Bones shivered, then cursed vociferously and virulently.  He was tired of shivering but Jim hadn’t yet returned with Lieutenant Skell – or firewood – and until he did, there would be no fire.  He shifted against the wall, hissing in pain.  He needed to bind his ribs and splint his leg, but the cave was empty of everything save what they’d managed to drag into it and a small stream of water at the back.  Therefore, he needed Jim’s help to patch himself up.

He leaned back, tipping his head against the damp wall of the cave.  It was ironic:  he had insisted on coming with Jim this time, given the results of the last major away mission, yet he’d been the one injured.  He was better off, however, than Lieutenant Skell, who’d been killed almost immediately.  Lieutenant Chin had been severely injured in the fight and might still make it if Bones could manage to help her.

A stifled curse heralded Jim’s arrival as he dragged Skell’s body just inside the mouth of the cave just far enough to hide it, and then ran out to cover his tracks.  Bones noted his medkit slung around Jim’s neck and relaxed slightly.  Most of what he needed would be in there and he hoped they were rescued before they needed anything more.

Jim returned and squatted before Bones.  Dirt smeared his forehead and one cheekbone, while blood from a cut over his right eye decorated the other side of his face.  His eyes stood out like beacons in contrast, bits of bright color amid the mud and blood.

He pulled the medkit off over his head, handing it to Bones.  “Will you be okay long enough for me to gather firewood?”  His voice was rough and dry.

Bones licked his lips.  Pain was making him light-headed and it was difficult for him to concentrate.  Glancing at Lieutenant Chin, who needed his help, he looked back at Jim.  If there were no fire, they’d freeze when night fell, making medical attention moot.  Therefore, he said firmly, “Yes, go.”

He worried for a moment that Jim would ignore him, but then Jim gave a sharp nod, hopped up and hurried out.  Bones noted that he favored his left side, meaning he’d probably injured himself somehow, but was being stoic since he was the only functioning member of the away team.

If he could, Bones would toast fate for the bitch she was.  Hell of a thing when the first person taken down in a firefight is the doctor.

Bones guessed he’d drifted off, which made him worry about head injuries, because when he next opened his eyes, a small fire was burning not far from his broken leg.  He could feel sweat gathering in his boot.  Across the fire lay Lieutenant Chin, her chest rising and falling too shallowly for his peace of mind.  She was going to die without medical care and he was in no condition to provide it to her.

“I stripped Skell,” Jim said, approaching from the mouth of the cave.  He laid out Skell’s uniform next to Bones.  “I know you’re injured.”

Bones tried to sit up straight, but the motion sent blinding pain through his chest, leaving him gasping with his eyes screwed shut.  Okay, that was a bad idea.

“How can I help you?” Jim asked, kneeling on the floor next to Bones’ good leg.

Without being able to take a deep breath, he couldn’t work up a good head of sarcasm.  Instead, he answered, “I need you to check Chin for me.”

“Dammit, Bones,” Jim spat, both exasperated and annoyed.

He opened his eyes and held Jim’s.  Jim was exhausted.  Underneath the dirt and blood were the too-pale skin of his cheeks and the purple smudges of exhaustion under his eyes.  He’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now, provided he hadn’t slept while Bones did.  Jim was an adrenaline junkie and was beginning to crash hard.

“I can’t move, Jim,” Bones said quietly, ignoring the throbbing ache in his leg.  “You have to be my eyes and hands for a minute.”

Jim dropped his head, running a hand through his hair.  Bones noted the scrapes on his hands and arms, filing the information away for later.  Jim would attempt to hide his injuries, Bones knew, and it would be up to him to uncover them and treat them before they became infected, and that would kill him first.

“Fine,” Jim said at last.  “I understand.”  He sounded annoyed but resigned.

A small smile graced Bones’s mouth.  He closed his eyes, tilting his head back again.  He’d need water soon, but it could wait.  Not too long, though, or he wouldn’t have to worry about his ribs or his leg:  dehydration would start to set in given his current condition.

“Take the tricorder from my kit.”  Bones heard rummaging, then an acknowledgment Jim had the device.  “You’ll need to hold it about a foot above Chin’s body, then scan her from head to knee.”

Bones concentrated on breathing shallowly after speaking so many words consecutively.  The rhythmic beeping that filled the cave a moment later over the crackle of the fire and soft susurrus of water told him Jim was scanning Chin.  He considered being surprised Jim’s pace was perfect, but dismissed it when he realized Jim had been scanned often enough to know how to scan a body.

“Bones?  Bones?”  He cracked open one eye.  Jim handed over the tricorder.  “Scan’s done.”

Bones nodded slowly and took the tricorder, reviewing Chin’s information.  Chin’s vitals were fading faster than he’d expected due to internal bleeding.  She had survivable injuries – if they were on the Enterprise – but the Enterprise wouldn’t be returning for another forty hours.  Even if the ship were in orbit, the next window in the planet’s atmosphere for transport wouldn’t be for nearly sixteen hours.

He turned the tricorder off and tossed it on the ground.

“How long does she have?” Jim asked.  Bones looked over, raising his eyebrows slightly.  “She’s gray and breathing as shallowly as you are.”

“I’m not dying, Jim,” Bones protested.  It felt a bit like it, though.  He needed to bind his ribs so they’d stop grinding together so freely.  Jim held Bones’s gaze steadily.  “She’ll be dead by morning.”

Jim paled, but nodded.  He hated losing anyone.  It was enough that Skell had been lost already, but at least that had been quick.  Chin’s death was going to be slow and, were she conscious, excruciatingly painful.  Driving a hand through his hair again, he nodded to himself as if coming to a decision.

“Will she wake before she dies?”

Bones blinked, startled.  Frowning, he asked, “Why?”

Lips turned into a soft, sad smile, Jim cupped Bones’s chin, rubbing his thumb over Bones’s lower lip.  “Answer the question, Doctor.  Will she wake up?”

Without examining her himself, Bones couldn’t say with certainty, but this was Jim asking.  He could give Jim answer he wouldn’t be able to give family – brutal honesty.  “Given the extent of her injuries and rate of internal bleeding, I doubt it.”  Jim had also described her skin as gray.  Bones could speculate that if he sent Jim to press his fingers into her skin, there would be little color change, indicating little blood at the surface.

Jim nodded again, decisively this time, as if Bones’s answer resolved something for him.

“Why?”

Shaking his head, Jim pulled his hand away and asked in an upbeat tone, “How can I help you?”  Almost like a hyperactive child, he systematically began pulling items from Bones’ medkit, organizing them by type.  “I know you’re in pain.  Do you want a hypo?”

