Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own any of these marvelous characters, nor indeed any part of this world (although that can't stop me from hoping that, at least to some degree, it is our future).
Unfortunately English is not my mother tongue, as you can probably tell. It is beta'd by my dear friend severra89, who is no more of a native than I am. However, she speaks English far better than I, so any remaining mistakes are truly my own (and due to my last-minute changes that she had no time to review).
Of course, I welcome any and all constructive criticism that you can offer. However, please, bear in mind that it has taken me literally years to work up enough courage to post it here. Just do not make me regret it, if you can be so kind.
"Congratulations, doctor."
Doctor Leonard McCoy shot the grinning lieutenant a dark look, fighting the irrational wish to smack him on his head. Instead he spat:
"Congratulate yourself, Carter. It was so not what I had in mind when I asked for a change of assignment! Five years in space, God and all His angels protect me!"
Lieutenant Carter, apparently well accustomed to the good doctor's attitude, didn't stop grinning.
"Come on, Leonard! She's the Enterprise! The best of the best!"
"That good, eh? Then I wonder why Mark Piper retired so readily, if it is such an… honor, as you say it."
"Maybe he was getting too old to keep up with the crew," Carter laughed again. "This Kirk is the youngest captain the Federation ever had, you heard I bet."
"Oh, yes, I heard," McCoy actually pulled a face at this, because Starfleet PR had made sure that every sentient being in the Galaxy was properly in awe with its newest prodigy, one named James Tiberius Kirk. That at the very beginning had made McCoy vary of his next commanding officer. Young rarely equaled wise and almost never experienced. But it would be foolish to voice his personal opinions to another Starfleet officer, so McCoy instead opted for glaring with distaste at the transporter, then the transporter controls and finally at the transporter controls' technician Carter.
"Come on, let's get it over with," he muttered reluctantly. "We wouldn't want to keep my… welcoming committee waiting, now, would we. The quicker I get all my particles turned into a cocktail of photons, the quicker they get reassembled… maybe."
Carter stepped around the controls and gave the scowling doctor a short, one-armed hug.
"Congratulations, doctor. And good luck. And thank you, we will miss you here."
"Yes, well," McCoy slung his bag over his shoulder, glaring suspiciously at the shining eyes of his comrade. "Thank you. I'll miss you too. Take care of all of them. And give me a call if your leg starts bothering you again, you hear me? I'm not sure that young Howard is going to be good for anything."
With these words, he stepped on the platform and shut his eyelids tightly, awaiting the unwelcoming sensations of his particles being scrambled into the stream of photons. Forget the horrible diseases he had already encountered in his career as a Starfleet medical. Forget the inhospitable alien worlds and even the harsh conditions of the colony his last assignment had placed him in. Out of all the dangers that space had to offer, the good doctor was the most terrified of that quantum way of transport. As ridiculous as it made him seem, each time he couldn't avoid such a trip, he simply had to spend few seconds after transporting, silently cataloging his organs and extremities, absolutely sure that one day he's going to find himself lacking a brain or his precious surgeon hands.
This time, however, he was prevented from that. As soon as he materialized, he found himself almost nose to nose with a young man. Judging from his uniform - a transporter technician.
"Welcome aboard, CMO McCoy," he said very quickly, at the same time reaching for the doctor's bag. "I'm lieutenant Kyle and," he almost threw the baggage at another man, standing behind the transporter controls, "this is ensign McFlaurethy."
McCoy looked around the transported room, feeling a bit dazed. So much for a welcoming committee, the fact for which he was actually grateful. Still…
He didn't even had time to voice any questions, because the lieutenant almost pushed him down the transporter stairs.
"If I could take you to the bridge, sir," he said anxiously.
McCoy obediently followed him out into the corridor. They turned left and the doctor had to actually jog to keep up with the taller officer. All right, enough of that.
"Lieutenant… lieutenant…"
"Kyle, sir."
