Title: Bump in the Night (2/2)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Their captain can handle sneaky Klingons, pompous Omnipotents, and a murderous Starfleet Command – but tell Jim Kirk a ghost story and he’s done. It’s not a good thing, then, when Kirk, Spock, and McCoy find themselves stranded inside a facility overrun by the dead.
Previous Part: 1
A/N: Please wait a moment before you throw that rotten food or pick up that pitchfork. I didn’t forget! Another writing project took precedence last week, and I literally spent several days in a row writing it to make the deadline. Please, please forgive me for my tardiness! I promise you that my guilty conscience never lets go of me until a story is done.
That said, enjoy the rest of this story!

“Oh joy,” Leonard remarks, voice strained, when Spock lifts his upper body slightly. His vision goes fuzzy from pain. “Not good. Better put me back down.”

Jim is clutching the hand of Leonard’s un-injured limb. “Bones?” He sounds like he’s in as much pain as Leonard, even though that isn’t possible.

“Shoulder,” surmises Leonard with a doctor’s instinct. “Definitely broken, and crap… Spock, I think I landed on your tricorder.”

“Bones, what can we do?”

Leonard names a drug in his pack. While he hates to dip into their limited supply of painkillers, he knows he won’t be able to think without it. He prays neither Jim nor Spock suffer an injury later on.

Even with Jim gingerly unhooking the medkit from Leonard’s belt, the tiniest movements result in severe pain. Leonard wants to vomit from it but he can’t even roll over to comfortably do so. His entire shoulder feels like a brick, swollen to twice its size. The body is trying to minimize further damage to the already fragile ligaments and tendons around the broken bone.

We don’t have a stabilizer for my arm, he thinks with dismay.

Jim holds up a cartridge from the kit, and Leonard confirms that it is the right one but decides to be a bit thrifty when asked how much to dial on the hypospray for dosage. Once the hypospray is loaded and ready, Jim presses the tip to the side of Leonard’s neck, injecting the contents with none of gusto that Leonard usually injects him.

“Is this going to work?” Jim wants to know.

“It’ll take some of the edge off. Give it a minute, and then,” Leonard swallows at the next thought, “y’all can move me.”

Spock shifts nearer. “Leonard…” He brings his hand towards Leonard’s temple.

Leonard reacts immediately with “Don’t you dare!”

Spock pinches his eyebrows together. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t, Spock. At least one of us has to be able-bodied. I’m injured, and Jim is—” He meets Jim’s eyes with a silent apology. “—terrified.”

Jim drops his chin to his chest and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” The words are painfully subdued.

“It’s not your fault,” Leonard replies.

“If I didn’t—if I was—” Though Jim has trouble expressing his regret, it’s clear enough in his eyes.

“Jim,” Spock says in lieu of Leonard repeating himself, “none of what has transpired requires that you shoulder the blame… unless you care to share that with us.”

“Why would you say that? I’m the captain,” Jim argues. “I know what I’m responsible for.”

The Vulcan counters in a gentle tone, “Sometimes I think you do not.”

Yes, Leonard thinks to himself. How many times will they have go through this with him?

A captain is responsible for the safety of his crew when he is in a position to protect them. Yet Fate has a way of throwing them into the worst possible scenarios, into situations that often leave them as the helpless audience bearing witness to the suffering of their colleagues. That some of them can ultimately escape those situations and live to tell about it is almost always due to Jim’s quick, creative thinking.

But Jim can only count the losses. He has saved hundreds of people, whole races even, but never once forgiven himself for a single person that has been sacrificed in the process. Ironically, it is this blindness, this self-flagellation, that drives the man harder than any expectation that Starfleet could demand of him.

Leonard fears that Jim will ruin himself in pursuit of the impossible, and yet he loves Jim for being brave enough to try. He knows that Spock feels for Jim in a similar way, both loving and fearing how bright of a star the man truly is. They try their best, together, to keep Jim from burning away too quickly in his quest to protect everyone but himself.

Does Jim understand that? How much they give to him, for him? Why they always want him safe?

