Poor Bones, I needed to end this story for him. Don't really know why I like hurting him so much, but I feel bad for it.

I can't write accents (as you may have noticed by now). So, think Scotty's accent when you read his dialogue.

Thanks to all my interested readers and reviewers!

oo0oo

Enterprise's rec room - in the middle of the night

Scotty walked hesitantly over to McCoy, holding onto his cup of steaming, hot tea for reassurance. He knew the doctor could be downright nasty when not in the mood for company, and although he was in the rec room, a place where people usually went to engage in socializing, Scotty had heard from Chekov and Sulu, that the doctor was, in fact, not in the mood for company, at all.

They were alone, everyone was either working or sleeping. When Spock had finally come onto the bridge to relieve him, he'd been truly relieved, in more than on sense. Spock had informed them, that McCoy was operating on the captain. It meant not only that Captain Kirk was finally getting help, it also meant, that McCoy was fit enough to operate. How that was possible, Scotty had no idea, though. No one could walk away from an experience like that without being seriously affected. But somehow, after only a few hours of rest in sickbay, McCoy had gotten himself under such control again, that he'd found himself able to do brain surgery on Captain Kirk.

And he'd done it, done his medical magic, as Scotty had found out after tossing and turning on his bed in his quarters for a few hours, unable to get any sleep. The surgery had been successful, Captain Kirk was due to awake from his coma within the next hours. Everything was great.

Scott doubted that. Not, that McCoy had managed to save the captain, but that he'd come through these past days, weeks, actually with nothing more than a cantakerous mood.

"Hey, Leonard, may I sit down?" he asked already taking a chair.

McCoy grunted, then said in a voice, dripping with sarcasm: "Please, I'm in the mood for talking."

Scotty snorted and made a show of taking a sip of his chamomile tea. He actually hated that stuff, but had chosen it, because there hadn't been anything else, which reminded him of why he never went to the rec room at night.

"Scotty, I'm tired," McCoy said when the engineer had put down his cup again.

"Why don't you go to your quarters to get some sleep, then?" he asked.

"Been there, done that," McCoy mumbled.

Scotty looked at his fingernails. "Yeah, me too. Couldn't sleep, couldn't stop my brain from reeling, thinking. You know what I did to calm myself?"

Scotty waited, an expectant smile on his lips, but McCoy didn't respond according to social convention. "Go away, Scotty!" he just said, after a lenghty pause.

Scotty didn't give up that easily, though. "I can't do that. I'm worried about you, Leonard!"

"Why? I'm sitting here, in the rec room, engaging in ... recreation. Or I would if you weren't here."

"Well, you have developed a strange understanding of what recreation is."

"Scotty, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But I want to be alone. How did you even find me?" He paused as he remembered something. "Chekov and Sulu, right? They found me here."

"Aye. You know, if you want to be alone, why are you not in your quarters?"

"Because ... Look, my quarters are not ...," he shifted uncomfortably on the chair and ran a hand through his hair. Then he looked at Scotty again, searching for words, or courage. "Okay, I'm going to tell you, but will you then leave me alone?"

Scotty shrugged, not quite willing to give that promise, but McCoy went on talking anyway, speaking in a rush, as if suddenly afraid he wouldn't have enough time to say what he wanted to say.

"I went to my quarters, lay down, tried to sleep and couldn't. No surprise there. So I got up and looked for the container with those red sleeping pills I keep in my private medicine cabinet."

Scott nodded. He'd never asked for any of these pills, he preferred a good glass of scotch, or wandering around the engine room, listening to the humming of the warp drive, to calm himself down enough to get some sleep, but he'd heard the captain, Uhura, even Sulu talk about these ominous "red pills". Potent stuff, they were.

"Well, I ... found them," he stopped.

Scott waited, and when McCoy did not give any indication of going on, he asked, raising his eyebrows: "That was the end of your story?"

"I opened the lid, took out a pill, popped it into my mouth, drank a glass of water, then took another."