"Lieutenant Kyle. What the hell is…"
He was interrupted by the sudden lurch of the ship and the sound of red alert, which was mercifully silenced to the urgent red glowing of the alarm lights after a few seconds. Kyle skillfully kept his balance and helped the doctor to get up from the floor.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, once more setting off in the direction of the bridge, this time possibly even more urgently. "The ship is experiencing… difficulties, that's why the chief engineer lieutenant commander Scott couldn't welcome you personally. He's needed in the engineering. And acting captain Spock can't, of course, leave the bridge at the time like this."
"Acting captain Spock?!" McCoy bounced from the wall when the ship gave another mighty lurch. "Where's Kirk?"
Kyle spared him an uncertain look.
"Captain Kirk is currently… experiencing difficulties too, sir."
"Captain Kirk is currently fighting for his life, doctor McCoy."
As soon as he found himself on the bridge, lieutenant commander (that is, acting captain) Spock shoved some pad under his nose and once more concentrated his gaze on the main viewscreen, on which the stars were visible as bright, elongated streams of light. They were at warp, most probably already thousands of kilometers away from McCoy's previous home.
"What the hell is going on, acting cap… oh, for God's sake! Spock! Somebody brief me! Right now!"
Spock raised one elegant eyebrow, for a split second turning his intent gaze away from the passing stars to the infuriated doctor.
"I suggest you study the pad, doctor. These are the captain's life signatures. We will be at his position in three point seventy six minutes."
McCoy spared the glance at the life sciences' software blinking the alarms from the pad. The pain factor was dangerously high and the adrenaline level was off the scale. He gasped in sudden realization of what he was looking at.
"You mean, he's being tortured?!" he stepped in front of the captain's chair, blocking Spock's view of the main screen and thus forcing him to properly acknowledge his presence. "Where is he? What is going on?!"
"We do not know yet, doctor," lieutenant commander Spock's voice was maddeningly serene, but McCoy knew better than to give up to that impression. As a Vulcan's, serenity had to be Spock's second name.
"Per captain Kirk's orders, we left him on the planet Omicron Boötis VI, where his mission was to ascertain that no trace was left after the Federation observation station, which was disassembled last month. The Omicron Boötis' civilisation is at the very early stage of the beginning of industrialisation, and this vital moment of its evolution was of the great interest to Starfleet. Due to, however, unfortunate malfunction of the cloaking device, the observation station had to be relocated to the opposite hemisphere, to prevent the place from becoming, what the natives started calling, U.F.O. hot spot, which would, of course, constitute a serious breach of the Prime Directive. As your colony, doctor, is located only thirty five point twenty two minutes at warp 3 from Omicron Boötis, the captain decided that the time would be best spent if we were to welcome you aboard in his name, while he performs the reconnaissance on the planet's surface. We were monitoring his life's signatures for all this time, as per protocol, and it was only as we were reaching your planet's stable orbit, that they moved out of range, escalating to the levels suggesting a serious threat to the captain's health and life. We do not know anything more than that, nor are we going to until we close on that planet, doctor. Lieutenant Sulu?"
"Visual in forty three seconds, sir," the young Asian replied immediately, not sparing a glance from the helm's control he was monitoring.
McCoy once more concentrated on the captain's vital signs. Dangerous, but not deadly… yet. The captain was probably suffering some form of torture but from what the doctor could read, he wasn't losing much blood and was still conscious, although fast approaching a state of shock. What a start to his service aboard the flagship. McCoy inputted some code to the software to warn him if some parameters deteriorate and hastily grabbed the captain's chair's arm when the ship trembled again.
"And what is wrong with this blasted tin can, Spock?" he barked, loath to admit to being scared.
"A tin can, doctor?" acting captain Spock looked around helplessly.
McCoy was just about to snap at the Vulcan's literality, when a beautiful Bantu woman rose gracefully from her chair at the communication station and faced him.
"The Enterprise is still experiencing engine problems after the accident last week, doctor. We weren't supposed to push her to the maximum warp. Oh, it's lieutenant Nyota Uhura, sir, by the way."