Watching Jim now, he knows the answer is still no. He can only hope that there comes a day when Jim is a wiser man. Of course that doesn’t mean he or Spock will love Jim any less until such time.

“Spock, help me sit up,” Leonard says to the Vulcan. Because the medicine is fast-acting, his arm is starting to go numb, which is a good thing. With Spock’s slow and careful attention, Leonard finds himself in a seated position that doesn’t make him want to die.

“You need a sling,” Jim says. “How about bandages?”

“That could work.”

Apparently Jim has had some experience in creating makeshift arm slings out of bandages. In a matter of minutes, Leonard doesn’t have to hold his own arm up. He’s very grateful for that. He wipes at beads of perspiration on his forehead with his free hand.

Jim and Spock exchange a glance.

“Bones…” Jim begins.

“I know what you’re going to say, Jim,” Leonard cuts in, “and the answer’s no. We stick together.”

“Spock or I could—”

“No,” he repeats more fiercely. “Need I remind you both of all the times we did split up?”

Jim flinches. Spock’s mouth presses into a flat line.

“Exactly,” Leonard says wearily. “Don’t put me through that. I don’t need emotional pain on top of physical pain.”

Jim sits back on his heels and scrubs the side of his hand against his cheekbone. “We can’t stay here.”

“Wasn’t going to suggest it, kid.”

Jim looks over to Spock again. “Then would you consider letting Spock carry you?”

Leonard purses his mouth.

Spock’s face reveals nothing at the sight of the doctor’s dismay.

Jim stares at Leonard expectantly.

“All right,” Leonard concedes. “But only until we’re upstairs.”

“Fair enough,” agrees his captain, rising to his feet.