Scotty frowned, he was beginning to dread the end of this story. "And?"

"Still couldn't sleep. I always had to think about ... I don't know, it's the adrenalin, or whatever. I also took some stimulants before the operation on Jim."

Scott waited. He had a feeling that McCoy hadn't told him everything. But after a while, the doctor just looked up, deciding that that was the end of it.

"So now you know. There are too many enzymes, hormones and chemicals in my system to make me able to sleep. I wanted to walk around a bit, but I kept meeting people. You have no idea how crowded the corridors of this ship are, even in the middle of the night!"

The change of subject had been smooth, and Scott didn't even notice he'd been successfully redirected to another topic, one that clealry had nothing to do with McCoy and his sleeping problems.

He blindly swallowed the bait and piped up: "You know, that is strange. When I walk through these corridors on a normal day, I always see these crowds of people, running around busily in the corridors. What are they doing? Don't they ever have to be anywhere, like, stationary?"

McCoy took the opportunity to get up. He graced Scott with a wan smile that never reached his eyes and said curtly: "Thanks Scotty, I'll be in my quarters."

And before Scotty could untangle himself from the cup of still steaming tea, McCoy had houdinied his way out the room and the conversation.

o0o

The door opened to reveal his quarters to be as he had left them. Actually, he wouldn't have been able to tell if any things, clothes or furniture had been moved during his absence, but he knew for sure, that the container of red pills that lay on the floor had been lying there when he'd fled. The lid was only half open, but the pills had mostly rolled out, forming a little pile on the floor.

He cautiously stepped around it and sat down on his bed, wondering what to do next.

He was very tired, but sleeping was not an option. Even closing his eyes produced a problem. He'd feel hands on him that weren't there, hear noises, even voices coming from the ceiling, the walls, even the floor. And he'd dream. Something, that he really didn't want to do.

Your hallucinations are a sign of sleep-depriviation. You're only making it worse by not sleeping, a fairly reasonable voice in his head told him.

A shudder went through him and when he held up his hands for inspection, he found that they were perfectly still. They seemed like someone else's, too clean, too calm to be his.

They're like Spock's hands, he thought. In a way, they were. Spock had tricked him into a mind meld, and forced him to calm enough to have control over his hands. Hands he'd needed desperately to do his job. He was glad Spock had done it.

But he was also irritated, irritated with himself that Spock had been able to deceive him like that, to trick him into believing that Spock would declare Jim dead, pre-maturely.

"I thought that Vulcans couldn't lie!" he muttered and dragged his hands through his hair again. scraping his head in the process. His scalp felt raw already, and when he looked at his hands afterwards, he saw there was some blood under his fingernails.

What had that Vulcan thought? Not only did he use to pride himself of never lying, but he had also always emphasized that forcing mind melds on people was a crime. And now Spock had done both - to him.

Of course, Spock hadn't exactly forced him. Just manipulated him. Quite effectively, too. Spock had explained that rage was a feeling that produced less risk when initiating a mind meld than fear, or something like that. As if Spock knew anything about feelings.

He started nibbling at his fingernails, to get them clean again.

"Love? How does it feel?" he heard Yaniah say from somewhere near the door.

"YOU ARE NOT HERE!" he shouted back, but still, as if to check, he sprung up, and rushed into the direction of the voice.

My God, you're truly starting to behave like a madman, now, he thought.

Sleep! his head said.

He'd already taken two sleeping pills, which was not exactly an overdose, but not recommended, and he still couldn't sleep.

Take one more! the voice in his head said again. It was the same voice that had said: Take them all, from which McCoy had fled before. It had been a highly illogical action of course, since that voice was going to follow him wherever he went. It was in his head! It was just a thought, a fantasy, an idea, a joke. It didn't mean he'd ever do it. How many times had he thought he'd bite Spock's ears off the next time he was going to say "Fascinating!" ?

But still, that thought had never come to him before, and it had scared him deeply. He still couldn't bring himself to touch those pills and put them back into their container.

