Written for a prompt by deforestkelley on Tumblr. Just a quick one I wrote in one night, (sleep deprivation is remarkably conducive to writing) and un-edited, so I apologise in advance for decimating your prompt! I've been writing a lot of gen recently, so I decided to make this slightly more suggestive to slash. Hope you all enjoy!

It was one of those nights.

Fire Chief Pike had been on shift for less than ten minutes when one of the probies had poked his curly mop around the office door and informed him that one of his best men, Firefighter James Kirk had gone down with severe head injuries on a supposedly routine job, a small, relatively contained apartment fire.

If anyone could turn a routine hot-to-wet into an all out soap opera, it would be James Kirk. Damn kid had some kind of hero complex; coupled with a staggeringly oversized ego and, apparently, a desire to drive his Chief into an early grave.

Dr Leonard McCoy forced his way through the milling throng of New Yorkers outside the smouldering remains of his ex wife's apartment. Jocelyn herself was in Hong Kong, some lucrative business deal too juicy to pass up, leaving their ten year old in the care of a German au pair. It had been Eva who had put in the frantic call to Leonard's office, babbling in broken English about flames and trapped Yohannas.

Leonard had sprinted out of Mercy, faster than any of his colleagues thought the cantankerous surgeon capable of, and had cleared three blocks before thinking to hail a cab for the remaining two miles, throwing three twenties at the driver to get him there in less than five minutes. To his credit, Leonard had tumbled out of the cab in less than four.

He had just paused for breath when a tiny cannonball, swaddled in a shock blanket flew into his chest at two hundred miles an hour.

'Jo,' he breathed, allowing himself a brief second of Daddy-mode, wrapping her up in the tightest hug of her life and burying his face in her hair.

Her rasping attempt at his own name and the sharp scent of smoke clinging to her hair and skin snapped him into his Doctor setting, taking the proffered oxygen mask and gently fitting it over her face, watching with cautious relief as her chest expanded from the tight grip the smoke had had on her little lungs. The EMT moved in, gently checking her over, before nodding towards the ambulance.

'You the Neuro Lead from Mercy?'

Leonard nodded, helping Jo onto the stretcher.

'The firefighter who saved your little girl, he managed to get her out before part of the structure gave way, took a nasty clout to the head. Possible subdural haemotoma, definite cerebral contusion. He needs a specialist. Could you take a look? He's gotta come in the same bus as you, we're over stretched dealing with the Giants stadium incident.'

Leonard looked down at Jo who nodded. 'He saved my life Daddy.'

The firefighter was in a bad way. Anyone, let alone a world-class specialist in neurology, could see that. Jo was being entertained by the EMT who was demonstrating various equipment, leaving Leonard free to work on the kid. The diagnosis of cerebral contusion appeared to be correct, but he detected no signs of any haemotoma, subdural or epidural. That was good. Haemotomas were difficult, but relatively light contusions usually only resulted in a heavy concussion. He was more concerned by the external injuries, and set about cleaning the gash in his temple and forehead.

It was strange, this sudden sense of urgency. Leonard was usually methodical to the point of being detached whilst working, but now, with the life of the man responsible for saving his daughter in his hands, he was struck by an entirely unfamiliar desire. He needed this man, the sooty, bloodied man, to live.

He was triaged as soon as the doors swung open to the ER, and Leonard relinquished the firefighter to the capable hands of his deputy lead, following Jo's stretcher past the overspilling hall of football fans. The stadium crush had been serious, and the hospital was full to bursting, and Leonard was never more grateful for the child priority rule, as heartless as it may be, that Jo was rushed past the broken limbs and into resus for immediate treatment for potential smoke inhalation.

Two hours later, she was asleep, safe on the children's ward for overnight observation, with the paediatric staff sworn on pain of triple shift reassignment to page him if anything changed a he reluctantly returned to the Neurology unit, thankfully to only sympathy from his fellow doctors whom he'd all but abandoned in his rush for his daughter.

'We all would have done the same thing,' Chapel, his deputy lead, assured him as she set down two triple strength lattes and two thick cut sandwiches, presumably requisitioned from the conference room upstairs. 'We weren't too overstretched up here, to the point we were sending our staff down to the ER to help out. Jo okay?'