McCoy thanked her with a tight smile, deciding he didn't want to know the details of the previous week… accident. This crew certainly seemed to have a lot of them. Just perfect, McCoy. If you die, that'll teach you to appreciate the boredom of the terraforming colonies.
"We're closing in, captain," voiced Sulu.
"On screen, lieutenant. Orbit stable and stationary."
For a moment the screen kept blinking to finally focus at the image of the events directly beneath them. Lieutenant Uhura gasped loudly and acting captain Spock rose from his chair at the scene before his eyes. The screen showed a darkened room, possibly a cellar, in the centre of which stood a wooden post. A very young looking blonde man, most probably captain James Kirk, judging by the crew's reaction, was leaning against it, his hands tied and hooked high at the post's top bar. His face was smeared with blood and his bright eyes full of pain but still his gaze was alert and his knees didn't buckle. He was surrounded by five aliens, obviously the planet's natives. One of them was holding a whip, with which he was methodically delivering strong lashes to the captain's bare back.
Spock was the first to recover from their horror, if he even had succumbed to one, that is:
"Yeomans Rand and Atkins, please, leave the bridge. Lieutenant Sulu, move the Enterprise into the transporter range. Transporter room, stand by. Lieutenant Uhura, audio on."
If McCoy had thought that it couldn't have got any worse, he was forced to quickly revise his opinion. When the audio was turned on, they all heard the Omicronians' hissing voices, the whipping sound of the lash and the gasping breath of their captain.
"It's a prelude to invasion, isn't it, alien?" they heard the voice of the tallest Omicronian, standing directly in front of Kirk's face. "Speak up!"
His order was punctuated with another lash to which the captain yet didn't respond with crying out.
"Captain James T. Kirk," he choked out instead. "U.S.S. Enterprise… serial number… SC… nine three seven… dash oh one seven…"
"Your words have no meaning!" bellowed the Omicronian. "You thought we were helpless, eh? An easy world to conquer! Who are you?! Speak, or I'll make sure you never speak again!"
"Mute," McCoy flinched at the calm order of their acting captain. He had almost forgotten that he was on board of the Enterprise, only a helpless witness to the crime being committed thousands of meters beneath them.
"Mr Spock, you need to beam him up, quickly!" Uhura left her post and was standing right in front of the Vulcan, his uniform sleeve in her tight grasp and her eyes shining with tears.
"Lieutenant Uhura, please, return to your post. Your opinion, doctor?"
If McCoy wasn't lost in horror, he would have laughed at the Vulcan's question.
"Damn you, Spock! This man is being tortured! What do you think my opinion is?! Beam him up, immediately!"
Spock once again sat in the captain's chair and looked sternly at the pallid faces all around him.
"You are professionals, ladies and gentlemen. Please, correct your behavior to that manner. I cannot beam the captain out of this gathering of the Omicronians, not without severely violating the Prime Directive and thus confirming their belief in the extraomicronian life, something they should not be aware of for more than ten generations yet."
McCoy braved a glance at the viewscreen. Kirk finally sagged against the post and the Omicronians formed an even tighter circle around him. They were humanoids all right, but their bright orange skin, small eyes and very short extremities stood in stark contrast with the appearance of the Earthmen. There was no mistake, to them the captain probably appeared like the high and impossibly slim aliens from the twentieth century sci-fi movies did to the people of these times. The pad in his hands sounded an alarm.
"Then stun them with a phaser, blast you!" McCoy almost threw the urgently beeping pad at Spock. "Make them fall asleep, for all I care, but get that man out of there, now!"
"Doctor, that would only strengthen their conviction of our hostile intent. What is your professional opinion? They seem to want to know something from the captain, so I believe they will cease the… interrogation, without rendering the captain unable to give them the response they seek. If he is left alone, only then can we beam him up. Now, is it safe to wait?"