Maybe he should go to sickbay? Jim should be awake by now. But he feared Jim would start asking questions, make him "open up" and "talk". And maybe Spock was there, too. Spock would give Jim the information he'd deliberately leave out.

He wouldn't be able to get any sleep there either, he'd only keep Jim from it, too.

The door chime pulled him out of his gloomy thoughts.

Who the hell?

It chimed again. He did nothing. Scotty? Maybe he's just checking if I didn't get lost in the mysterious corridors of our ship.

He kicked at the empty container with his foot. It landed somewhere out of sight, but the pile of pills stayed were it had been. Better not let him come in, he thought, going to the door, opening it.

Jim Kirk was standing before him, in his sickbay overall, looking a bit pale, but smiling at him, that 1000 Watt smile that could melt icebergs, bring children to offer him their last candy, and charm nuns into smooching away with him. The white dressing on his surgical wound made him resemble a fakir from a picture book McCoy had possessed as a child, but he stood on his own two feet, only lightly leaning on the doorframe.

"What in ... JIM! Are you out of your mind?" McCoy quickly abandoned his plan from earlier and grabbed at Kirk to guide him into his room and onto a chair, his bed, anything.

"Hi Bones!" Kirk said, still smiling and allowing himself to be guided to the bed. "What do you mean? You know how much I hate sickbay ..."

As Jim was sitting, McCoy took the time to take a look at the dressing on Jim's head while preaching.

"So you decided to take a hike? Jim, you've been in a coma for 3 days! I just operated on you, and you thank me with running around the ship like that?" He paused to take a breath, but intended to go on chewing out his friend and patient, for God's sake, for his little stunt, but was stopped by a hand on his arm that pulled him down onto the bed beside Jim, with surprising strength.

"Bones. I. Hate. Being. In. Sickbay," Jim said, looking at him as if he was explaining something to a kid. A very dumb kid, too.

Then he pulled up his legs, kicked the sickbay slippers on his feet on the floor, and stretched out on McCoy's bed, pushing some clutter on the floor as well. "I can only stand sickbay when you're there. Since you aren't there, but here, I thought, well, wouldn't it be perfect, if I came here?"

"No! Jim, you need to be monitored by, ... Who let you out?" he suddenly asked, determined to get that someone's ass.

"I'm the captain. I can go when and wherever I want," Jim said, unfolding the blanket on the bed and making a move to wrap himself in it. "You have a second blanket?" he asked suddenly, looking up at his friend and doctor, questioningly.

"Yeah," McCoy said and turned quickly to take another blanket from a drawer. He unfolded it and started to spread it over Jim's form. "You cold? It could be from the loss of ..."

Jim's arms went up to fend off the second blanket. "No, no, nothing like that, Bones. I'm just not going to share my blanket with you."

"Share your ...? Jim, you are not intending to stay here for the night?"

"Oh, but I am," Kirk simply said, closing his eyes.

"Jim! You, ... I can't, ...," he stammered, not really knowing what was happening. His doctor's mode was taking over. "There can be post surgery complications. Your status must be checked every two hours! That is pupillary reflex, blood pressure, ..."

"I know. And I also know, you're too tired to wake up every two hours to do that. So, I asked someone to do that for you."

As if on cue, the door chime sounded again. "Someone?" McCoy asked, dreading the answer.

"Right. Come in, Spock!" Kirk said, supressing a smile.

The Vulcan was carrying a bag, and stopped right behind the door.

McCoy snorted. "Did you bring sweets, stuffed animals, and a book of ghost stories, Spock?"

"Why would I bring ...," Spock started, but Kirk cut him off: "A sleepover, Spock. Young, human girls love to do that."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but decided not to comment. "I brought some medical instruments from sickbay, and a PADD with a novel which I will read in between the intervals of checking your vitals, Captain."

"And when are you going to sleep?" McCoy tried, already suspecting that he had no chance to get rid of either Spock or Kirk for the night.