Without a word, Spock gathers Leonard to his chest and picks him up.

~~~

Going up really isn’t a decision; it’s an only option. Ghost or not, it’s obvious they were on the correct path, and to go back would mean to return to the mindless wandering of the maze-like corridors for God knows how long. The three officers are not that foolish.

At the top of the stairs, the door is ajar. They move through it to find themselves back in the control room of the facility.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Leonard says. “Does anyone else feel like we should’ve been here a lot sooner?”

No one answers him. Jim has flipped open his communicator and is tuning it to find a working frequency. Spock stands like he is made of stone, with as much speaking ability as one. Leonard understands too well that Spock is attempting to make no move that jars him.

He gripes in a soft tone, “Put me down, hobgoblin.”

Spock does not.

Leonard gives in and drops his forehead to the side of the Vulcan’s neck. “Stubborn,” he mutters. He would never admit that his sensibilities aren’t nearly as offended as they should be. He’s in a weakened state, in pain. Being close to Spock is actually comforting.

“Jim,” Spock says after a while.

Leonard drags his eyelids open, not remembering having closed them.

“Kirk to Enterprise,” Leonard hears, as he is only able to see Jim’s back since the man is turned away from them. “Come in Enterprise.”

The fizzle-pop-fizzle-pop coming from the communicator speaker is disheartening.

Leonard has to clear his voice twice before he can speak. “Spock, you can put me down now. I’m no lightweight. Your arms have to be hurting.”

“Certainly they do not hurt more than yours.” Spock blinks, draws a small breath. “Forgive me. That remark was un-called for.”

This is one of the reasons why Leonard finds Spock so amusing. Spock is a Vulcan who knows how to sass. Nonetheless, Leonard says, “Darlin’, you’re forgiven. Now for goodness’s sake, let me sit into that chair over there, otherwise I’m going to start pinching you!”

Spock moves to the chair and somewhat reluctantly kneels to set Leonard onto it.

Leonard holds back most of his grimace while he settles into a position that doesn’t press any part of his wounded shoulder against a hard surface. Spock stays kneeling at his feet for a moment, simply looking up at him.

Leonard is reminded of how much he stupidly loves the Vulcan. “Jim,” he says, like that should resolve everything, from their situation to his out-of-control feelings.

Jim has come over to join them. The expression on his face is grim.

Leonard forgets for a moment what he was thinking as he reads their future in Jim’s face. “What now?” he asks.

Spock stands up, facing Jim as well. “If we have truly been trapped here, it is for a reason. There is a solution.”

Jim is tense about the eyes as he nods his agreement. “I know.”

Leonard glances between them. Maybe the throbbing of his shoulder has dulled his ability to think because he doesn’t know what solution they are hinting at.

Jim lets his eyes fall close only for a moment, as if he’s praying, before he opens them again and turns around to face the empty side of the room. He squares his shoulders.

“I want to negotiate,” he declares.

“Jim, who are—” Leonard shuts up abruptly, his eyes going wide. Jim can’t be…

“If there’s someone here with us,” Jim starts again, “show yourself. I want to negotiate with you.”

Leonard finds himself holding his breath. The chill at his nape is foreboding sign.

“Show yourself!” Jim is demanding now. “I want to—”

The person who steps out of the dark is not the one they are expecting.

The caretaker is smiling crookedly. His eyes look like bottomless black pits. “So,” he croons, “you’re ready. Let’s negotiate.”

“Jim,” Leonard says uncertainly as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Jim, don’t go over there.”

Jim flicks his phaser to stun. “I’m not going anywhere, Bones—but the person who messed with my officers might be.” His voice is flat with anger.

Leonard has the urge to take a hold of the back of Jim’s tunic regardless of the promise.

They all hear it, like a slow crawl of something—clunk-clunk-clunk—coming towards the room. Then, without warning, the lights snap on, nearly blinding them.

Jim has jerked his phaser up and taken aim, but in the brightness surrounding them, the menacing caretaker has vanished. Jim’s mouth works slowly, like he’s trying to sound out a word. Spock is stiff with realization.

“Oh shit,” Leonard says for all three of them.

The lights click off again.

Leonard comes out of his chair in a panic (broken shoulder be damned) and latches onto the tail-end of the first shirt he reaches. The person twists around and clutches at him too. Leonard can barely make out that the angles of Jim’s face, but the relief he feels is overwhelming.

Jim’s gaze stays with Leonard for a moment before turning, searching. “…Spock?” the man calls unsteadily. “Spock?”

Leonard echoes the name, feeling suddenly sick, wanting to reach out into the darkness for the Vulcan yet terrified to let Jim go with his only good hand.

Spock never answers them. It is with mounting terror that Jim and Leonard come to understand that Spock is no longer among them. He simply disappeared with the lights.

~~~

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault, Jim. It’s my—”

“Bones.” Jim can’t grab Leonard’s shoulders and shake him from his stupor, but he puts enough bite into his voice to break through and reach Leonard.

Jim gentles his tone. “Bones, stop. We can’t assume…” His throat works. “We can’t assume that Spock’s gone.” Jim adds, almost pleading, “Stay with me, okay?”

Leonard shudders, and that brings pain. The pain gives him the clarity to think. “There wasn’t time for him to walk out, but that means there wasn’t time for him to be taken by force either. Surely we would have heard it.”

Jim is a shadow in the dark but Leonard pictures Jim rubbing his bottom lip in thought, as he is wont to do. “We’re missing something that’s right in front of us, Bones.”

Leonard clenches and unclenches his fistful of Jim’s clothes. “There wasn’t enough time.”

“Unless,” Jim murmurs, “the method itself only takes seconds.”

Leonard sucks in a breath. “Like molecular transportation?”

Jim finds Leonard’s hand and squeezes it. “I would bet my life on it!”

“If he’s been transported, if the others were too, then there has to be a machine, Jim… But I don’t recall seeing something like that. You and Spock reviewed the schematics of the building during the mission prep, didn’t you?”

“We’ll only see what the architect wants us to see. That tunnel definitely wasn’t part of the plan. Bones, there has to be a way to pick up the trail of an energy source like that. It must be running independently of the main generator.”

Leonard hears the tell-tale sounds of Jim peeling off the back of his communicator. “What are you doing?”