McCoy once more looked at the viewscreen. The captain (the captain, damn… the kid surely wasn't even thirty yet, the commander of the flagship) no longer held himself up, he was hanging limply from where his hands were hooked. The doctor winced at the thought of the damage this position was doing to his arm muscles, which would only add to that being done to his spinal ones. But then he forced himself to return his gaze to the pad he was clutching in his hands. The captain was visibly weakening, the blood loss now significant and he was on a verge of shock. But none of these posed any immediate danger to his life. He told Spock as much, finishing with quiet:
"But there is more to the experience of torture than surviving it, Mr Spock."
The Vulcan turned his intent look at him but remained silent. After a few seconds he went to the science station and ordered:
"Lieutenant Uhura, transfer audio to the science receiver. Audio on," he placed the receiver into his ear and sat totally motionless.
"Something's happening, sirs, look!" Uhura's voice caused McCoy to raise his head from the pad he was studying obsessively for the long minutes they were waiting. He could barely force himself to look at the viewscreen. As he could already deduce from his pad, beneath them the young captain was completely on his knees but stubbornly refused to lose consciousness. However, the small crowd of the Omicronians seemed to be disturbed. From what was visible, they were talking animatedly to each other and the executioner bent over the captain for a few seconds and then delivered one more mighty lash to his back, after which he threw the whip away and disappeared from their field of view. The four remaining aliens seemed to be leaving too.
Spock put the receiver away and stood up rapidly.
"Transporter room, lock onto the captain's life signs. Stand by. Doctor McCoy, you will accompany me to the transporter room. Lieutenant Sulu, prepare to go into warp, the direction: Beta Antares system."
He didn't wait for the chorus of "aye sir" that followed his orders and was in the turbolift in three long strides. McCoy barely managed to jump in, before the door closed and they were surging through the ship.
McCoy was already out of breath when he ran into the transporter room, half of the step after acting captain Spock. Spock immediately stood behind the controls:
"Ensign McFlaurethy, I relieve you. Clear the corridors between the transporter room and the sickbay."
He pressed several buttons and spoke again:
"Bridge, this is acting captain Spock. Lieutenant Uhura, the transporter sensors show no life signs in the immediate vicinity of the captain, does the visual confirm?"
"Aye, sir," came the welcome response.
"Relocking onto the the captain's life signs… beaming up."
McCoy nervously stepped in place, as close to the transporter pad as it was possible. Here he was about to meet his new captain, but to say that the circumstances could have been better was an understatement. There was a soft shimmering of the transporter, the lights blinked in and out, and after several seconds a lone, hunched figure materialized on the transporter pad. The lights went out and before McCoy stood his new captain.
At the first glance the kid looked only half-alive, thought the doctor. His white face smeared with dirt and blood, his eyes closed and his naked torso covered with angry red lashes, most of them still oozing blood. But he was still standing, though how he was managing it, was beyond McCoy's imagination.
Spock joined him at the transporter steps after ordering the warp jump.
"Welcome aboard, captain," he intoned quietly.
Captain Kirk's eyes snapped open and he wavered on his feet, looking around a bit madly. However, when his eyes met the Vulcan's he quickly regained his composure.
"Aboard… Spock!" he rasped incredulously. "How…? The Prime Directive?"
"Has been observed, captain."
"Good…" Kirk's weary eyes finally locked onto McCoy's face. "And who might you be?"
McCoy finally managed to step onto the transporter.
"Leonard McCoy, captain," he introduced himself. "Your… chief medical officer, sir," he finished a bit lamely.
As he would learn much later, only captain James T. Kirk would find humour in their predicament.
"Ah, yes," he chuckled and promptly winced. "There's no better way to get to know each other than at one's work station, is there?"
McCoy glanced at the captain's dancing eyes and briefly wondered if he was suffering from delirium. It wouldn't be totally unexpected, given the circumstances… He couldn't think of anything to say to that so he replied with a quiet: "Indeed, sir."
The captain laughed silently, experimentally taking a tiny step forward. McCoy instinctively raised his arms, but Kirk stood his ground and even managed to move himself out of McCoy's reach.