"I don't require as much sleep as you humans do, doctor," Spock said, seeking out McCoy's desk chair, and starting to unpack his things.

McCoy sighed. He could trust Spock with Kirk's health, he knew that. Even though Spock wasn't a doctor, he could do the required monitoring just as well as any of the staff in sickbay.

Jim smiled gently, tapping on the mattress right beside him.

"Get in Bones! Don't keep me from my much needed sleep!"

McCoy hesitated. He couldn't sleep. It was not that he hadn't tried. But Jim was persistent, he was even plumping up the pillow for him.

"This is ridiculous, Jim," he said, taking a step towards the bed.

Jim looked at him with a strange expression on his face. He was thinking. After a few seconds he said quietly: "Please, Bones. I can't sleep in sickbay. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really don't want to be alone with myself and my thoughts at the moment. I know I may have nightmares. I may talk in my sleep, I may even kick, or scream, or cry. I've been through a horrible ordeal and I just need some reassurance that everything's alright. Is it too much to ask from a friend, a really good friend, too?"

McCoy drew in a sharp breath, as he felt tears suddenly threatening. He knew Jim had done the talking for him, had said what he, Leonard 'Bones' McCoy, should have said, because Jim knew that he would never let those words come over his lips

"I ...," he started, but didn't end that sentence, for Jim interrupted him.

"Now, come on!" he urged. It was all it took to let Bones allow himself to walk over to his own bed, where he'd tried to sleep four hours and two sleeping pills ago, finding that it was impossible. That bed was now occupied by his best friend, who had just come out of a coma and brain surgery, and was probably still not in his right mind.

He settled down beside him, taking the blanket Jim offered, wrapping himself into it.

He felt the bed shift and Jim's arm came to rest on top of his, his hand sought out his and their fingers interlaced. It felt warm, solid and reassuring, but awkward, and embarassing as well, just a bit. It would, of course, be a bit awkward to explain this to the sickbay staff, or the rest of the crew, McCoy thought.

Rumours tended to spread quickly on the Enterprise. Maybe it had something to do with the many people who were walking around in the corridors all the time, he thought, and found himself drifting.

Sleep claimed him even before Jim had whispered 'Sleep well, Bones'.

o0o

Two hours later, Kirk woke from a gentle shake.

"It's time to check your pupillary reflexes, Captain," Spock said calmy, holding a little flashlight.

Kirk nodded and turned to his first officer to let him play nurse on him.

"Everything is normal," Spock reported when he had finished and started turning away.

Kirk's hand held him back. "Spock, how is he?" he asked, anxiously.

McCoy was sleeping peacefully beside him, his hand had relaxed, letting Jim's hand go after only a few minutes. His breathing was regular, but Jim felt that this peace was very fragile. He didn't want to move too much or talk too loud, afraid, he'd somehow destroy it.

"The doctor is sleeping deeply. The sleeping pills must have finally taken effect," Spock answered calmly.

Kirk exhaled shakily, he had to ask: "Did you also see the spilled pills and the container on the floor?"

"I've retrieved them," Spock said.

There was a moment of silence between them, before Spock continued: "I also counted them."

Kirk bit his lip.

"I found thirty-nine, but there still might be some on the floor. The label on the container said there were 50 in it. I believe he had these pills for all of our five year-mission, and never purchased a new container."

"Right," Kirk agreed, "he told me only months ago, that before the end of our five year mission he wanted to stop by that pharmacist on Legia again, where he'd gotten them. I didn't know he still had so many, though. I must've taken at least 5 of them alone, over the years."

"Jim, he is emotionally and physically worn out, but I believe even in that state, Dr McCoy would never attempt anything like ..." There was no need to finish the sentence, since Kirk knew what he meant.

"No," Kirk agreed, "but he's not okay."

"Maybe not now. But he will be, Jim."

McCoy made a soft noise, twitching. Jim's hand searched for his friend's hand again, finding it and squeezing slightly.

"Yeah, I'll see to that."

Endooo000