“Jim,” Bones growled, reaching over with one hand and stilling both of Jim’s.  Jim looked up.  Shadows, both figurative and literal, clouded his eyes.  “Why did you ask?”  He wasn’t sure why he was pressing the point, but something told him he needed to know.  Whether it had been the tone of the question or the way Jim had held himself when he asked, the answer had meant a great deal.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim retorted.  He tugged his hands free from Bones’s grip and slammed a common painkiller vial into the hypospray.  Eyes glittering, he turned and brandished the hypo.  “Do you want this?”

Bones lifted an eyebrow.  “Revenge?”  Fuck yes he wanted the hypo, but he couldn’t have it until his ribs were bandaged and his leg splinted, no matter how much pain he was in.  He had to be coherent enough to walk Jim through the process, not be doped up on painkillers.

Jim’s temper flared and Bones thought for a moment he’d either throw the hypo or jam it into his neck anyway.  Surprisingly, Jim huffed a breath through gritted teeth before laying the hypospray down with exaggerated care.

“You’re a pain in the ass when you’re injured,” he muttered.

Bones laughed, then gave an agonized groan due to the pain.  “Pot and kettle, Jim,” he wheezed.

He felt the brush of Jim’s fingers over his cheek before Jim sighed.  “Bastard.”  Bones said nothing, mainly because it hurt too much to breathe, let alone curse.  “The Artraxians kept Lieutenant Riley awake and alive until he bled to death.”  He scrubbed both hands over his face.  Bones hadn’t realized the Artraxians had kept the away team together at all when they’d kidnapped the Enterprise group, let alone that Riley had lived beyond the initial kidnapping.  Clearly Jim’s official report was false.  Knowing Jim, he’d done it to spare the families of those killed.  “I didn’t want Chin to suffer like that if she was going to wake up,” Jim concluded in a whisper.

He had turned away from Bones during his confession to give his thousand-yard stare to his feet, but turned back now with no further comment beyond a challenging tilt to his head as if daring Bones to pass judgment.

Bones closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall.  Jim was talking about a mercy killing.  As a doctor, he was torn.  He’d be a hypocrite if he condemned Jim for the suggestion when he’d done the same for his own father before joining Starfleet – and he had to live with the consequences when the cure was discovered three months later.

Somehow do no harm just didn’t stand up when someone you loved clutched you in agony and begged for death knowing you could provide them that solace.

“How would you have done it?” he asked.  He wasn’t able to meet Jim’s eyes yet.  He needed to know first, needed to know where that line of compassion was for Jim.

Jim cleared his throat, startled.  “What do you mean?”

“How would you have killed her if I had told you she’d wake up?”  Bones opened his eyes now and brought his head down to meet Jim’s gaze.  “How would you have killed her as she looked into your eyes like I’m doing now?”

Jim held his gaze unblinkingly, as clear blue and as fathomless as a lake midsummer, for several moments before answering, “Phaser shot to the head.”

“Clean, painless,” Bones murmured neutrally.  “Would you have done the same for Riley?”

“Yes.”

Bones wanted to ask if Jim would be able to do the same for him if it came down to it, but couldn’t.  He didn’t want to know either answer.  Instead, he closed his eyes and nodded.  Jim’s answer was what he needed to know.  He tried to sigh, then nearly passed out from the pain.  “Fuck, my ribs hurt.”

He heard Jim’s breath hitch before he asked again, “How can I help?”

“Rip Skell’s pants into long strips,” Bones began.  He really wanted water and sleep, but couldn’t have them yet.  The sound of ripping fabric filled the cave over the crackling of the fire.  “You’ll have to wrap those strips as tightly as you can around my torso.”

“Over your uniform?”

Bones scoffed.  “There’s no fucking way I can lift my arms to get it off and when it drops to near-freezing after dark, I’d rather not freeze to death because I was half-naked.”  He bit his lip to hold back the groan of pain at the torrent of words.

He needed to remember to use smaller sentences and take shorter breaths. Both his injuries, like those Chin had suffered, were ones easily fixed aboard the Enterprise.  He couldn’t dwell on that, though, or it would drive him insane.  He had to remember back to what his dad had taught him years before and what they had taught him at Starfleet as field medicine.  Of course, no doctor ever expected to be using it on himself.

“Good point.”  The sound of ripping stopped.  “You’ll have to lean forward.”

Opening his eyes, Bones found Jim keeling beside his good leg.  Jim shifted, straddling Bones’s thigh, strips of black in his hand.

“It’s a good thing Skell wasn’t a small man,” Jim murmured darkly.  Bones grunted.  It did no good to chide Jim for his sense of humor since he merely smiled, nodded, and then continued on, ignoring any protest.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his arms to grip Jim’s biceps.  The motion, the position, sent pain rocketing through him.  Hissing, he dug his fingers into Jim’s arms and waited.

Jim leaned forward and pulled Bones’s head onto his shoulder.  “Scream if you need to,” he murmured.  With that, he began wrapping Bones’s ribs.  It was a much slower process than if they had been in sickbay with multiple people assisting, including at least one pause after Jim tugged hard enough to make Bones turn and yell into his shoulder before sinking teeth in.

Bones wished he could pass out.

At last, Jim was done.  Though he could stand to be wrapped with more bandages, there were no more to be had.  Using a suturing web from the medkit, Jim fused the end of the makeshift bandage to itself, holding it in place.  Bones felt a bit like a mummy, but the pants-cum-bandage did help.

Pulling back, Jim tugged Bones’s head up using a fistful of hair.  “Are you okay?”

Bones snorted.  “Just peachy.”

Jim grunted.  Searching Bones’s face, he asked softly, “Where else?”

“Right leg,” Bones answered, slightly breathless between the pain and Jim’s solicitousness.  Maybe next time they role-played they’d reverse roles when they played Doctor and Captain.  He smiled slightly, feeling light-headed.

Jim nodded and moved down.  “What should I do?”

He licked his lips and blinked, staring down, trying to concentrate.  Jim was kneeling in front of him . . . why would he need directions?  Then he took a deep breath and remembered his broken ribs and leg.  “Are . . . are there any bones sticking through the skin?”  Bones didn’t think so, based on the limited view he had, but his vision was blurry and his mind was obviously playing tricks on him.

“No, none.”  Jim moved, positioning himself near Bones’s foot, allowing a bit more light from the fire to shine on Bones’s leg.  “I can tell it’s broken, though.”

“Fuck.”  That meant it was bad.  “You need to straighten it.”

Silence fell for long enough that Bones opened his eyes and sought Jim’s.  Jim looked tortured, chewing his lower lip until he was nearly drawing blood.

“Haven’t I caused you enough pain already?” he asked.  He leaned back on his heels, boot leather creaking like ancient gunshots in the cave.

Bones grinned.  It was tired and exhausted, but a grin.  “You torture me every day.  Now straighten my leg.”  He softened his grin.  “Straighten it, then bind it like you did my ribs.  Use Skell’s shirt.”

Jim stared at him, shoving a filthy hand through equally filthy hair, then sighed.  “Love you, too, you bastard.”  Then he grabbed Bones’s foot with both hands and pulled.

