehouse, leaving Jim and Bones alone again.

After Jim’s initial collapse, he’d been surrounded by the Security team – all anxiously hovering, clearly anticipating the worst. He’d been able to issue a few, terse orders to secure the building before everything went dark.

When he returned to consciousness, however, it was just him and Bones in the center of the large room. He suspected that Bones had had something to do with dispersing the crew, since they seemed reluctant to even look his way. He could almost hear Bones’ gruff, biting voice in his head, chastising them.

“This isn’t a sideshow. Back to your posts.”

Due to Jim’s injuries, Bones had taken charge, and now was doing double duty, acting as both commanding officer and medical.

Only two medical team members had been in the landing party: Bones and Lieutenant Barzola. Barzola hadn’t made it into the warehouse. He’d died of a single shot to the head while helping a wounded civilian. His body still lay outside among the other dead and Jim knew Bones would feel compelled to try and retrieve his body before they returned to the Enterprise.

“We’ll bring him home,” Jim mumbled.

Bones looked at him and scowled.

Jim looked away, berating himself for allowing his thoughts to drift. He didn’t mean to speak aloud. It was becoming difficult to focus. One moment he had clarity and calm, the next his thoughts scattered like a flock of birds suddenly flushed from their cover.

He needed to stay sharp.

As if to remind him he wasn’t in any condition to issue orders, he shivered again.

Fuck, it was cold on the floor. He never thought he’d miss the feel of a biobed.

“Where’s that damn Vulcan?” Bones gritted. “He’s five minutes early for every goddamn meeting. Now he chooses to be fashionably late?”

Bones checked his chronometer, scowling at what he saw.

“He’s probably busy assessing the situation and formulating a plan,” Jim said, hating the gasping faintness of his voice. “And wondering why he can’t contact us.”

But in truth, he was wondering the same thing Bones was: where in the hell was Spock?

As Captain, he’d put protocols in place before beaming down. The panicked colonists’ last message had been short on intel, and he’d kept the extraction team as small as possible, until they could assess the situation on the ground. They’d beamed down into the middle of a firefight, the heavily armed invaders slaughtering anything that moved.

He’d barely had time to order Spock not to beam anyone else down until they could establish a more defensible position, promising to check in every thirty minutes. As they’d retreated to the warehouse, he’d given Spock five hours to come up with an alternate plan if the Away Team didn’t report in on time, ordering his First Officer to assume the worst.

But they’d passed the five-hour mark several hours ago.

Bones pulled out his communicator. “McCoy to Enterprise.”

Jim nearly smiled at Bones’ determined attempt to re-establish contact with the ship. They’d lost all communication with Enterprise the moment they’d sealed the doors of the warehouse. The Security guards had made repeated attempts before reporting that communications were somehow being compromised.

“Enterprise, come in,” Bones demanded.

Jim remained silent, knowing that the process of calling for help made the doctor feel less helpless. After several futile attempts, Bones finally shut the communicator with a frustrated snap and pocketed the comm, muttering, “useless device.”

“It’s not the communicator,” Jim offered. “I think it’s something in this warehouse’s structural components.”

Bones glared at him. “Great. We’re trapped here, without a way to communicate with the ship. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Before Jim could respond, Ricci suddenly appeared with a thin-looking blanket and some type of packing tarp in her arms. “I found these, sir.”

“Nice work,” Bones said, but he eyed them dubiously as he took them from her. Jim could practically hear Bones’ thoughts. They looked dusty and faded, and Jim just knew Bones was wondering what kind of bacteria they harbored.

“I shook them out,” she offered helpfully, “to get rid of some of the dust.”

“Thank you, Ensign,” Bones said, dismissing her with a nod.

For a moment, Bones hesitated. Then, in a decisive move, he carefully pulled the torn uniform top together, covering the open wounds before laying one of the blankets over him without inspecting it further – which told Jim how worried Bones was about his condition. Normally, Bones was fanatical about cleanliness when it came to patient care. Then again, Jim had been lying on a dirty warehouse floor for hours, so maybe cleanliness was no longer Bones’ primary motivation.

Jim clenched his teeth as the thin blanket settled over him, but he felt no pain, only a strange kind of relief. Though the material was rough and musty-smelling, it kept him from feeling exposed. Cold comfort, but he’d take it. Bones followed the blanket with the tarp, quickly layering it over him in a futile attempt to provide him with some warmth.

“Better?” Bones asked, tucking the blankets around Jim like a mother putting her child to bed.

“Yeah,” he responded, trying to sound appreciative and reassuring for his friend. “Feels good.”

Bones looked skeptical but said nothing. Instead, he retrieved his scanner, a device that never was far from his reach, and took another reading.

Whatever the scanner revealed, Bones didn’t look happy about it. Jim wasn’t going to ask if something else was wrong because he was already slowly bleeding out on the floor, and there wasn’t a damn thing Bones could do about that or another, new problem.

“Spock will be here soon,” Jim said, wanting to lighten Bones’ stress.

Bones looked at him, and their gazes locked. Bones looked calm, his professional demeanor unruffled. Jim had seen him use that face whenever Bones had to give someone bad news or inform them that their loved one had died in the line of duty. He could almost hear the words…

“I’m sorry. We tried to the best of our ability, but their injuries were too great to overcome.”

It was a look that mingled failure, grief, comfort, and acceptance.

And Bones was using it on him.

“He’ll be here, Bones. Spock’s smart – and stubborn. He won’t give up on us. He’ll figure something out.”

Bones gave him a sardonic look, apparently abandoning his dark thoughts. “Wonder who Spock learned that from?”

Jim smiled wanly. Pike had accused him of being a bad influence on Spock. The once by-the-book Vulcan had learned to embrace the idea of pushing the boundaries of Starfleet regulations whenever it made logical sense – which was never when Jim thought it made sense.

A sudden, hot flush washed through him, stealing his breath.

Did bucking the regs make sense in the current situation? Was consulting with the higher ups the reason why Spock was delayed?