“Our tricorder is busted, but I think I can tweak this.” Jim huffs out a quiet laugh. “You’d be surprised at what you learn to do during a survival crash course.”

Jim is talking about the class that every first-year suffers through at the Academy, which Leonard remembers with zero fondness. Even Med-track students weren’t exempted from it, and somehow Leonard had ended up assigned to a group of idiots who nearly died from eating poisoned roots. He had treated them, of course, well enough that no one actually expired before the Academy came back to the drop-off site to retrieve the students. He thinks if he had been part of Kirk’s team instead, he might have learned something useful during that particular lesson barring that it paid to avoid people with no survival instincts.

Those are regrets long past, however, and at present Leonard has a hard time convincing himself that as smart as Jim is, the genius has yet to develop the ability to see in the dark. The doctor turns about, carefully, straining to see a light source. “Damn it,” he curses. “It’s like midnight in here.”

“It’s okay, Bones. I think I got it.”

“You can’t possibly—”

The communicator spits a shower of sparks, and Jim yelps. As the floating embers die out, Leonard can see Jim stick his burned fingers into his mouth.

“—know what you’re doing,” the doctor finishes with a sigh. “Oh, Jim.”

But Jim is chuckling. He re-attaches the back of the communicator casing and twists the front dial. The device starts to beep steadily. As Jim swings it around, the beeping slows down and speeds up like a meter seeking a electromagnetic waves.

“I’m impressed,” Leonard admits.

Jim sounds smug. “You should be, Bones. I’m an impressive guy.”

Like he doesn’t know it. Jim is not going to trick Leonard into saying that, though.

“That way,” Jim announces triumphantly when the beeping reaches a crescendo. “Follow me.”

Leonard lets the man pull him along, finding it ironic that this time he’s the one who is holding on fiercely like his life depends on it. He tries not to think too terribly hard about the fact it’s Spock’s life which depends on them, and he simply cannot bear to acknowledge the possibility that Spock is not alive to depend on anyone.

No matter what Jim believes, it’s Leonard’s fault.

The poor hobgoblin.

~~~

They are cautious, Jim feeling along the walls and Leonard nearly glued to his back. Leonard has been apprehensive since the moment they left the control room (after all, last time they were almost instantly lost), but the communicator is picking up a strong energy signal and Jim seems determined to follow it.

After a few corridor turns, they come to a blank wall.

“Hold up, Bones,” Jim decides. “Can you let go of me for a second?”

“Only a second,” Leonard agrees nervously. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

Leonard hears the scuffing of Jim’s boots against the floor. Jim marches left, then comes back and goes right. He returns to Leonard quickly.

“It’s right here.”

“It can’t be,” Leonard argues, placing a hand flat against the cold brick wall.

“Maybe there’s another tunnel.”

“Maybe so but there’s not another Vulcan to punch through it!”

Jim’s worry and frustration leaks into his voice. “Bones, I need you to help me, not panic!”

“Like you panicked when you saw the ghost?”

Silence.

Leonard squeezes his eyes shut. “…Jim, I’m sorry.”

Jim says nothing, just makes a tiny, pained noise.

Leonard tries to seek him out in the darkness. “Jim, please.”

“…B-Bones.“

Leonard freezes. He knows that sound of terror.

How had he failed to feel the cold turn of the air? To recognize the creepy sensation of being watched from afar? Leonard turns around to find exactly what has made Jim unable to speak.

It’s the female. She hovers at the opening to the corridor from which they had just come. Slowly, now that she has Leonard’s attention as well as Jim’s, she moves toward the pair.

Leonard forgets about being injured; he forgets to be scared or angry. He backs up quickly, taking Jim by the wrist, and calls out a desperate warning: “Leave us alone!”

But the ghost doesn’t stop coming.

Leonard is forced to drag Jim aside and look for an escape route. She’s not taking Jim too. He won’t allow it.

Jim doesn’t come easily. His muscles are stiff with fright, and his breathing is labored.

“It’s okay, Jim, it’s okay,” Leonard tells him repeatedly. “You’re still with me.”

The ghost does something unexpected in that she doesn’t turn to follow their progress. She comes to a halt in front of the wall they had been arguing over and lingers there. Then, in the blink of an eye, she pushes through it and vanishes.

Leonard stares at the empty spot for a long minute. When his brain begins to work again, he says almost excitedly, “Jim!”

Jim still is not responsive.

“Jim!” he says again, shaking the wrist he is holding. “I think—I think we have to follow her.”

That simple statement is what brings Kirk back to life.

“No,” he argues, voice strangled. “No way. I’m not, we’re not…” He tries to tear his wrist out of Leonard’s grip.

“We’re going to, Jim,” Leonard replies firmly, although not without sympathy. “Because she wants us to.”

“I’m not doing what a ghost wants, Bones!” Jim snaps.

“To save Spock you will.”

The man’s arm goes limp in Leonard’s grasp.

“Jim?”

It feels like forever until Leonard hears a soft “Okay.”

He sighs in relief. With one hurdle over, he faces the next one. “Now… how do we break down this wall?”

“You don’t,” Jim replies. “I will.” He draws out his phaser and vaporizes the bricks into nothingness.

The glowing edges of the hole in the wall casts light, eerie and red, over Jim’s features. For the briefest moment, he is macabre portrait of himself, in deep contemplation of the weapon in his hand. Then Jim tucks the phaser out of sight, and Leonard, realizing that it must be drained of power now, offers his own.

“Keep it,” Jim says. Watch my back, he doesn’t need to add.

Jim steps into the newly revealed tunnel, one which seems damper and more unpleasant than the first. Leonard follows him, opting to tuck their last phaser into his belt so that he can hold onto Jim again.

He’s already learned his lesson about letting go the hard way.