Leonard McCoy’s scream echoed off the walls only briefly before he passed out.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he woke.  He was in essentially the same position he’d been when he passed out:  sitting up, boot-first to the fire.  The fire had died back a bit, so he thought Jim must have fallen asleep.  A quick glance around found Jim curled at his left side, but Jim’s entire body was tense and ready, meaning he wasn’t truly sleeping but in something more closely resembling the half-sleep Bones used when he was on-duty and had thirty minutes downtime.

Bones reached up and gingerly touched his neck.  It was bruised, making him smile wryly.  Jim had tagged him with the hypospray after he’d passed out.  Breathing was easier, but everything still ached terribly though the pain was no longer blinding in its intensity.

He looked across the fire at Lieutenant Chin.  Her chest no longer rose and fell, nor could he hear her labored breathing.  Silently wishing her peace, he closed his eyes a moment in respect for the dead.  He could only hope now that they managed to hold out until Spock returned with the Enterprise – and that the crew managed to find them before the Klingons found anyone else.

Bones scratched his head, both in puzzlement and because it itched.  Now that pain wasn’t distracting him as much, he could think a bit.

Why were the Klingons there to ambush them almost as soon as the transport window closed?  Bexia Prime, while not exactly a backwater, was primarily uncharted at the fringes of Federation territory along the Neutral Zone.  How did the Klingons end up in Federation space?

The rare occurrence of both Jim and Bones being on an away mission with only a xenobiologist and xenozoologist to accompany them was due to the direct order of Admiral Lynch.  The excuse had been usual flora planetside for probable use in containing a rare Andorian flu strain.  While Bones had strongly doubted the veracity of the excuse, he couldn’t disobey.

Spock’s deep scans of the planet had revealed nothing unusual, other than the atmosphere, but that hadn’t alleviated their wariness.

Obviously the Klingons knew when and where the Enterprise was in orbit and had blocked or fooled her sensors to hide the Klingons already on the planet’s surface.  Admiral Lynch, in league with Admiral Jellico and the Klingons, had sent them to be killed.

Bones tightened his hand into a fist and muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath.

Jim’s head shot up, eyes wild.  Phaser up, he scanned the area once before settling on Bones.  “You’re – ” he cleared his throat, then continued, “you’re awake.”

Licking his split and dehydrated lips, Bones murmured, “Water?”  He’d passed out last night before he could drink any and was feeling even more dehydrated than before.

Jim grabbed a canteen and crossed the distance between them on his knees.  Holding the canteen to Bones’s lips, he tipped a little water into Bones’s mouth.  Bones tried not be greedy, to take just a bit, but he wanted more.  He hadn’t realized he’d grabbed the canteen until Jim knocked his hands away.

“As you’ve told me many times, not too much or you’ll get sick.”  Jim added a ferocious glare to his words, making Bones raise an eyebrow in reply.  Jim sighed and brought the canteen back.

Bones took more moderate sips this time, dampening his lips first.  He winced as the splits were moisturized, but quickly ignored it.  When he was done, mouth rehydrated and the cotton feeling dispelled, he met Jim’s eyes again.  There was a heat there that drew answering tendrils from deep within him that were entirely inappropriate for the situation.

“Jim?”

Jim swallowed visibly, the firelight shadowing his Adam’s apple.  “I’m fine.”  He shook himself.  “Are you done?”  He indicate the canteen, half-forgotten, in Bones’ hand.  Bones nodded and Jim took it back, capping it and carefully placing it back with the rest of the supplies.

“You realize we were sent here to be murdered,” Bones said, closing his eyes.  He shifted slightly, then hissed in pain, though he honestly wasn’t sure if it was more from his ribs or his numb ass.

Jim stilled from where he was fussing over the foodstuffs.  In a cold and quiet voice, he answered, “Yes, I know.”  He pulled a silver package from a stack and tossed it to Bones before ripping one open for himself.  Contemplatively, he said, “I wonder if not fucking Jellico signed my death warrant.”

Bones’s head shot up at that.  Though Jim’s tone was careless, his body language was quietly and completely furious.  Unmindful of the pain, Bones leaned over and grabbed Jim’s arm.

“Bones!  What the fuck are you doing?”  Jim tried to scramble up, to shove Bones back into a sitting position, but Bones’s grip was too tight.

“Jim, whatever you’re thinking,” he gasped, “don’t.  We . . . a plan.  Need a plan.”

“You stupid bastard,” Jim muttered, though there was a degree of fond exasperation in his voice.

“That’s my line.  No stealing.”  Bones gritted his teeth so he didn’t scream again.  He should have remembered that being in one position was masking his injury.  “Help me up.”

“Shouldn’t you lie down?”

Bones shook his head.  “No, not with these ribs.”  He groaned as Jim shoved him upright.  Sweat beaded on his forehead though he felt clammy.  “Don’t know how badly they’re broken.  Don’t want them sticking internal organs.”

“Stubborn f–”  Jim broke off suddenly, tilting his head to the side like a hunting dog caught wind of prey.  “Shh,” he whispered.  Snatching his phaser, he tossed dirt on the fire, extinguishing it with little smoke, leaving the pitiful daylight the only light, and crab-walked his way to the mouth of the cave.

There was little within Bones’s reach for him to use to defend himself – dammit, Jim! – so he began the arduous task of dragging himself to the small supply station Jim had arranged.  Within thirty seconds he was drenched in sweat from head to toe despite the lack of a fire.  Every movement sent agony through his torso; every rock on the ground that shifted his leg made his vision tunnel for a moment.  But he needed a phaser and Jim had put his, Chin’s and Skell’s in one location:  the supply station.

When Bones reached the supplies, he felt like cheering in triumph, but didn’t.  That would defeat the purpose of stealth.  He replaced his phaser into the correct pocket on his belt, then took Skell’s phaser and tucked it behind him between the wall and his ass.  It was easily accessible via a quick reach behind him, but also unobtrusive enough to grab if his hands were at his sides.

He took water next but didn’t dare administer the painkilling hypospray he desperately wanted.

Voices sounded further up the cave, but no phaser fire.  Bones licked his again too-dry lips and tried to concentrate.  He couldn’t yet hear Jim’s words, but could hear his conciliatory tone.

He wished he’d dosed himself with a stimulant.  At least that would have masked the pain for a while and he wouldn’t feel quite so muzzy-headed.  It was almost worth the crash later for the coherency now, he thought, until Jim appeared . . .

. . . held at the business end of a bat’leth by a female Klingon half-dragging a male Klingon behind her.

Bones rubbed his eyes, then wanted to curse at the dirt he’d just rubbed into them.

This entire “mission” had just devolved way past shit and into complete fuck-up.  Bones would be shocked if Jim didn’t have months of nightmares if – no!  when – they got out alive, between the flashbacks to the Artraxians who’d kidnapped him weeks ago and now the up-close-and-personal with the Klingons for the second time.