“Sir?”

Lt. Filia’s face floated into view above Jim. The tall, muscular security guard leaned carefully over Jim’s supine body, deliberately turning his back on the colonists. The older man had two decades of space experience, including numerous combat engagements that had earned him several citations and medals. He’d specifically requested an assignment on the Enterprise. Jim had been impressed with his critical thinking skills, his ability to resolve issues quickly, and his high level of emotional intelligence. No matter the situation, Filia maintained his calm demeanor.

And yet, despite all that, he looked anxious as he stared down at Jim.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but the civilians are getting restless. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep them pacified before they do something rash.”

Jim turned his head to get a better view of the civilians huddling in the corner. They were standing now, fear and anxiety driving them to their feet, but they had nowhere to go. He didn’t need the guards distracted by the small group, but he knew enough about human behavior to know that fear was pervasive, making otherwise reasonable people do irrational things.

And it certainly didn’t help that the man who had come to save them was lying on the floor, slowly dying.

He looked up at Bones. “Talk to them, Bones. They look ready to try and run out the door, which would be a big mistake.”

“I’m a doctor, not a babysitter, Jim. You’re my priority right now. Believe me,” Bones said grumbling, “having you as a patient is a full-time job.”

“You’ll have more if they get themselves injured trying to leave.”

Bones scowled. Jim could see the man’s internal struggle. As a medical officer, Bones was charged with the well-being of the civilians, as well as the care of his wounded captain. With Jim’s authority as captain of the Enterprise compromised, Bones had a lot on his shoulders.

But Bones also knew what would happen if the civilians panicked.

“What the hell am I supposed to say?”

“You’ll think of something.”

Bones’ scowl deepened. For a moment, Jim thought Bones would refuse. But just as Jim was about to make it an order – one he could hardly enforce – Bones stood.

“Ricci,” Bones called. “Front and center.”

In an instant, Ricci appeared. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Stay with the captain. I won’t be gone long.”

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest – then closed it. Ensign Ricci was experienced, bright, level-headed, and, as Jim had told Bones, “an absolute kick-ass at hand-to-hand.” He’d been smart to put her in the first wave of the landing party. She’d fought like a lion, single-handedly saving a number of the civilians and ushering them to the safety of the warehouse with steely resolve, fearless and unrelenting in the face of heavy fire.

But now, given charge of Jim, she looked petrified.

“Watch him. Keep him covered,” Bones instructed. “Don’t let him move around.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, taking Bones’ place on the floor next to Jim.

Bones gave Jim a last, lingering look before reluctantly moving toward the knot of colonists.

They watched him approach with alarmed expressions. Bones’ hands came out in a gesture of calm, the way Jim’s grandfather’s hands had used to do when he was trying to calm a frightened animal. Jim wasn’t sure how calming Bones’ appearance was, though, considering the heavy bloodstains on his blue uniform tunic.

Leaving Bones to handle the civilians, Jim turned his head to assess the guards at the sealed doors of the entrance. Phasers in hand, they appeared alert and on guard, their tension visible as they awaited another attack. Which begged the question uppermost in Jim’s mind: Why in the hell weren’t the alien invaders trying to rush the doors? They had advanced weaponry, leveling building after building without hesitation, as they methodically reduced the compound to rubble.

And yet the warehouse hadn’t been fired upon. What was so special about this building?

He looked at Ricci. “Did you thoroughly scan this warehouse, Ensign?”

“Yes, sir. We’re alone in here.”

He could feel his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. “I don’t mean for concealed life signs.” He took a few breaths before speaking again. “What material is this structure made of?”

“I didn’t scan its composition, sir, when I scanned for life signs and schematics. Although it’s old and dusty, it’s well-built and the structure is solid. Inside, it’s divided into three rooms. This larger one, and two in the back that contain supplies. Other than the front doors where we entered, there are no other existing exits. The building appears to be a standard, warehouse-type infrastructure, suitable for long-term storage and for housing the generator and pump systems for the colony.”

Which were providing fresh air and water, along with lighting – a blessing given the lack of windows.

Jim looked closely at the stone walls. The gray surfaces appeared poured, resembling a finely-mixed concrete aggregate rather than naturally occurring stone. The walls had no seams, however, unlike the other buildings in the compound that had been made of standard Federation construction-grade composite.

Had the colonists built this warehouse, or had it been here when they arrived?

Sharp talons dug into his side, the pain scattering his thoughts once more, and forcing a hiss from his lips. Ricci’s gaze sharpened on him, and he forced himself to downplay his reaction, not wanting to alarm her. But the gnawing fire within him grew, demanding his attention.

Jim closed his eyes and took slow, shallow breaths, letting the pain wash through him rather than fighting it. It was an old trick; one he’d learned as a kid. But his heart was racing so fast that it made slowing his breathing almost impossible. His body seemed starved for oxygen, and he struggled to control the need to gasp for air.

His body went rigid beneath another, stronger spasm of pain.

“Sir?” Ricci asked.

He could hear the fear in her voice. Her hand settled hesitantly on his shoulder, tentatively offering comfort.

Jim forced his eyes open and tried to focus on her, but his vision was blurry and all he could see was the red of her uniform tunic and a black crown of hair over a pale, featureless face. “I’m … okay, Ensign. Just give me... a minute... to catch my... breath.”

Her head turned in the direction Bones had taken.

“Don’t call him,” Jim ordered, his voice weak and breathless but with enough command in it to cause her to settle back down onto the floor with an obedient, “Yes, sir.”

A soft chiming began, loud in the silence.

The fucking medical bracelet was ratting him out again.

It took only a few seconds for Bones race over. Ricci sprang up, quickly relinquishing her spot to Bones.

“What happened?” he demanded, grabbing his scanner and pointing it at Jim.

“I don’t know, but he hasn’t moved, Doctor,” Ricci said.