~~~

This time the tunnel descends into the earth. The downward slope is gentle but the dust is unkind and makes the trek of their boots more tenuous. Leonard’s foot slips once, and he instinctively jerks his arms out to catch his balance.

The subsequent wave of pain is horrendous and leaves tears leaking out of his eyes. Jim stands by him through it, not speaking since there is no comfort he can truly give. They move on.

At the end of the tunnel, absent a door, is a circular chamber. Leonard has no trouble seeing it because it is lit from within. The sound of machinery greets them, too.

“We found it,” says Jim with obvious relief.

Leonard cannot shake yet another unsettling feeling. “I don’t see any equipment.” But he does see something that prompts him to start forward.

Jim veers off slightly, saying, “There’s a door back here.”

The unusual lump on the floor is not a person—or is no longer much of a person.

“My god,” Leonard whispers, crouching down to inspect the remains in the low lighting.

“This can’t be right,” Jim calls somewhere to his left.

Leonard looks up. “Did you find it?”

“There’s generator in here, Bones—on its own line, too, which is why we picked it up in a blackout.” There comes the noise of Jim knocking into or on something. “But, damn, this technology is ancient! There absolutely no way a transporter could run off of this.”

That is terrible news, indeed. It means they really don’t know what happened to Spock or the others.

Leonard’s unsettling feeling solidifies into an unpleasant suspicion. “It’s the caretaker,” he concludes, standing up and swaying on his feet for a few seconds. “He answered you. He said ‘you’re ready’. He’s the one, Jim. I’ll even bet he killed whoever this poor bastard was.”

“What poor bastard?” Jim wants to know, crossing over to him.

Leonard indicates the pile of bones. Jim bends down to retrieve something and stands up, holding a scrap of cloth. The color is faded, the material shredded by rodents; it might have been part of a jumpsuit at one time. Jim turns it over for Leonard to see the stitching of a name.

“Laurel—I can’t make out what comes after that.”

“A woman,” Jim murmurs, running his thumb over the black threads. “Bones…”

“Yeah, I get it. Our resident spook. Damned shame she died like this.”

A wash of cold air down his back sets Leonard to shivering. “Jim,” he says the name in warning.

But Jim isn’t listening. He sheds his gold tunic while Leonard watches and kneels down to drape it over Laurel’s remains like a shroud. Then, after bowing his head for a moment in silence, he says, “I wish we didn’t have to leave her like this.”