“You have a doctor here,” the female stated.

“Why do you believe that?” Jim stalled, backing further into the cave.  He was now about ten feet from Bones, but the Klingon was too close to him and at the wrong angle for Bones to have a clear shot.  Beyond that, Bones didn’t know if the male was conscious and armed.  If Bones shot the female, the male could still kill them.

“Do you think me stupid, human?” she scoffed.  One-handed, she dragged the male between Bones and the remains of the fire, blocking Jim.  She turned to Bones and pointed at the male.  “Fix him before he dies or I will kill both of you.  It will not be an honorable death.”

Bones crossed his arms loosely over his chest.  “What makes you think I’m a doctor?”

She thrust her bat’leth blade-first at Jim, making him jump back, nearly tripping over Chin’s body.  “Because that is Captain Kirk and you are injured yet still live.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.  She swung the weapon at him, point-first, stopping inches from his face.  From the corner of his eye, Bones could see Jim flinch, but he didn’t dare move.  He held eye contact with the Klingon.

She held the pose for a good minute.

Then she smiled.  Bones repressed his shudder.

“You do not fear me, human?” she asked, lowering the bat’leth.

He sighed.  “You’ve never met my ex-wife.”

Jim choked, causing the Klingon to look between the two of them, eyes narrowing suspiciously.  “You imply a human is more frightening than me?” she demanded.

Jim shrugged, straightening and valiantly trying to suppress a grin.  “As the man said, you’ve never met his ex-wife.”

Before she could say anything else, the male Klingon groaned.  She flipped the weapon over her shoulder and into a back scabbard with an effortless grace Sulu would admire, then knelt beside the male.  Her tone, though she was speaking Klingon, changed dramatically when speaking to him.

“Do you think they’re lovers?” Jim murmured in Bones’s ear, startling him.  His resulting jolt made him groan miserably.  “Don’t groan like that.”  Bones shot him a look – he’d damn well groan in pain when he wanted to – and Jim had the grace to look sheepish.  “Seeing you stand up to that Klingon was so fucking hot.”  Bones rolled his eyes.

Jim gave a small grin, then turned serious again.  With a small jerk of his head at the two Klingons, he asked, “You going to help?”

“No, I always wanted to be Klingon barbeque,” Bones drawled, licking his lips.  Jim huffed.

The female was still murmuring to the male, who was now sitting up.  From this distance, he appeared to have suffered damage to his leg.

Bones straightened, hissing in pain, but ignoring it.  “Is he bleeding?”  Three pairs of eyes focused on him.  Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he pointed at the Klingon’s injured leg and asked again, “Is.  He.  Bleeding?”

The female glanced at his leg.  “The bleeding has stopped again.”

“What sort of injury is it?” Bones asked.  He attempted to move closer, but fell back as his own leg twisted and sent blinding pain rocketing through him.

“I am not a doctor,” the female protested.  “I do not know.”  The male reached up and laid a hand on her arm, whispered something, and turned to Bones, baring his teeth.  Bones nearly shuddered in response, but refused to let either Klingon see his fear and glared right back.  The female growled, “If you are too weak to examine my mate, then Kirk shall do so.”

Jim flashed a half-panicked look at Bones but Bones nodded encouragingly.  “Just tell me what you see.”  Jim gave him a frustrated glare even as he moved to the two Klingons.  “Describe the injury in as much detail as you can.”

Tension riddling his body, Jim moved to the Klingons.  The female barely adjusted her position to allow Jim room to view the wound.

“I . . . I can’t see much, actually,” Jim allowed.  “With the fire out, it’s too dark.”

“You delay,” the female growled, hand twitching against the hilt of a small knife on her belt.

“Captain, did you bring all the supplies?” Bones asked.  He nearly slipped and used Jim’s name, which would be too informal under the circumstances.  Jim shot him an eyebrow-raised look, but nodded.  Swallowing hard, Bones gritted his teeth and slid himself closer to the supply station.  Panting with effort, sweat pouring down his face, Bones found the task light and held it up, unsurprised to turn and find the female Klingon waving a knife at him.  Willing himself not to roll his eyes, he growled, “It’s a goddamned light.”

“Show me.”  Bones flicked the switch, illuminating the cave in a small arc.  The light was designed for close tasks, such as reading or medical duties, and had a short lifespan of only a few hours.  The female nodded, snatching the light from Bones’ hand and thrusting it at Jim.

Jim strapped it to his bicep and adjusted the beam to shine on the injury.  His grimace once he viewed the injury fully wasn’t lost on Bones.  He looked up, meeting the female equally.  “The wound needs to be cleaned.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, leather armor creaking.  “You aren’t the doctor.”

Jim rolled his eyes and glared at Bones.  Bones obligingly parroted, “The wound needs to be cleaned.”  After a pause, he added, “It needs to be cleaned to he can see, but also so infection doesn’t set in.”

He gritted his teeth, braced himself for the pain, and levered himself up the wall.  Though his vision grayed out, he managed to gain footing and stand on his good leg.  Ignoring Jim’s ferocious glare, he was now able to more easily raid the supplies for necessary items.  He found another one of the canteens of water Jim had gathered while Bones was unconscious and tossed it to Jim.  Jim uncapped it and directed the stream of water into the male Klingon’s wound.

It was enough to shock the Klingon from his pain-induced stupor.  He rose with a shout and flying arms, striking Jim in the head and knocking him back.  The female dove, grabbing both his arms and tackling him to the ground, sitting on his chest to immobilize him.  Though not the method Bones would have chosen, it worked.

Jim rose, holding the back of his right hand to his bleeding nose.  Glaring at the Klingons, he returned to his task and continued irrigating the wound.  By that, Bones understood that his nose wasn’t broken – Jim had already had it broken several times and knew what that felt like – just bleeding profusely.

The male hissed a string of Klingon at Jim, which he ignored, further agitating the male.  It took the female striking him open-palm across the face to get him to shut up.  She leaned down, grabbing his chin in one hand, and barked something at him.

If Bones didn’t know better, he’d almost think the male looked downright sheepish in response.  He glanced at Jim, unsurprised by the smirk toying at the corners of Jim’s mouth.  Jim had always been appreciative of a strong-willed woman, no matter the species – even Klingon, apparently.

The female stood, allowing the male’s head to fall back, nearly slamming into the ground before he stopped himself, and turned to Jim.  “He will listen.”

Jim nodded slowly, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his uniform, which always made for an interesting combination of colors.  He then turned to Bones.  “The wound is washed out.”

Bones gave a sharp nod.  His good leg was beginning to tremble, meaning he wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer, and he’d crash to the ground if he weren’t careful, further injuring himself.  Bracing a hand on the table, he willed himself to stay upright.

“What does the wound look like?” Bones asked, hoping Jim understood the nuances of the question because he really didn’t have the breath for anything more.