Bones reached for a loaded hypo and pressed it to Jim’s neck. Even consumed by pain, he felt the medication enter his bloodstream in a hot, stinging rush. Jim winced, but the sense of oxygen deprivation immediately eased. His vision cleared a moment later.

Another hypo followed, so quickly that he didn’t have time to react. He was just catching his breath when he realized the pain was lessening. For the first time in hours the piercing agony that radiated from his middle had dulled. Enough so he could concentrate.

“Better?” Bones said. Worry lines marred his forehead.

Jim nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bones studied the scanner for a moment longer before setting it aside. “I’m going to take a look at the vascular stabilizers.”

Bones carefully turned the blanket back and separated the severed sides of his tunic to examine his injuries.

Jim couldn’t see his wounds from his current position. He’d tried when he’d first collapsed – a kind of morbid fascination to see how badly he was injured with his own eyes – but Bones had ordered Security to pin him to the floor, growling at Jim not to move, as his deft hands swiftly moved to treat the damage.

Not that Jim had really needed to see the bloody punctures in his torso. He knew what projectile wounds looked like. They were deceptively benign – a circular-shaped, entry hole in the flesh – sometimes barely bleeding – with a much larger, ragged exit wound leaking copious amounts of blood.

“It’s not only the bleeding and tissue disruption you need to worry about,” Bones had lectured in one of the Medical Field Training seminars he’d created for the Enterprise bridge crew. “It’s what’s happening internally. Depending on the velocity and trajectory, there could be organ damage, internal vascular hemorrhaging, muscle lacerations, and bone fragments that cause further damage. A patient can quickly bleed to death and not have excessive, visible bleeding.” He pinned the ‘students’ with his intimidating stare. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. Treat any projectile injuries as life-threatening, and call for immediate medical evacuation.”

Based on the amount of blood on Jim’s uniform and the warehouse floor beneath him, he suspected that hidden injuries were just one of his problems. Exsanguination seemed to be his most pressing concern.

Bones’ fingers felt warm against his chilled skin. His examination was brief, but thorough. Before Jim realized it, Bones was retrieving his PADD and tapping furiously on the screen.

“I’m going to adjust the pressure on the stabilizers. You’ll feel a slight vibration, but it shouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jim assured him, knowing he’d be unable to distinguish between the throbbing waves of pain in his torso and the annoying vibrations of the dozen or so vascular stabilizers that were adhered to his flesh like a mass of hungry tics.

“Just focus on breathing,” Bones said. His gaze flicked between Jim and the medical PADD. Bones’ lips tightened briefly, then his expression became unreadable.

Jim’s heart skipped a beat.

Another bad sign.

He was deteriorating and Bones had gone into full medical mode.

And not without cause. His pulse was skittering like he’d sprinted the length of Engineering, as it tried to compensate for the growing blood loss. He had been bleeding for too long, and things had gotten progressively worse as the pool of blood beneath him grew.

Jim was beginning to think he wasn’t as stable as Bones had led him to believe.

Bones’ expression softened. As if he’d read Jim’s thoughts, he said, “You’re going to be all right, Jim. The medication will help, and the stabilizers are doing their job. In another minute, your breathing and heartrate should improve, and you’ll feel better.”

Bones’ reassuring voice hid a truth Jim wasn’t ready to face, and he refused to meet Bones’ gaze. It was safer to stare at the ceiling and focus on breathing.

Long moments later, Jim finally felt the promised relief kick in. His breathing eased and steadied, and his pulse slowed, just as Bones had predicted. He stared up at the ceiling as Bones carefully pulled the sides of his gold uniform back together to cover the wounds.

Once his blankets were safely back in place, he turned his gaze to the colonists. They were still huddled together like a group of frightened school children, but the adults now looked angry rather than afraid. Interestingly, a few wore expressions of regret.

“How are they?” Jim asked.

“About what you’d expect from people who just witnessed their friends and family being slaughtered. Stunned, but grateful to have survived the carnage.” Bones looked over his shoulder at the small group, as if to confirm his assessment. “They’re handling the situation pretty well, all things considered.”

But Jim wasn’t so sure. He’d seen those expressions on survivors’ faces before. The shock of the day was wearing off and the reality of their chances of surviving long-term were setting in. The warehouse may have saved their lives for now, but it wasn’t going to be their salvation. He could see the conflicting emotions on their faces, as they vacillated from relief to anger, and back again. Survivor’s guilt was beginning to stir.

If the colonists made it out of this mess alive – and that possibility was looking increasingly dim – they would have to reconcile the fact of their survival with the knowledge that friends and family had died while they were lucky to escape. Ultimately, they would look for the answer to the universal question that plagued every survivor: Why me?

Bones turned away from them, his attention on his medical PADD. “They’re fine for the moment, Jim. They’re not going anywhere.”

And neither, it seemed, was Jim.

“Who’s the leader among them now?” Jim asked. Most of the colony’s governing board had died before the Enterprise had arrived.

Bones looked surprised by the question. He turned to consider the group again, briefly making an assessment. “If I had to pick one, I’d say Bri Voltec tops the list. He had the most opinions to voice about our situation. Most of them negative.”

Grousing was hardly a leadership quality. But Bones was a good judge of character and Jim trusted his judgement.

“I want to talk to him,” Jim said.

Bones’ gaze shifted from the scanner to him. “Jim...”

“Now, Bones.”

Bones hesitated only for a moment before nodding. He motioned to Ensign Ricci, who had remained near them. “Ricci, get Mr. Voltec over here. He’s the man in the blue striped shirt.”

Ricci nodded and moved quickly to obey. Bones’ scowl deepened as they waited. He was clearly not happy with Jim’s decision, but Jim refused to lie on the floor, quietly bleeding out, while the invaders planned their next move.

They weren’t in the familiar confines of Sickbay where Bones could control who came and went. He couldn’t isolate Jim from infection, take him to the OR, or manage the information flow regarding Jim’s condition. On the ship, in medical matters, Bones was in charge. But here, despite his injuries, Jim knew he had to act like he was still fully in command.