Leonard is touched. He offers a hand to aid in Jim coming to his feet. “There’s not much we can do, Jim. I’m sorry. Maybe when we get out of here.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Jim says nothing further, knowing as well as Leonard does that they—or anyone—won’t ever return here once the facility has been classified as hostile.

“About the generator,” Leonard switches the subject. “Can we use it?”

“To contact the ship?” Jim looks at him. “We don’t have a choice. I’ll build an old-school radio tower if I have to, Bones. We’re getting out of here.”

And what about Spock? Leonard wants to ask. He lowers his gaze to the floor and swallows hard.

Let Jim go back to the ship. Jim has to, to be safe. But Leonard cannot go.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jim says suddenly.

Leonard really hopes he doesn’t.

“Bones, look at me.”

Leonard does, trying and failing to sound irritated as he retorts, “What?”

Jim’s gaze is measured, resolute. “I won’t leave him behind, and you’re not staying.”

“Jim.”

“That’s an order, Doctor.”

Leonard just shakes his head.

Jim closes his eyes and runs a hand tiredly over his face. “Bones,” he pleads, somewhat desperately, “I can’t argue with you about this. Please.”

“It’s Spock, Jim. You can’t expect to me to walk away.”

“I’m not. I’m asking you to return with me to the ship so you can be healed. Then we’ll come back, us and probably half of the crew whether I give my permission or not. Spock’s one of us, Bones, not just one of you, me, and him. He’s family. The Enterprise doesn’t turn its back on family.”

Leonard gives a soft, emotional laugh. “If only he could hear that. It might do him some good.”

“He knows. That’s why he won’t take a commission for his own ship.”

Leonard feels a bit of shame. “I thought you didn’t know about that.”

“I know everything that goes on aboard my ship, Bones,” Jim replies, lips pressing together humorlessly. “Even the things that no one chooses to tell me.”

“He didn’t want you to worry.”

Jim turns away. “We’ll discuss it later—when we have him back. I will see about that generator.”

Jim starts across the room.

Leonard’s mistake is not holding onto him, like he had been determined to do so far. When the caretaker appears—or rather, forms out of the shadows like the devil himself—Leonard is not with Jim to protect him or to take the blow. With maliciousness in his eyes, he attacks Jim with the clear intent to harm him.

Jim reacts quickly—but it’s for naught. The fist that lashes out goes straight through the caretaker’s chest.

Jim backs up, face paling, eyes growing wider.

And the spirit just grins. Then Jim is sailing through the air without a single hand being laid upon him and hits the opposite wall with a crack, crumpling down to lie still.

The caretaker vanishes.

Leonard goes to Jim, his beloved, too-motionless Jim, with horror and slips down to the ground next to him.

He’s still breathing.

He’s not dead. He’s still breathing.

Leonard chokes on his gratitude and cups the side of Jim’s face. When he fails to rouse the man, he unclips his communicator from his belt in a desperate attempt to do something to make the situation better. To his shock, the device actually works.

Leonard sags at the response to his plea of “Enterprise! Enterprise, come in!”

“Capt’n!“

“Scotty!” Leonard cries back. “Scotty, it’s McCoy!”

“Dr. McCoy? Doctor, thank god you’re all right! Is the captain with ye? Lad—” the voice begins to fade in and out, and so Leonard cannot tell if Scotty’s talking to him. He catches only a handful of words: “—hurry—fetch—left.“

Leonard wants to run his fingers along Jim’s face just to reassure himself but doesn’t have a free hand. “He’s with me. Scotty, can you get a lock on him? He needs to get out of here!”

“—Doctor—can’t—you’re breaking—transporter—Mr. Spock—“

“Scotty, Scotty? Damn it!” Leonard shakes the communicator in frustration when the open channel fails. He slumps back against the wall, unmindful of his shoulder. “Why us, Jim?” he questions the unconscious man. “Why us?” His voice breaks. “Why Spock?”