Silence broken only by harsh breathing and the gentle bubbling of the water at the back of the cave reigned while Jim examined the wound.  At last, he said, “The edges look dead.  I can see bone near his knee.  Bleeding has mostly stopped.”

Closing his eyes, Bones cursed.  Necrotic flesh generally meant infection, though he couldn’t be positive that held true with Klingon physiology given that, since the Klingon Empire was the enemy of the Federation, Klingon physiology was not taught at Starfleet Academy.  Across humanoid species, though, cuts deep enough to see bone were not good.

“How did he get the injury?” Bones asked, opening his eyes and pinning the female with a hard stare.

“You don’t think you caused it, human?” she spat in return.

Bones glanced down at Jim, who shook his head.  Their phasers wouldn’t have caused an injury such as that.  Phasers were more likely to cause burn injuries or sever limbs entirely than deep tissue lacerations with necrotized margins.  Without a hands-on examination, he couldn’t say positively, but he’d trust Jim’s instinct here, despite his lack of medical knowledge.

“No.”

He was proud of himself for not flinching as the female stalked toward him.  At least she’d put away the knife she was brandishing earlier.  Less than a foot from him, she stopped.  He could see every ridge on her skull, every scar – and straight down her cleavage were he inclined to look.  He hadn’t known that Klingon females dressed so . . . provocatively.

He banged his head against the cave wall once.  If he thought the Klingon was provocative, he’d clearly been listening to Jim too long or he was delirious from the pain, possibly both.

She tilted her head slightly to the side, narrowing her eyes.  Before either Bones or Jim could react, she grabbed Bones’s chin and jerked his head to one side.  “You have a mark.”  She yanked his collar down, exposing a series of bites.  Smiling, she released him.

He groaned, aching from the rough handling.  Jim had stood when she grabbed him, but didn’t move.  Bones made a gesture with his hand stilling Jim, or at least settling him for the time being.

“I have several,” Bones allowed.  “Why?”  Seeing a Klingon smile, even a small smile, was easily the creepiest thing he’d seen so far in all his time in Starfleet.

“Your lover has marked you?” she asked.  When Bones nodded, her smiled widened.  He fought back a shudder of revulsion at the sight of her exposed teeth.  “This pleases me.”

Jim choked.  “Pleases you?”

Her smile turned sly, an expression more natural on her face.  She angled her head back to look at Jim.  “Is Captain Kirk the doctor’s lover?”

The hand not holding the canteen flexed into a fist as Jim fought to control his temper.  “Yes.”

“How delightful,” she murmured.  She turned back to Bones.  “Does the captain bear your marks?”

Bones met her gaze steadily.  There was curiosity there and something more.  Since Jim had already admitted they were lovers, there was no harm in admitting further marks.  “Yes, he does.”

She spun and pointed at Jim with the tip of her knife.  “Show me.”

Jim glared at Bones.  At any other time, Bones would have shrugged in response as if to say so what?  Under normal circumstances, Jim was not what Bones would call modest or retiring.  These were not normal circumstances:  how often did a Klingon demand, at knifepoint, you strip?

“Go ahead,” Bones said.  “You’ll need to take your undershirt off anyway to bind his wound.”  Bones’s words earned a more vicious glare from Jim and a protest from the male Klingon.  He clarified.  “If not your shirt, then an article of clothing from Lieutenant Chin.”

“I hate you,” Jim spat, unstrapped the light, then pulled his gold tunic over his head.

While neither of them had any compunction about stripping a male crewmember – and would scavenge the clothing off each other if it came down to it – they drew the line at female crewmembers.  They’d both been reprimanded for it at the Academy, been told crewmembers should be genderless, but only Jim had been able to get over that mental hurdle, and even then only once in order to pass his exam.  If Bones wanted any sort of command certification, he would need to pass that as well.  Ironically, it was something Bones could do in a medical setting without problem.

With a curse, Jim pulled his black undershirt off.  He dropped it atop the Klingon’s stomach.  Before he could pull his command tunic back on, the Klingon female grabbed his shoulder and turned him.  Her grip was firm enough to make Jim wince.

Bones twitched to see a Klingon’s hands on Jim, but there was nothing he could do about it.  It did please him, though, to see the marks on Jim, the marks he had placed there.

Over the course of their week on Risa, they’d discovered they both wanted to be marked, to be claimed.  Jim had a higher pain threshold than Bones and Bones could be creative with some of his methods, given his profession, so the marks on Jim were, four days after leaving Risa, still vivid.

The Klingon released Jim’s shoulder and made a motion with her hand indicating he could put his shirt on.  He pulled it over his head, crossed his arms, and raised his eyebrows.

“These marks indicate respect,” she said, slamming her forearms against her breastplate.  “I am B’Lesor.  That is Cresk.”

Bones glanced briefly at Jim, who seemed just as bewildered.  The Federation knew so little of their enemy that they were relying on their own instincts here.  That they hadn’t yet been killed were points in their favor.  Bones suddenly felt like slamming his head into the wall again:  he’d forgotten he’d armed himself with a phaser.  He could defend himself at any time, though he couldn’t fight his way out of the cave, nor could he kill in cold blood.  He was a doctor, not a killer.

“You already know I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the Enterprise,” Jim said slowly feeling his way around the words.  B’Lesor tilted her head indulgently.  “That is Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer.”

“You can heal Cresk,” she asked, turning her full attention back to Bones.

He felt nauseous, but wasn’t sure if it was due to the pressure she was putting on him or due to the pain he was in; both, probably, if he were honest with himself.  He answered, “I’ll try, but I’m not a miracle worker.  I can’t even examine the patient.”

She grunted, nonplussed.  “You will heal him.”

No pressure, he thought wildly.  Turning to the supply station, he pulled two hyposprays and prayed Klingons weren’t allergic – and that Jim didn’t fuck them up since he was allergic to one of them.  He found a topical antibacterial and anesthetic gel as well.

Bones held both hypos up.  “I need you to inject both these next to the wound.  After you’re done that, irrigate again, then apply this gel.”  He closed his eyes and hissed his breath through clenched teeth.  His ribs were aching fiercely.  “Once done, bind it with the shirt.”

“Understood,” Jim said.  Rather than wait for Bones to throw the items, Jim hurried to Bones and took the three things from his hands.  It also allowed him to spit, “Sit down, Bones.”

Bones glared, but answered, “Help me, then.”

Jim offered one arm as a brace and, between them, they lowered Bones down the wall once again into a sitting position.  Jim lingered for a moment, ghosting his lips through Bones’ hair, before releasing him to return to Cresk and follow Bones’ orders.

When Bones looked at B’Lesor, he found her smiling.  It was just as disturbing as earlier.  “Marking your mate is a sign of respect in the Klingon mating cycle.”  Cresk barked something in Klingon, which B’Lesor replied to in an annoyed tone.