First and foremost, he needed to gather information while he still could.

Ricci soon returned with a broad-shouldered man who appeared to be in his late fifties with a shock of light brown hair that stood out in every direction. Dirt and bruises smudged his hard-edged face, but he walked with authority and purpose. As he closed the distance between them though, the man’s confidence evaporated, his expression becoming uncertain.

Tucked under the dirty, make-shift blankets, Jim knew he probably looked less than his best, but the situation left him little choice.

Voltec halted a few feet from Jim. The man’s light-colored gaze passed over Jim’s form several times before settling on Jim’s face. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

He didn’t waste his time – or breath – on useless reassurances or social niceties. “Why is this building empty?” Jim asked, getting right to business.

The man frowned and looked around as if to confirm the accuracy of Jim’s question. “It was used for storage during our early days here, but we constructed buildings better suited to our purposes for long-term storage.”

“It doesn’t look Federation-made.”

Voltec’s gaze returned to Jim, and he could see immediately that the man was hiding something. “Some of it is. The main structure was here when the first settlers arrived. It was clearly abandoned, but it provided better protection from the elements than the tents they had arrived with. I was told they lived in here, while they built the first of the housing.”

Jim frowned. “The main structure?”

Voltec shifted his feet and ran a hand through his hair. “Sometime later, after moving into the new residences, the colonists subdivided the interior so that it wasn’t just one big room. They used the smaller areas to house infrastructure and supplies that needed climate control, and the remainder for bulk storage purposes.” He spoke rapidly. “It was a good use for the space. The walls were thick and muted the noise of the pumps. Plus, they were solid. It always seemed like too much trouble to try and tear them down. Or so I was told.”

“You weren’t here then?”

“No,” the man said impatiently. “I arrived later. Why all these questions, Captain?”

Jim ignored his question. “Why did the founders abandon it? Why build additional storage buildings when this one already existed?”

“How should I know,” the man snapped back. “I’m not a member of the Council. They make—made those decisions.”

He was lying. Jim could see it in his eyes. But why lie about something as innocuous as a building? Unless there was a more, unsettling truth underlying his explanations.

“When was the last time anyone used it for more than supply storage and infrastructure?” Jim asked.

Voltec let out a frustrated breath. “About ten years ago. There was an epidemic of Larnian Fever. The hospital soon ran out of isolation rooms, so this building was used to isolate the overflow of infected.”

Bones scowled as he glanced around at the dirty surroundings. “It was used as medical facility? In this condition?”

“More or less. The authorities claimed they didn’t have a choice.” He put a hand to the back of his neck and looked around as if searching for an exit. “Now it’s going to be our tomb.”

“It’s not going to be our tomb,” Jim rebutted firmly.

Voltec scoffed and pinned him with a penetrating gaze. “There’s only one way out of this building, Captain, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Then why all these questions?” Voltec bit out. “Shouldn’t you be trying to stop these invaders? Where are your ship and crew? I thought Starfleet had enough firepower and clout to handle a crisis like this.”

“Now wait a minute,” Bones began, rising to his feet.

“You haven’t done anything,” Voltec said, directing his anger at Bones. “Our families have been mowed down, probably dead or dying right now, and we’re sitting in here cowering like children while these creatures take over our whole damn planet.” He looked down at Jim. His face was flushed red with fury, and his hands were curled into tight fists. “All you’ve done is ask a bunch of irrelevant questions and waste everyone’s time. I want to know what you’re going to do to stop these animals from killing us, too, Captain. Why aren’t you ordering your men to attack?”

Bones had taken a step toward the man, putting himself between Voltec and Jim. “Calm down, Mr. Voltec. Trust me, getting angry won’t improve our situation. Go back and sit down with the others.”

Voltec ignored Bones. Jim could see rage – unyielding and unreasonable – boiling within the man. The kind of rage a person feels when they realize they are powerless. Or cornered.

“I’m not going anywhere until I have some answers! We’ve been waiting here for hours, doing nothing while they plunder and kill. If Captain Kirk can’t make decisions, then I say we vote someone else in charge. One of the guards.”

“This isn’t a democracy, Mr. Voltec,” Bones said firmly. “Starfleet is in charge of the situation. We need to stay here, inside the warehouse, like Captain Kirk has ordered, until the Enterprise makes contact with us.”

“How do we know that the ship hasn’t been destroyed? We could be stuck here for days. Maybe that’s their plan; to starve us out until we die.”

Jim could see that Voltec was warming up to do verbal battle, emboldened by Jim’s failing condition. He was a shark who smelled blood in the water. Jim had known men like him all his life, so he knew that Voltec himself wasn’t going to take any risks. The man was looking for someone else to do the dangerous, dirty work.

“And what do you propose we do?” Bones asked. “Charge out the door in a futile attempt to defeat hundreds of aliens? That would be suicidal. There are only four phasers between all of us, Mr. Voltec. That’s not going to get us very far. We’re safe where we are for the time being,” Bones said decisively, “so I suggest you get your emotions under control and exercise some patience.”

“You just don’t want to move because of him,” Voltec said, pointing at Jim. “You think we don’t know how badly he’s injured? He’s in no shape to make a run for it. What’s your plan, Doctor McCoy? Do you have one? Or are you going to make us die in here with him?”

The shark was circling.

Bones knew it too. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. He pinned Voltec with an icy stare. “Captain Kirk is not dying. He was injured saving your ass, Voltec. And we’re not going anywhere until Enterprise, or Captain Kirk, says so.”

“Or what? In case you can’t count, we outnumber you.”

“And we outarm you—”

“Enough!” Jim put as much command into the single word as he could muster. The pain meds Bones had given him dulled the throbbing in his side, but he still felt a warning stab of pain at his effort. Arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere. He knew Voltec’s plan: divide and conquer. The man had probably used it effectively in the past.

But Voltec hadn’t counted on Bones’ stubbornness.