Only silence answers him.

~~~

Thump. Thump.

That is the sound of the back of Leonard’s head meeting the wall. The quiet is deafening, so he’s making noise.

Jim won’t wake up.

His arm is killing him.

Spock is gone.

And the communicator is dead again.

Someone thinks this game is funny. Someone thinks their pain is funny.

Leonard has no energy left to get his revenge.

He thumps his head against the wall again, needing the distraction. The generator has a soft hum like a starship engine. The air is bitingly cold but not quite freezing.

“Why us?” he asks for the umpteenth time.

Because he closes his eyes, he doesn’t see the lady who sits beside him to also mourn.

~~~

“Fzzt—bzzt—McCoy?—fzzt—Dr. McCoy?“

Leonard swats at the air around his head; there’s an annoying insect that is buzzing out his name in patchy syllables.

His shirt is damp. When he opens his eyes, he realizes that his skin is dry. He hasn’t been sweating, then. No fever. But why does this all feel like a hallucination?

The inspection of his black undershirt reveals that something dark and foul-smelling is covering his shirt, maybe from the wall. He wipes his hand on his trousers.

Are you going to give up? someone asks him.

“No,” he replies. “I’m waiting for…” What’s he waiting for? Oh yeah. “…Jim.” His hand finds a head against his knee. The short hair is damp too, and slightly curled. He pulls his hand away to find more ectoplasm.

“What’s happening?” he wants to know.

You’re dying.

“I am?” He thinks about that, or tries to. “Is Jim?”

The answer seems like a yes.

Leonard fumbles for the communicator he had set down beside him. He tries to get it working again, calling for help. “Jim’s dying,” he tells it. “Please, you’ve got to get him out of here!”

For a split second, he thinks he hears a string of intelligible words, a voice that he wants to hear more than anything. Someone is responding.

But, no, that cannot be. No one else is here except the ghosts—and the ghosts don’t like Leonard or Jim.

~~~

Leonard’s lucidity comes and goes. He feels weak, like someone has tapped into his energy and is draining it. Once again, he thinks he hears that voice—Spock’s voice—ordering him to speak.

Or maybe begging?

Spock doesn’t beg, so that cannot be right. Leonard’s brain is making things up now. It is as if with Jim so quiet beside him, he has lost the will to survive.

That doesn’t sound right either, because if anything it is now Leonard’s responsibility to save them. He has to figure out how to turn the full power back on; he has to fight the ghosts; he has to heal his broken arm and Jim’s cracked head. If he isn’t fighting to survive, then how can either of them live?

That thought is stolen from him again. Something cool touches his face; slick, not quite slimy. It tells him he is going to die here, and that it is his guilt killing him.

Leonard opens his eyes.

The woman has no eyes and dripping hair. Why us? she asks, like him. Why us?

“Ask him,” Leonard tells her.

She turns.

The caretaker is watching them both, always with a smile.

The Missus disappears.

Leonard adjusts the sling made of bandages supporting his throbbing arm and closes his eyes again.

~~~

“Leonard.“

His fingers catch the edge of the communicator. “You back, hobgoblin?” he murmurs, words grating, throat dry. “Thought you had vanished into thin air.”

“Leonard, you must listen. I am not gone. I am on the Enterprise.“

“How’d you get there?”

“You must turn on the lights.“

Leonard laughs like that’s a joke.

“Leonard, turn on the lights.”

“Jim is dying,” he says instead, “and I’m broken.”

Spock continues to talk to him, when the communicator lets him. Leonard really wishes he could see the Vulcan one last time. Spock tells him that’s possible if he’d quite being a fool and turn on the lights.

Leonard retorts, “You’re the fool. He’s not going to let me turn them on again.”

There isn’t even a point in opening his eyes for their conversation. Strangely enough, he is reminded of when they hold each other at night.

Some things are easier said with the lights off.

“Spock, did I ever tell you—”

But Spock interrupts Leonard with, of all things, a threat: “If you die because you are too stubborn to listen, I will not forgive you.“

At last he peeks open an eye. “Excuse me?”