Bones sighed lightly so as not to disturb his ribs.  “I could have done without that knowledge.”

Jim looked up from his task, a half-wicked grin on his face.  “It would be interesting.”

Bones rolled his eyes.  Hard.  “You would think so.”

Jim merely continued to grin as he returned to his task.  Cresk, though muttering in Klingon, did not attempt to knock Jim away again.  Jim’s nose had stopped bleeding, but his gold tunic was liberally splattered with blood.  If it had been up to Bones, Jim would have had to use his gold tunic to bind Cresk’s wound.  However, not only would that be unethical since it was covered in human blood and, with his luck, there would be some interaction between Klingon and human blood, but Jim was unnaturally attached to that gold tunic.  Bones wouldn’t make him give it up just to bind a bastard’s leg.

B’Lesor moved into Bones’s line of vision, nearly blocking his view of Jim entirely.  She looked down at Bones, arms crossed, leather creaking ominously.  He looked up at her and tried not to roll his eyes.

“You are not what we were told to expect of the Enterprise,” she said slowly.

His eyebrows rose.  “What were you told to expect and by whom?”  Since he and Jim already knew they’d been sent to Bexia Prime to die, the conversation with those sent to murder them should be an interesting one, Bones thought, if they talked at all.

She paced.  Jim looked up from his repair job, eyes darting between Cresk, B’Lesor and Bones, his expression wary.  It served to remind Bones that, while they seemed pleasant enough, the Klingons were still the enemy.

“We were warned about the Captain,” she purred suddenly, making Jim startle and jerk Cresk’s leg.  He barely missed the cuffing backhand Cresk sent his way.  B’Lesor, ignoring the byplay, continued, “And that, because the Captain is obstinate, he should be eliminated.”

She turned to Jim, who looked up after a protracted silence.  He shrugged.  “Doctor McCoy and I already figured out we were sent here to be killed.”  He grinned ferally as he tied off the binding around Cresk’s leg.  The last of the suturing web had been used to hold together the bandage on Bones’s leg.  He flicked the task light off, conserving it, and sending the cave into semi-darkness due to the weak sunlight of early morning.

“Admiral Jellico does not like to hear no,” Cresk growled.

Jim and Bones both stared at him while B’Lesor looked upon him with an expression that could only be likened to gazing fondly upon a puppy.  It was a nausea-inducing expression on anyone, let alone on a Klingon.

Jim huffed a laugh.  “You sly dog.  You understand and speak Standard just fine.”

Cresk looked affronted.  “It is a pitiful language that lacks beauty compared to Klingon.  A warrior should understand the language of his enemy.”  He turned a devious eye to Jim.  “As well you should know when dealing with the Admiral.”

Jim drove a hand through his hair as he settled back on his heels.  “It’s not as if she asked me to join her in anything.  She tried to seduce me and got angry when I said no.”  That earned him three withering looks.  He sighed.  “How should we adjust our approach?”  Bones knew he’d wonder later about accepting advice about dealing with a traitorous Starfleet admiral from Klingons, but it fit the flow of conversation.

Cresk and B’Lesor exchanged a brief look before B’Lesor spoke.  “Have you considered what the Empire might gain by cooperation with Jellico and her conspirators?  I imagine you haven’t, given how Federation-centric you humans are in your thinking.”

Bones’s gasp of shock sent pain ripping through him.  Though he, Spock and Jim had discussed the advantages and disadvantages to the Federation of what Jellico seemingly was attempting to do, but he couldn’t recall a single conversation about what such an alliance or softening of relations might do for the Klingon Empire – or, hell, even why they might want to participate.  Bones was fairly certain Spock had considered those ideas, though, and had merely not shared that information – the damned hobgoblin.  Hell, Jim had probably considered it as well given his mind for tactics and history.

Jim leapt to his feet and began to pace.  Cresk pulled himself to a sitting position much like Bones, but against the opposite wall, leaving B’Lesor and Jim between them.

Shadows swathed the two Klingons.  Bones could see their outlines, but not their faces.  Their body language screamed tension, even for Klingons.  Though they were ready to fight, B’Lesor more than Cresk, Bones had the impression these two Klingons wanted something more from them.

And wasn’t that just a kick in the ass, to paraphrase his grandfather.

“It’s because of the prison planet, isn’t it?” Jim asked suddenly, spinning toward B’Lesor.

Even in the shadows, Bones could see her white teeth when she attempted a smile.  “I do not know why humans discount your intelligence.  You are reasonably smart, for a human.”

Jim smiled slightly, but it was self-deprecating.  “Some humans think attractive means stupid.”

B’Lesor tilted her head to the side, then walked halfway around Jim, bending to obviously check out his ass.  As she straightened, she leered at him.  Bones wasn’t sure if he should be amused or possessive and settled for a petulant glare as a result.  B’Lesor smiled as she murmured, “For a human, you are passable.”

Bones covered his mouth and tried not to laugh, since it hurt his ribs, making him both snicker and moan in pain.  He would have to remember to use passable next time Jim began fishing for compliments.

“What do you know of Rura Penthe?” Cresk demanded.  He attempted to get up and crumpled back to the floor with an agonized moan.  Bones rolled his eyes.  He could guess that Cresk had wanted to intimidate Jim, but he had obviously forgotten about his injury.

B’Lesor barked something in Klingon at him that, given the tone, was probably close to what the hell do you think you’re doing, you stupid man?  Cresk’s resulting embarrassed expression in response did nothing to dispel that notion.  They exchanged words, allowing Bones to seek out Jim.

He stood in the middle of the cave, one hand at his mouth – a substitute for his old habit of gnawing on the side of his thumb that Bones broken him of early in their friendship – and his other hand absently beating a tattoo on his thigh.  Deep in thought, he was fascinating to observe.  Watching Jim took Bones’s mind off the fact he was cold despite the warming day.  He didn’t want to acknowledge what that might mean.

In a less belligerent tone – for a Klingon – Cresk asked, “What do you know of Rura Penthe?”

Jim blinked and focused unerringly on Cresk despite the shadows.  “Is that the prison planet?”  Though Bones couldn’t see it, Cresk must have nodded.  “A force of forty-seven Klingon ships was destroyed by the Narada hours before Vulcan was destroyed.”

Bones fought not to gasp.  He’d forgotten the full import of Uhura’s overheard message in the intervening months, forgotten it against the tragedy of Vulcan.  Given that only a handful of those in Starfleet knew forty-seven Klingon ships had been lost in a single battle – and Bones knew the odds were good Jellico and her conspirators were among the few who knew – was it any wonder they were trying to take advantage?

Even Bones knew, though, that appeasing a Klingon was a bad idea.  Spock’s analogy using Neville Chamberlain might be skewed.  Hitler had wanted Lebensraum – breathing room – for the German people, but the Klingon Empire had an entire Neutral Zone.  B’Lesor was right:  they’d never considered why the Empire might be tempted by a back-door deal with Starfleet.