Gritting his teeth, Jim mustered his waning strength to lever up onto an elbow. He ignored Bones’ frown, and focused on Voltec as he spoke. “Nobody’s leaving this building, Mr. Voltec until I know it’s safe. I may be dying, but I’m not dead yet. This is still a Starfleet mission and I’m still in command.”

Voltec hesitated indecisively for a moment, his posture stiff. His hands were still curled into fists, but his body was unnaturally still as he reassessed the situation.

Was he going to stand his ground or surrender? Voltec looked over at the other civilians. A number of them stared back at him, alarmed by the heated exchange. The majority of them were still sitting close together, gathering what little comfort they could from each other’s presence, and Jim realized that they wanted nothing to do with Voltec’s fight.

Voltec seemed to reach the same conclusion, suddenly abandoning his aggressive stance. His shoulders slumped and his fists unclenched. He didn’t look at Jim as he nodded. “Very well, Captain. I yield to your expertise.”

Jim’s exertions had caused his pain to flare and, as a result, his heart was hammering away in his chest again. Jim held himself in place, refusing to allow any signs of his distress to show. He tried to slow his breathing, repressing the need to gasp for air.

Once he had his breathing under better control, he said, “We’re going to get out of here, Mr. Voltec. You don’t hear any more artillery strikes, do you?”

Voltec turned toward the door, as if hearing the silence on the other side of the doors for the first time.

“We’re not the only ones waiting,” Jim said. “They aren’t firing on this building and that gives us the advantage.” His side started to throb more strongly, and his arm began to shake under the strain of remaining semi-upright. “Enterprise will make her move when it’s the right time, and not before. We need to stay calm and stick together. Everything is under control for the moment. Now, I’m asking you to return to the others and let them know we haven’t given up.”

Jim was relieved when Voltec nodded again. He waited until the man quietly walked away, returning to the group who watched him with wary expressions.

The moment Voltec turned his back on him, the strength in Jim’s arm evaporated. He collapsed, his shoulders and head hitting the floor with a thud, but he barely felt it. His heart was racing, and the gnawing pain in his side grew stronger.

Bones was at his side instantly, cursing under his breath as he quickly settled a hand over Jim’s chest as if to hold him in place. “I told you not to move.”

Jim grunted, without the breath or the strength to argue. He closed his eyes and felt Bones press warm fingers to the side of his neck. There was something comforting in the familiar and intimate touch that Jim found reassuring – a silent message that Bones was near and taking care of him.

“Ricci,” Bones called. “Voltec said this building was used as a medical facility in the past. I need you to look through the shelves in the storage areas and see if you can find any medical supplies they might have left behind.”

“What specifically am I looking for, sir?”

“Anything with a medical insignia on it. IV solutions, medications, oxygen enhancers.... I could use them all.” Bones sighed heavily. “Bring me anything you find.”

“Yes, sir.”

 The biting pain clawed at his side again, then began chewing its way deep inside. He moved his hand, intending to press it against his side, but a stronger hand pressed down on his through the blankets, holding it firmly in place next to his hip. Startled, Jim opened his eyes.

Bones was watching him, his concern readily apparent.

“I don’t want you to disrupt the stabilizers,” Bones clarified. He lifted his hand reluctantly. “The pain will subside if you keep still.”

Jim doubted that. He was dimly aware of the tremors racking his body, his strength completely depleted.

Bones gently pressed a hypo to his neck and his feeling of oxygen-starvation eased, clearing his thoughts. Was he bleeding again? He couldn’t feel the hard concrete beneath him anymore, much less the wet trickle of blood from his wounds. Pain, hot and sharp, radiated outward from deep within his side. The agony consumed all other sensations until it became his total reality, causing his thoughts to skitter and bounce like a stone skipping across water.

Everyone in the warehouse was counting on him to find an answer, a way out of their dilemma, to save what was left of their colony. To do what he did best – the impossible.

Beating the odds and finding a way to win – wasn’t that what he was known for?

Maybe that had been what they were thinking as they stared at him.

But what were they thinking now?

He’s in no shape to make a run for it.

However unwelcome, Voltec’s words, spoken in anger, had held a ring of truth.

Bones pressed another hypo to the side of his neck, startling him. Jim’s heart rate steadied, slowing to a less frantic pace. For several, long minutes, Jim just breathed and watched his friend.

His vision wasn’t totally clear, but he could see enough to recognize the carefully concealed, frustrated despair on Bones’ face.

It was the same expression Bones had been wearing when they met on the shuttle to the Academy. Jim had always wondered if Bones’ sense of angry despair had been caused by the shuttle ride or its destination. Knowing Bones as well as he did now, he knew it had probably been both.

“It’s not looking so good,” he said faintly. He meant the his failing health and the grim situation.

Bones grimaced. “Could be better,” he conceded, “but it’s not looking so bad either, considering.” Bones pressed a hand to the side of his face. “The invaders aren’t attacking and you’re stable.”

Stable? Jim wanted to laugh but didn’t have the energy. I’m circling the drain.

It was a phrase he’d heard years ago sitting in the waiting room of a backwater clinic with shitty doctors while he waited to be treated. The nurse had been updating her relief about the patient in the clinic’s only trauma room, a guy who’d been nearly cut in two after falling into a hydro-combine.

Jim had never heard Bones use those words. Not about a patient at Starfleet General or in Enterprise’s Sickbay. At least, not in the years Jim had known him.

Not about him, either. No matter how sick he was, how bad his injuries were, Bones was determined to put him back together. The man refused to give Death an easy victory.

Still, the saying had merit. When the shoe fit...

“You’re getting out of here Jim, and you’re going to be fine,” Bones said with a confidence Jim doubted Bones genuinely felt. “Fuck Voltec. I know you. He has no idea what you’re capable of doing when you put your mind to it.”

Jim smiled at that because Bones could be so bad ass when he was pissed. His humor soon faded, though. He hurt. The cold floor was steadily leeching what little warmth he still retained from his body. Spasms of recurring shivers racked his body. How much of his blood was on the floor? And where in the hell was Spock? The cavalry could arrive anytime, as far as he was concerned...