All Spock says, one final time, is “Turn them on.“

Leonard peels his back off the wall, sitting forward. He blinks grit from his eyes and feels like Rip Van Winkle waking up from a twenty-year nap. The caretaker is nowhere to be seen. Leonard brushes a spike of hair away from Jim’s face and laboriously comes to his feet.

He hobbles to the room with the power source that hums. How is he supposed to turn on the main lights when there’s only this smoking old thing? Spock is crazy.

Leonard rubs at his forehead. Maybe he’s crazy for thinking that Spock is talking to him.

Nonetheless, it seems worth a try.

“Ah well,” Leonard mutters. He can turn these lights off and back on again.

So that’s what he does, pushing a big lever down, letting the darkness swallow everything, and then reversing the motion. When he hobbles back to find his communicator to tell Spock that nothing happened, he discovers he is very, very wrong.

Jim is gone.

~~~

The communicator clicks on by itself and calls Leonard’s name.

Leonard doesn’t feel like replying. He lost Jim.

The damn thing is insistent, though. It buzzes, “Leonard, Leonard, Leonard” repeatedly until Leonard snatches it up and barks back, “WHAT?”

“Jim is safe,” it says to him.

Leonard doesn’t understand.

“Please, you must turn on the lights again.“

“But I did, Spock, and now Jim’s—”

“Here. On the Enterprise. Leonard, I beg you, listen. I cannot explain it but you must do it once more.“

He thinks about it. “And I’ll see you again? And Jim?”

“Affirmative.“

Spock sounds so certain, how can Leonard deny him?

He takes the communicator with him this time when he goes to the ancient machine, saying into it, “You’d better be right.”

With Spock waiting patiently on the other end, he kills the power.

Something moves behind Leonard, wants his attention, but the ethereal glow that overlaps his hand on the lever is Laurel urging him on. She is the result of what happens to those who choose to stay behind.

Leonard turns the lights back on—

—and Spock’s grip on the edge of the transporter console tightens enough to crack its frame when their eyes meet.

Leonard cannot find words to speak, but just then he doesn’t need to. Spock crosses the distance between them and takes the man into his arms.

later…

“I was supposed to win this round.”

An eyebrow goes up.

“No, really,” insists the loser. “I was supposed to win!”

Leonard shifts on the biobed to get comfortable. “Jim, I know the medical scanner says your head is harder than a Klingon’s but sometimes I think you ran out of marbles ages ago. Spock is never going to let you win at chess.”

Naturally, Jim Kirk frowns to hear this. “What do you mean ‘let me win’?”

Leonard sighs through his nose and turns a woeful look onto their third companion.

“Leonard means to imply that until you are well-rested, a game of chess should not be a competition.”

“That’s not what I wanted to say at all, Spock.”

Spock’s look says then you should have.

Three days of recovering in Sickbay has left Leonard slightly grumpy. He hates being kept here. One would think he feels marginally better that Jim is also suffering the same fate, but Jim is driving him crazier than the cheerful staff. Of course, it’s done in an attempt to keep Leonard from recalling what put them there.

But Leonard can’t help himself. He thinks about her without meaning to. He pictures what was left, covered by Jim’s tunic. Could he find that room again? Are there others, like Laurel, trapped behind walls and hidden away like secrets?

They’re not going back down to the facility. Starfleet has issued the mandate: Eisenhart is off-limits. Spock informed them earlier of their new assigned mission. The Enterprise breaks orbit on the next stardate. Jim will be at her helm.

Leonard’s fingers of his healing limb twitch against his bedcovers.

He wonders how long it will be before he forgets this encounter.

“Bones?”

Leonard blinks, turns to find Jim watching him.

Jim holds his gaze for a short moment, mouth quirked but eyes somber, then turns to Spock. “Another round?”

Spock has already reset the board and makes the first move.

Jim nods to himself. “I’ll win this time.”

“You can certainly try,” the Vulcan replies.

Leonard lies back, content to watch his lovers for the time being, thinking that the chill at his nape must surely be a figment of his imagination.

The End

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