B’Lesor stepped from the shadows and into the full light of the cave, her leather creaking almost ominously.  “The Narada also destroyed Rura Penthe.”

Rocking back on his heels, more for effect than real shock, Jim titled his head and asked, “Why are you telling me all this?”  He waved his hands randomly, then began to stalk back and forth like a restless lion.  “You’re Klingons.  I’m the captain of the Federation flagship.  You were sent here to kill me.”  He stopped, spread his arms wide, and cried, “So do it.”

B’Lesor laughed.  Laughing Klingons were now something else Bones could add to his list of strange life experiences, right up there with smiling Klingons and Keenser’s annual physical.

“Today is not a good day to die,” B’Lesor said.  Bones refrained from pointing out that Lieutenant Chin might disagree.  Lieutenant Skell had died yesterday.

“You destroyed the Narada,” Cresk growled.

Jim dropped his arms to his sides.  “The Enterprise did, yes.”

“You gave the order?” Cresk asked, pressing the point.  There was a certain tone in his voice, something that made Bones suspect he and Jim were seeing only a fraction of what was going on in front of them.  The currents between B’Lesor and Cresk were fast and deep.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jim planted his feet shoulder-width apart and nodded.  “I did.”

Cresk grunted something that could have been an acknowledgment or a curse.  B’Lesor, on the other hand, answered with a nod nearly identical to Jim’s, acknowledging Jim as an equal.

“For that, we thank you.”  B’Lesor’s words were quiet, but all the more shocking for it.  “We . . . our child was lost on one of those forty-seven ships.  You have helped regain some honor in the loss.”

In the years he’d known Jim Kirk, Bones had rarely known him to be speechless.  This was one of those few instances.  Jim only nodded absently.

Cresk cleared his throat.  “You show respect to your mate.  You have shown honor to your enemies when you could have killed us.”

“How?” Jim exclaimed, astonished.  He slid his hands down his sides to indicate he was unarmed, though Bones knew he had a knife in his boot.

B’Lesor turned to Bones.  “Your doctor is trickier than he looks.  He has at least one phaser within reach even now despite his injuries.”

Jim jerked his eyes to Bones.  When their eyes met, Bones immediately recalled their earlier conversation while Lieutenant Chin lay dying.  Bones tipped his chin up.  Though he would not murder in cold blood, Leonard McCoy would be willing to kill.  Jim’s eyes widened slightly, but one corner of his mouth turned up in an approving smirk.

“I see,” Jim murmured.  “In that case, let’s discuss Rura Penthe and what we can do for you.”

“Bones, you need to wake up.”  He waved his arm ineffectually in the direction of the voice.  “Bones.”  He grunted, then moaned at the dull ache it sent through his chest and back.  “C’mon Bones, you’ve got to wake up.”

“The Captain is correct, Doctor,” a second voice chimed in, a moderated tone in which every word sounded carefully weighed before being spoken.

Bones opened his eyes.  Blurry at first, his vision then sharpened and focused on Jim, who appeared relieved, if his quick smile was any indication.  Behind Jim were Sulu and Scotty, Sulu standing fierce guard, his katana visibly hanging on his belt, and Scotty in deep discussion with Cresk.  Bones turned to his right and there was Spock, as expected, crouching in the dirt next to Bones’s broken right leg.

“Has – ”  Bones stopped as his throat tightened up.  He was dehydrated and, as a result, his throat had essentially closed up on him.  Spock handed him a canteen.  Once again, he had to force himself not to gulp the entire container in one go.

He dampened his lips first and allowed himself to take stock of the situation.  What he wanted to know was if forty-eight hours had passed.  He was worried about how long he’d been unconscious and refused to scan himself for a head injury.  There was nothing to be done about it while they were on Bexia Prime, only on the Enterprise, so if it killed him, they’d find out post-mortem anyway.

Spock settled into the dirt next to him, stretching out his legs, careful not to disturb Bones’ broken leg.  Bones took a mouthful of water, allowing his tissues to rehydrate.

“The Captain has given us his version of events,” Spock began, eyes on Scotty and Cresk.  From the corner of his eye, Bones could see Jim now engaged in conversation with Sulu near the mouth of the cave and B’Lesor against the wall between the two groups, body relaxed but alert.  Spock continued, “I would be interested in hearing your version, but realize you are not in a condition to share.”

Bones licked his lips.  “Good of you.”  He grimaced.  His voice sounded like ground nails.  Swigging from the canteen again, he turned to Spock, unsurprised to find the Vulcan looking back with one raised eyebrow.

Spock held his gaze for a moment before inclining his head and speaking.  “It has been only forty hours since the Enterprise beamed your team here, Doctor.”  Bones raised both his eyebrows at Spock, who had the grace to flush greenly.  “There was something in Admiral Lynch’s orders that did not sound right.”

Bones’s eyebrows went higher.  He took a mouthful of water quickly, grimacing at the sensation of swallowing, and hissed, “A hunch?”

Spock tilted his head.  “It is possible to characterize it as such, yes.”

“You stayed?” Bones asked, then grimaced.  He wanted to interrogate Spock, but was in no condition to do so.  If he were feeling adventurous, he’d offer a mind meld – providing Spock was willing – but he’d had enough adventure without the hobgoblin poking around in his brain, too.

“Yes.”  Spock’s attention turned from Bones to the Klingons.  “Admiral Lynch appeared too pleased that both you and the Captain had followed orders and beamed down.  Therefore, the Enterprise has developed engineering difficulties.”

“Lies?”  His respect for Spock was reluctantly rising the more human he became.  The irony didn’t escape his notice, either.

A small smile, infinitesimal almost, touched one corner of Spock’s mouth.  “Prevarication.  After we beamed down, the action seemed foresight when we discovered evidence of a fight.”  Spock fell silent for long enough that Bones nearly spoke.  He held back, swallowing water instead, and waited.  He was rewarded when Spock continued, “I am not certain I will understand this human idea of forgiving your enemies.”

Bones turned to Cresk and B’Lesor.  Cresk was still deep in conversation with Scotty, but B’Lesor’s attention was riveted on Spock and Bones.  That hooded gaze was disconcerting.  Knowing she and Cresk had lost a child, though, made it difficult for Bones to see them as the enemy.  The loss had personalized them, humanized them, though B’Lesor would take offense at the term.  He wondered if Jim had shared that with Spock or if he’d considered it irrelevant.

“Is there a plan?” Bones managed to ask, making himself breathless with pain.  His ribs were worse.  He should scan himself to find out exactly what his condition was, but he didn’t want to know.  If Jim caught him, he would have to share the burden of the knowledge and, if he weren’t going to make it to the transport window, he would rather not know – and would rather spare Jim that knowledge as well.