“Spock’s coming, Jim,” Bones said, seeming to read his mind. “You just need to hang in there a little longer. You know just as well as I do that the green hobgoblin has to cross all his i’s and dot all his t’s, before he proceeds with a plan.”

Jim didn’t realize he had been speaking his thoughts aloud until Bones responded. His heart sank.

He hated his sudden loss of control. His vision was blurry, and he was having trouble focusing on Bones’ face without it blurring and wavering like a mirage. Shadows hovered at the edges of his vision. He felt untethered, like he could float away from his body.

Even the constant pain couldn’t sustain his awareness. His heart hammered frantically, but the sensation felt far away, like the blood that had now pooled, cold and sticky, beneath him.

He’d never imagined that he would die like this. No, bleeding out, on a backwater planet, medical aid unavailable, hadn’t been in his top ten ways to go.

He’d been sure he’d die in the captain’s chair, like his father. History, they said, repeated itself. He’d been sure that meant he was destined to go down with his ship.

“Hey,” Bones said, gripping Jim’s chin like he did when Jim wasn’t listening, and Bones wanted to be sure he had Jim’s full attention. “Listen to me. You’re not dying. Spock’s coming. He’ll figure this out. You just have to hang on. You hear me?”

The shadows grew, closing in on Bones’ face. He wanted to reach up and touch Bones, put a reassuring hand on the back of his neck and tell him he was being overly dramatic.

That Bones had done everything he could with limited resources.

That he didn’t want Bones to feel guilty when... when...

But Jim couldn’t make his hand obey.

“Goddamn it,” Bones cursed.

He could smell Bones – sweat and sandalwood, and that faint hint of antiseptic that always seemed to cling to his friend, even though he could no longer see his face.

“Don’t piss me off, Jim. You’re not leaving me behind in this hell hole.”

A faint smile curved Jim’s lips. Leonard Horatio McCoy? An absolute bad ass.

The cold vanished as darkness consumed him. He was being inexorably pulled away… Bones’ frantic voice now just a distant echo.

I’m going to miss you, Bones…

*        *        *

Awareness, elusive and unexpected, seeped back to him. One moment there had been nothing; the next, he heard a distant, familiar beeping. Sound and sensation were muted, as if he were beneath a thick, muffling blanket, suspended in a hazy, surreal state.

Was he dead?

He couldn’t feel his body. The pain, the coldness, the bone-weary exhaustion that had merged into a heavy, deep, pervasive ache was gone. The effort of breathing seemed distant, somehow filtered and detached, as if all of this were happening outside of reality.

Images and sensations floated up from the murky depths of his thoughts. Despite Bones’ best efforts, he’d been dying as his blood continued to slowly leak onto the cold cement floor.

“Don’t piss me off, Jim.”

Bones’ voice had sounded desperate as the last of Jim’s strength had faded. He’d gone down with a single, despairing thought.

He’d failed.

“Jim.” The familiar voice floated unmoored in a sea of memories.

Bones?

Somehow, he managed to open his eyes, a little surprised his body cooperated, and immediately recognized his surroundings. Bones must have him on the good drugs. His mouth was dry, and he didn’t feel connected to anything. He couldn’t seem to clearly focus, either. Lights and shadows danced in a blurry, twisting fashion, making him dizzy.

“Take it easy, Jim. You’re safe. You’re in Sickbay.”

He’d already figured that part out.

“Not dead,” he managed to croak out. His mouth was spitting cotton, and his lips wanted to stick together when he spoke. Jim ran a tongue over them, trying to moisten their cracked dryness, but his mouth was parched, rendering his tongue ineffective.

“You tried your goddamn best,” Bones grumbled. “It was touch and go by the time I got you into the OR.”

His lids felt heavy and the bright lights of Sickbay hurt his eyes, so he let them drift shut.

Thirsty. He was so thirsty. He’d kill for a—

“Here,” Bones said, and something cool and hard pressed against his lips, dripped refreshing liquid into his mouth. He sucked greedily at the gravity straw, letting the cool liquid soothe his dry throat.

“Easy. Don’t gulp it down or it’s likely to come back up, given your history with general anesthetic.”

Jim felt Bones shift, and the straw withdrew. Annoyed, Jim opened his eyes, ready to demand more to drink.

This time, the lights seemed less bright. He could clearly see the white ceiling, etched with the familiar Starfleet logo an enthusiastic engineer had emblazoned over each biobed in Sickbay when Enterprise was built. But no Bones. Jim tried to turn his head and look around, but the effort seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

“Where are you, Bones?”

“Right here, Jim.” His CMO’s clean-shaven face appeared as he stepped closer to the biobed. Bones’ blue Science uniform tunic was spotless. Since the last time he’d been conscious, Bones had showered, washing away the blood and dirt acquired during the conflict on the planet. He didn’t look rested, though, despite his well-groomed appearance.

“How long have—”

“Four days,” Bones interrupted, apparently anticipating the question. “Give or take a few hours. You took your sweet time coming around.”

Four days?

Jim took an internal inventory. He could breathe easily. The gnawing, persistent pain that had constantly radiated throughout his abdomen was gone. He no longer felt chilled to the bone. All of those ominous symptoms had vanished, replaced with a profound sense of fatigue.

“Feel up to having your head elevated?” Bones asked. “We’ve kept you flat because your blood-pressure has been slow to return to normal.”

Jim nodded cautiously.

A moment later, the head of the bed slowly rose. For a moment, the room tipped dizzily at the change in elevation, forcing him to close his eyes. Bones put a comforting hand on his arm as Jim waited for the spinning to stop. When it subsided, and he no longer felt like he was going to vomit, he opened his eyes and looked around.