'Fine. Asleep in paediatrics. She got herself into the bathroom, got in the bath with her clothes on and held a wet towel over her face. How did she know to do that?'

'Kids learn a lot more from school nowadays.'

'How's the firefighter?'

'The one you brought in?' Christine pulled out her iPad, opening the program to show patient stats and slid it across the table to Leonard. He scanned it quickly, noting his diagnosis of severe cerebral contusion ha been correct but no other signs of brain damage present on the MRI. Minimal smoke inhalation, presumably when the beam had collapsed, knocking his mask askew, but no other serious injuries, aside from a few cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder and no internal injuries at all.

'Lucky kid.'

'Tell me about it. He's in your section, so you can carry on monitoring him. I'm sure you'll want to thank him when he wakes up.'

'I want to do a damn sight more than that. Hell, I'm already ordering the fruit basket.'

The ward was quiet, punctuated by the gentle sounds of EKG monitors and IV machines as Leonard steps into the end cubicle. The kid looked much more healthy than the last time Leonard saw him, with his head wounds swabbed and sutured and his skin clean. The rise and fall of his chest was slightly tremulous, but as per Christine's detailed notes, he needed no more life support than an oxygen mask and an IV line. He was hooked up to an EKG but that was standard procedure, and as Leonard checked with two fingers to the kid's carotid artery, his pulse was strong. Kid was a fighter. He flipped through the notes, tired of using 'kid' in lieu of a name, and found the firefighter's details.

'James T Kirk, Firefighter, Engine 17. Aged 25.'

Definitely no kid.

Leonard had already been a father at his age. A probationary doctor with remarkable talent, having already gained a PhD in neurobiological medicine, happily married to Jocelyn McCoy, née Darnell with an eighteen month old baby. How much had changed in nine years?

He continued to scroll, finding details of previous hospitalisations.

'Damnit man, you got some kind of hero complex?'

Eighty five visits in the last six years, matching up precisely to his six years of service in the FDNY.

His next of kin was listed as Fire Chief Christopher Pike, and Leonard sank down heavily into the visitors chair. A twenty five year old with a non-blood next of kin? That's rough.

Leonard checked his watch and realised that he was technically off shift. He wanted to go and sit with Joanna, but Jocelyn had sent him a curt text not ten minutes ago which he presumed either meant that she or her mother were now with Jo and Leonard had no intention of seeing either of them. Jo needed her mother, not her father.

He wondered if he ought to change out of his work clothes, into something more comfortable, but something was drawing him back to James Kirk. It wouldn't be proper for the Neurology clinical lead to remain with a patient out of hours so he locked himself in his office and swapped his sooty shirt and trousers for the emergency suit hanging in the closet and returned to work, compensating for the two hours or so he'd missed earlier.

The patients were all asleep, and Leonard should've been getting back to his research, but something kept bringing him back to the end of the firefighter's cubicle. The man is asleep, but his lips are forming words, too quiet to be heard until Leonard leaned in a little closer. It's not uncommon for sufferers of head injuries to exhibit peculiarities like sleep talking, and in fact, it often means that they'd coming round, in this case a good sign, since Christine noted no swelling of the brain as a result of the contusion, and could indicate the man coming around faster than he'd initially thought.

'Lemon squares.'

Leonard wanted to burst out laughing, but holds it in for the sake of propriety in front of the graveyard shift.

'I'll get you your lemon squares kid. You're gonna be just fine.'

It takes another two days for James, or Jim, as his Chief, one of only two visitors Jim received, informed him, to come around.

Leonard had wrangled plenty of information out of the Chief asides from Jim's name, discovering that his father had died in the Twin Towers, his mother was a former USAF officer, currently living in Florida, and Leonard's diagnosis of a hero-complex was correct.

'Damn kid's gonna be chief of the entire FDNY one day, he's a freakin genius, with all the charisma he needs, but he keeps hurling himself headlong into dangerous situations without checking protocol an' it's holding him back. Think you can knock some sense into him? Before I have to?'