Spock turned from B’Lesor to Jim and Sulu.  Sulu was now gesticulating wildly as Jim watched, offering suggestions intermittently but otherwise listening intently.  “There is.  We must contact several people once Scotty has the triangulation field ready, but we believe our plan will also expose the conspiracy.”

“Freeing us?”  And freeing Jim from Jellico’s clutches?

Spock inclined his head.  “Providing everyone cooperates, which is not guaranteed.”  He turned and focused fully on Bones.  “Tell me, Doctor, how will your staff feel about treating a Klingon if you are incapacitated?”

Bones opened his mouth for the glib answer, that of course they’d treat the patient – a patient is a patient – but he closed it almost as quickly.  He couldn’t guarantee Cresk’s safety in the sickbay of the Enterprise and the knowledge galled him.

“That is what I expected,” Spock said quietly.  “What we expected.”

Even if it’s what everyone expected, that didn’t make it any easier for Bones to stomach.  He made a promise to himself that once all the political intrigue was done – for the moment, knowing Jim – he’d institute a new procedure in sickbay.  He’d recruit random “volunteers” from all departments to portray sick patients of various races and test his staff.  They’d hate him, but he could live with that.  Better they hate him then have the medical staff of the Enterprise develop a reputation.

To take his mind from that, Bones flipped back in the conversation to something Spock said about Scotty.  “Triangulation field?”

“Yes,” Spock murmured.  Standing, he dusted himself off and called, “Mr. Scott?”

“Aye?” Scotty replied, breaking off mid-sentence from his conversation with Cresk.

“I believe we have a communications array to set up.”  Spock turned to Sulu.  “Mr. Sulu, if you could break down the gear in the cave for transport, we may begin.”

“Yes, sir,” Sulu replied, heading to the supply station.

Spock knelt at Bones’s side.  “Doctor, I know you would prefer not to be moved, but this cave is transporter-blind.  We must be outside to be visible to the Enterprise and the Chivarn.”

“Just do it,” Bones growled, gritting his teeth.  He wanted a drink.  He wanted a painkiller, but they’d all been used.  Spock nodded and, one arm under Bones’s knees and the other behind his shoulders, hefted him almost effortlessly.

It was all Bones could do not to pass out.  His vision grayed dangerously and he bit back a scream.  Doctors really did make the worst patients, he thought irritably as Spock settled him on the ground next to a softly humming tripod.

The tripod, once Bones could focus again and notice his surroundings, glowed pink at the top.  It was one of four, only two of which were currently glowing.  Scotty, cursing, was manipulating the third and intermittently banging on it.  Once it glowed as well, he grinned and moved on to the fourth.

Sulu brought the broken-down supply station out of the cave and crouched next to Bones, handing over a canteen without a word.  Bones drank moderately, well aware that he was in even worse shape than before.  He could no longer feel his right foot, which meant circulation problems in his broken leg.

Just as Scotty brought the fourth tripod online, creating a quadrangle of pink light, B’Lesor and Spock exited the cave with Cresk carried between them.  Bones raised his eyebrows.  He would have loved to have heard that argument and almost regretted being brought out before Cresk.

Jim exited last.  From this distance, Bones was reminded of his initial observation that Jim had been favoring his left side.  Since he’d seen Jim without his shirt and there was no evidence of injury that would cause him to favor his left side, he had to have some sort of leg injury and it was well masked by the black pants and darkness.  He would have to sic Chapel on Jim – Jim had a hard time evading her with the same tricks he used on Bones, especially the “kiss him stupid” trick.

Bones startled when Sulu covered him in a thermal blanket.  “Sorry, sir,” Sulu murmured.  “Doctor Estilon insisted when he discovered what the nighttime temps were.”

Bones nodded.  They’d foregone thermal blankets originally to save space, deciding instead to rely on fire building.  He tucked the blanket under his armpits as his attention was split three ways:  Sulu, offering a blanket to the Klingons; Scotty, inside the quadrangle and hailing the Enterprise; and Spock, bringing Chin and Skell’s bodies just outside the cave so they could be brought back aboard the ship.

Jim settled next to Bones, careful not to disturb him.  “You look like shit.”

“Love you, too,” Bones hissed.

Jim grabbed his hand and murmured, “Don’t talk.  You’re in too much pain to talk.”  Bones waved a hand at Scotty, silently asking what he was doing.  Jim smiled.  “Spock didn’t trust Admiral Lynch, disobeyed orders, and enlisted the crew to find a way around the problem of the communications blackout while on the surface.”  He looked over at Spock, who now stood impassively beside one of the tripods, hands clasped at the small of his back.  “We’ll make a good officer of him yet.”

Bones’s laugh caught in his chest and nearly made him pass out again.  The thought was so similar to the one he’d had earlier that he wasn’t sure if he should be frightened or not.  By the combination of fear and unholy amusement on Jim’s face, he decided to just not think too much about it.

Spock stepped into the quadrangle on Scotty’s signal, ducking under the pink light beam between the tripods.  Pulling his communicator from his belt, he flipped it open and hailed, “Spock to Enterprise.”

“Enterprise here.  Good morning, Commander.”

Bones heard Jim snicker beside him, and even he smiled at the slight purr to Uhura’s tone.  Spock’s cheeks took a faint green tinge.  Scotty slapped him on the back, earning himself a raised eyebrow, which he ignored.

“Lieutenant Uhura, we are ready to begin,” Spock replied, his tone more formal than usual.

“Yes, sir,” Uhura answered.  There was a pause, then, “Sub-space frequencies open.  Who am I contacting first, sir?”

Spock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his first real sign of emotion.  “The Ambassador.”

Bones’s eyebrows shot upward.  Jim had, one night not long after they’d returned to space, talked about everything behind the Narada.  He looked over at Jim, who was looking nowhere but at Spock.  Jim did, however, squeeze his hand.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Spock replied steadily, opening his eyes and locking them on Jim.

“Contacting the Ambassador now, Commander,” Uhura said.

Their plan was in motion.

“You be careful, Jim,” Bones murmured.  He didn’t care for this part of the plan, but understood the necessity.

Jim grinned just before kissing Bones breathless – not difficult to do to a man with broken ribs, but it was the thought that counted.  “Don’t you die and don’t let anyone kill Cresk,” Jim answered against Bones’s lips.

“Thought no one was supposed to know ’bout us,” Bones protested weakly.

“Don’t care now,” Jim said.  Backing up, he straightened and added, “We could make it all official if you wanted.”

“Energize,” Spock said.

Bastard, was Bones’ last coherent thought – though he wasn’t sure who it was directed toward – for the next five hours until his medical staff was done with him.

When the Enterprise appeared in geosynchronous orbit over San Francisco, no one but three Admirals were very worried.  It was the flagship of the fleet, after all, and everyone knew the Captain tended to bang her up more than was normal for a starship.

No one worried, that is, until the Klingon Bird-of-Prey decloaked next to the Enterprise.