He wasn’t in the main sickbay, which explained the unusual quiet. He was in one of the small, private medical rooms near Bones’ office. Although the lights had seemed overly bright when he first awakened, he was just now realizing that, in reality, the lights had been dimmed, the medical equipment muffled, to allow for optimal rest.

“What time is it?”

Bones looked up at the overhead display. “Zero-two-hundred-eighteen.”

Middle of the night. He looked around the room again, as if it might provide some answers to the questions that were now surfacing in his mind: how did they get off the planet? Were the surviving civilians and his men all right? What had happened to the invaders? Was there a truce in effect or were they still at war?

He was aware that Bones was watching him closely, his gaze unreadable. Bones did that sometimes, studying him as if he were part of some wild science experiment, particularly when Jim was a guest on one of Sickbay’s biobeds. This time though, Bones, who was normally never short of words – no one could deliver a rant like Bones – was unusually quiet.

So, Bones was still pissed about being stranded, incommunicado, on a hostile planet.

“Private room,” Jim noted, cautiously. He knew his condition must have been dire since Bones only used the small, private rooms for critical patients who required constant care.

“I’m thinking of naming it after you,” Bones said. “You’re in it often enough.”

“Sorry.”

“I doubt that.” Bones reached above him and made an adjustment to the monitor, or some other piece of equipment Jim couldn’t see, out of sight behind him.

“You’re still pissed,” Jim acknowledged, futilely trying to wet his lips. “And you’ve got good reason to be angry, Bones. The situation down there was—"

“I’m not talking to you about that now. I want you good and lucid to hear what I have to say.”

Really pissed.

“You’ve been knocking on Death’s door for four days. Hell, Jim you had one foot over the threshold. I only got you stabilized yesterday. I’ll save you all the boring details, but your stocked blood supply is gone. Finito. Used up.”

Which was eight units, if he remembered correctly. Which he did, because he had a photographic memory.

“Oh,” he said.

Bones scowled. “Yeah. Oh. So, guess what you’ll be doing for the interminable future once you’re cleared for duty.”

Bones was obsessive about keeping a supply of Jim’s blood on hand. He had to endure a monthly lecture on the subject and report every six weeks to Sickbay to donate a unit of blood. The chore was a major pain in his ass, but Bones was adamant, and Jim was smart enough not to object.

Exhausting his stocked blood was a daunting indication of how bad things must have been by the end, but Jim didn’t feel up to thinking about the bleak implications. He was exhausted and his head was beginning to hurt, and there were a few questions that he desperately wanted answers to, before he fell asleep again.

“How are the crew?” he asked. “They make it out okay?”

Bones nodded. “Everyone in the building was safely evacuated. The civilians, too.”

Relief made him lightheaded.

“How’d that happen?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil Spock’s big reveal. I already notified him you’re awake. He should be here any time now.”

“It’s zero two hundred, Bones. It could have waited until morning,” he said quietly. His head was beginning to pound in earnest now.

Bones snorted.  “You think Spock sleeps when you’re in here? I know for a fact that he’s been making do with meditation since this whole debacle started. If I know that Vulcan – and I do – he’ll stroll in wearing a creaseless uniform and looking like we just called him off the bridge mid-shift instead of his quarters.”

“Give me the prelim. How’d Spock get us off the planet?”

Bones reached for a small cup on one of the nearby tables. “I want you to drink some more water before I answer.” He eyed Jim narrowly. “Still thirsty?”

“Yeah.”

“Four days in a medically induced coma will do that to you, moron.”

Insults meant some of Bones’ anger was easing.

At least, temporarily.

“Small sips. No gulping,” Bones reminded him, guiding the straw to his lips. “I want it to stay down.”

Jim obeyed, pulling at the straw until exhaustion took its toll. “That’s enough for now,” he panted.

Bones set the cup aside, and glanced up at the monitor before turning his attention back to Jim. “Spock created a distraction. It worked. Turns out, the Federation wasn’t the first to colonize the planet. The Eriqoua – that’s what the invaders call themselves – took the bait. They abandoned the immediate area around the building long enough for Spock to get an extraction team in and pull us out.” He tapped the monitor, and Jim felt the cool draft of oxygen brush his face. “That should help your shortness of breath. Anyway,” he continued, “as soon as the Eriquoa left, Spock initiated the rescue effort. And not a minute too soon.” Bones’ gaze was intense. “You went into cardiac arrest. Twice. Once in the transporter room and again on the OR table.”

Jim shivered. Bones’ tone was mild, but his anger was nearly visible. Bones hated feeling helpless. Watching Jim slowly bleed out, with the resources Bones needed and depended on out of reach, would have been its own kind of hell. Small wonder Bones was still livid.

Before Jim could attempt to soothe his friend’s outrage, the door to the room opened and Spock walked in. As Bones had predicted, Spock was immaculately dressed and alert.

“Captain,” Spock greeted as he entered the room. His dark eyes assessed Jim carefully.

Whenever Spock evaluated him that way, he couldn’t help but feel like that third-year cadet who had been called out in front of his peers by the disciplinary board for cheating. Not that he was carrying a grudge over the experience. He liked Spock. Admired his intelligence and attention to detail, his unwavering commitment to Starfleet ideals. It was why he’d asked for Spock as his First Officer.

Despite his best efforts though, he hadn’t been able to penetrate Spock’s protective wall. Jim wondered if Uhura could be persuaded to give him some advice. He couldn’t even get the Vulcan to play a game of chess.

Jim braced himself for the lecture on how poorly the initial rescue attempt had gone, how reckless his decisions had been, but Spock’s gaze held none of his usual aloof disapproval. Instead, he seemed... softer. His dark gaze was concerned, but nonjudgemental.

 “I am relieved to see you are recovering, Captain,” Spock said. “You are looking much improved.”

“Considering he was as good as dead when we got him back on board that’s not saying much, Spock,” Bones said tartly.

Spock’s gaze flicked briefly to Bones before returning to him.

“Bones said you created a diversion,” Jim prompted, his voice husky.