Leonard nodded, watching the chief depart before he turned back to Jim's bed.

A few hours later, Jim stirred, cracking open two tentative eyelids to find Leonard checking his vitals.

'Don't be so melodramatic, you were barely dead.' Leonard couldn't help the smile, but Jim only smiled back. He tried to speak, but his throat was parched after three days of IV artificial hydration. 'Here.' Leonard proffered ice chips and slowly, chip by chip, Jim's voice box is sufficiently moistened to ask in a rasping tone: 'The little girl?'

'Is fine, at home with her momma and grandma.'

'Thank God.' Jim slumped back against the pillows and Leonard gently probed the top of his skull checking for any residual signs of the contusion.

'Any pain?'

'No.'

'Anywhere else?'

'My ribs and shoulder.' Feeling the obvious injuries, that was a good sign.

'Yeah, you caught them pretty good, two cracked, four bruised and you dislocated your shoulder.'

'When can I get back to work?'

'When I say so.'

'Aw c'mon man, I gotta get back, my crew needs me.'

'Your crew needs a fully rested, fully healed section captain. And don't try and wheedle me, you just saved my daughter. I'm tempted to sign you off on a mandatory six months leave of absence on some tropical island.'

Jim squinted up at him. 'Your daughter?'

'Yeah. Joanna Darnell-McCoy. Ex-wife took everything in the divorce, including our apartment and daughter. Left me with nothin' but my bones.'

'Bones... Dr. Bones. Your daughter? She really okay?'

'Yeah. She's fine, she drew you a picture to say thank you. It's in my office, I'll get it for you later. I'm not artistic, otherwise I'd've done you one myself.'

'I'd cherish it.'

'Go back to sleep, I'll let your Chief know you're okay, and that you're on mandatory six weeks absence.'

'Four.'

'Six. You need anything else, press the buzzer by your hand, one of the nurses'll be along.'

'They hot?'

Leonard hides the smirk behind his notes.

'Take your chances.'

It's true Leonard McCoy can't draw, but he's had thirty four years of perfecting his charm, even to the five years he lost to Jocelyn, and it only takes one phone call up to the kitchen to request a special delivery of a certain type of dessert, in moderation of course (he is a doctor, and he's had to deal with far too many fainting cases as a result of sugar overdosing to believe) and it arrives in his office in two wrapped Tupperware boxes. Jim was still asleep as Leonard slipped in and left them on his tray before heading to the shower room to change and head home for a good four hours sleep. It's been a long time since he pulled a quadruple shift and his aching joints aren't up to it any more.

He unlocked the door of his condo in near pitch blackness and was greeted by his two dogs, who had been fed and walked two hours earlier by his teenaged neighbour. He checked their bowls for water and then headed for his bedroom, kicking his shoes off and collapsing onto his bed, idly wondering if he still had the energy to even change into sleepwear. He decided against it, stripping off only his jacket and jeans and he was already half asleep when his phone chimed a text message.

You got me lemon squares? Dude, you are now my permanent doctor. JTK

How in God's name did you get my number? LHM

You told me to take my chances on the nurse. So I did. Nurse Rafferty's a helpful little soul. JTK

Stop flirting with my nurses. This is completely inappropriate. LHM

Live a little. We're not doing any harm. I just wanted to say thank you. JTK

Well there, you said it. Now go to sleep. LHM

You're hot when you're issuing doctor-y orders, you know that? JTK.

How did you...LHM

Dude my gaydar is famous. JTK

Enough! LHM

Really? Because my buddy owns an awesome Italian restaurant and I think I just kind the perfect way for mutual thanking. You know, for me doing my job and you doing yours. JTK

Eight o'clock, Friday week. But ONLY if you turn that illegally requisitioned phone off right now and go to sleep. Damnit man, i need sleep, i'm a doctor not a superhuman. LHM

Yessir Dr. Bones. JTK

Leonard threw his phone onto his nightstand and rolled over onto his stomach. It had been beyond fraught, these past couple of days, but with the promise of more regular access to Joanna, remarkable civility from Joce, even if her mother and new husband remained their assholey selves and a promising date with a very persistent firefighter.

Things were looking up.