“Indeed, Captain. It seemed the option most likely to succeed, given that the invaders were highly reluctant to leave the area voluntarily, and we needed to free you and the remaining crew and civilians.”

“It was a good plan, Spock. Thanks for saving our tails.”

 “You are welcome, Captain. At the time, it seemed the most logical approach to avoid further casualties.”

Jim frowned. “And did we?”

“Yes, Captain. Other than the considerable loss of lives during the initial assault by the Eriqoua, we sustained no further casualties or hostile responses.”

“How’d you manage that, Spock?”

“Diplomacy, Captain. As you well know, with enough effort and patience, most situations are amenable to diplomatic overtures.”

He had known, intimately, a few that weren’t.

“So, they just...what? Apologized for killing everyone?”

Spock’s eyebrow twitched. “Nothing so dramatic, Captain. We managed to establish a temporary truce. They have agreed to allow us to remove our dead. The Arlington arrived yesterday to assist in the effort.”

“Bet April loves that.”

Captain Robert April was thirty years Jim’s senior, a career Starfleet officer, and a reputed adrenaline junky. April spent most of his time patrolling the Neutral Zone and firing warning shots across the bows of the smugglers he encountered on a regular basis. Being pulled away to act on a Mortuary Affairs assignment had to have seemed like an undeserved punishment.

“He did seem somewhat... terse when accepting his orders.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Bones chimed in. Sarcasm coated his words, but sorrow clouded his gaze. “Grave duty is no one’s first choice.”

“How many casualties were there?” Jim asked.

“Two thousand and fifty-two, many of whom died before the Enterprise reached orbit.”

Spock was giving him a graceful out. But that casualty toll was over ninety percent of the population – men, women, and children, old and young, buried under rubble or cut down by the Eriqoua’s weapons. As Starfleet’s representative, he’d been responsible for their safety.

“Cold comfort, Spock. Especially to the survivors.”

“As you know, Captain, Enterprise responded as quickly as possible and in accordance with Starfleet regulations. You wasted no time in transporting down to the planet once we reached our destination. Your decisions and actions are without fault. The situation was already far gone when you attempted to intervene. Taking shelter in the structure as you did saved not only the lives of the remaining landing party members and survivors, but most likely aided in the outcome of the dispute.”

He absorbed what Spock said. His thoughts circled back to a comment Bones had made. “The Eriqoua believe this is their planet.”

“Yes. The Eriqoua have inhabited this planet for over a millennium. According to them, a viral outbreak decimated their population over a hundred years ago. They were forced to leave temporarily to ensure the survival of their species. An extreme effort, but one that proved ultimately successful.”

“And now they have returned.”

Spock nodded. “A small reconnaissance team. They were surprised and dismayed to find that another species had invaded their planet in their absence. They viewed the interlopers as hostiles.”

“So, they fired first and asked questions later. Not very friendly.”

“Not exactly, Captain. The Eriqoua were quick to make contact with the Council to explain the true history of the planet and their ownership, but the Council refused to listen. The colonists did not want to relocate.” Spock’s posture became even straighter. “When the Eriqoua informed the Council that the colonists were desecrating one of their holy sites, the Council ignored the information. Instead, they informed the Eriqoua that they would defend their homes, with force if necessary, and terminated all discussions. Given what resulted, it was a gross miscalculation.”

Jim had sensed that omission of critical facts when talking with Voltec. The man had known the truth about the colonists’ culpability, but had kept it hidden.

“Their resistance didn’t last long, in the face of the Eriqoua’s outrage,” Bones said grimly. “Tell him the rest of it, Spock, so he can get some sleep. He’s fighting tooth and nail to keep his eyes open.”

 “I am aware, Doctor. I will keep the delay to the Captain’s rest interval brief.”

Bones nodded grudgingly.

“As I said, the colonists had occupied and altered one of the Eriquoa’s holy sites.”

“The warehouse,” Jim murmured. He had known there was something special about the building, a reason why the invaders had been reluctant to breach its walls.

“Indeed, Captain. The structure is used to consecrate their dead. The Eriqoua believe their funeral rites confer the spirit of the deceased directly to a kind of astral plane, freeing them to guard and watch over the living, before the ‘empty’ body is cremated and the ashes scattered.”

“Which is why they wouldn’t fire on it,” Bones said. “The Eriqoua believe the ground inside the warehouse – although I suppose we shouldn’t call it a warehouse – is the gateway to their next level of existence.”

“It was an Eriqouan temple?” he asked, his voice thick with fatigue.

It was growing harder and harder to keep his eyes open. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, blurring the room.

“Yes,” Bones said. “It was their oldest one, too, established when their race was still primitive. The colonists removed all signs of that when they arrived on the planet.”

No wonder the Eriqoua had attacked. They were attempting to reclaim a fundamental and sacred part of their heritage.

Jim forced his eyes to stay open, fighting the waves of exhaustion with his remaining strength. “What did the colonists do with the remains they found there?”

“Dug a pit, and buried them beneath the main floor, then poured a layer of concrete over it,” Bones said, shaking his head in disgust. “What the hell were they thinking.”

“Obviously, they weren’t, Doctor.”

“Dammit, Spock, that was a rhetorical question!”

Jim smiled at their familiar squabbling as his eyes closed. His thoughts drifted. He wanted to hear more – how Spock had convinced the Eriqoua to accept a truce, how Starfleet planned on dealing with the colonists once they returned to Earth, how Starfleet and the Federation viewed the conflict – but it would have to wait. Fatigue and exhaustion were calling the shots...

“That’s enough for now, Spock,” he heard Bones say quietly. “Jim needs his rest. He’s got a lot of healing to do.”

Jim felt the head of the bed lower, allowing him to sink into the warm softness of the biobed. Sleep, thick and dark crept closer, eager to claim him. He felt Bones tuck his blankets under his chin.

Before the healing darkness swallowed him, he felt the press of Bones’ hand against the side of his face, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you, Jim,” he whispered. “Sleep now. You did good, kid.”

THE END