"'Indeed, sir'. Only a short time aboard and you already sound like commander Spock here. I get the feeling we will work well together. Welcome aboard, doctor," his voice was stronger now, warm and joking, but his eyes clouded with pain and exhaustion, and became wary and guarded.
McCoy decided that it was time to take charge of the situation, however bizarre it might seem.
"Thank you, sir," he answered politely. "Captain, I must insist…"
Giving up the control was not something captain James Kirk did easily, as McCoy would also learn in what was the very beginning of the greatest adventure of his life. Kirk managed to half-step half-slide down the transporter stairs and took place slightly behind lieutenant commander Spock.
"I'm sure you have lots to do, in your first day aboard the Enterprise, doctor McCoy," he spoke with slightly excessive authority. "I'm sure you'll forgive me, I seem to be in need of… cleaning up a bit, and changing. Commander Spock will show you the way to your sickbay. I'll be in my…"
"Captain!" if McCoy's reaction was belated, it was only because he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You'll come to sickbay at once, there's no possible way that I could…"
"No, I think not, lieutenant commander McCoy," Kirk's voice, even unsteady, became dangerous. "I do not enjoy playing a role of a subject at said work station."
"Captain…" Spock tried to interpose, but needn't have bothered, because McCoy's temper was already in its prime. He shoved Spock unceremoniously out of his way and determinedly stood into the captain's personal space.
"I outrank you, captain," he stated flatly. "As I'm sure you know very well. In medical matters, such as this one, my decision prevails. And if you think I'm going to let you out of my sight anytime soon, you're out of your mind. Sir."
Kirk flinched with surprise and, instead of getting angry, as McCoy suspected he might, he laughed once more, although this time, to the doctor's ears the laugh sounded totally insincere. Careful, careful, McCoy.
"Very well, doctor," the captain smiled, his eyes haunted. "I'll let you earn your salary. But there's much you need to learn about the workings of this ship."
"With all due respect, sir," McCoy skillfully supported the captain, placing his hands where it would cause the unfortunate man the least pain, "so do you. About me, that is. Damn it."
If the situation wasn't so dire, McCoy would have lost his patience at least a dozen times on their impossibly long way to sickbay. The captain stubbornly refused any help beside the doctor's support, but didn't voice any protest over the frequent stops, which McCoy initiated on the pretext of better familiarizing himself with the ship and asking a few questions about the rooms they were passing by. Not so much different than how he would have behaved towards his little Joanna, he thought, on the other hand totally disbelieving his own indulgence for the captain's childish pride. Spock accompanied them silently, his eyes never leaving the captain's battered frame, and yet showing no signs of astonishment over Kirk's behavior. So that was a normal occurrence. Bloody fantastic.
Commander Spock left them at the door to sickbay, promising to call in an hour and formally wishing the captain a speedy recovery. McCoy lightly pushed his reluctant patient towards the door, muttering darkly:
"Come on, kid. Don't make it harder than it already is."
The sickbay was a place of an organized commotion. True to McCoy's newly formulated opinion about this starship being the most luckless in the whole Galaxy, the large ward was full of patients and medical officers dancing between them.
"Oh, captain!" they were spotted by a young and pretty blonde nurse, who approached them quickly, her face full of concern and sympathy. Kirk flinched back and McCoy really couldn't blame him for that. He interposed himself between him and the overeager nurse:
"Doctor Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer. Nurse…?"
"Chapel, doctor," the nurse actually curtsied before him. "Nurse Christine Chapel. I heard what's happened, sir. I'll find a free biobed in just a minute."
Kirk took another furtive step towards the door and McCoy, torn between his need to help the captain as soon as it was possible and his fear that the young commanding officer is going to actually flee from sickbay, surprised even himself, saying loudly:
"There's no need for that, nurse. Just show me to my office."
The nurse seemed to get rooted to the spot in her shock, but Kirk shot a strange look at the doctor and moved forward. In a moment they reached the clean and almost totally empty office, entered it and after the door closed there was finally a blessed silence. McCoy, already feeling tired, didn't even try to imagine how Kirk must be feeling. He glanced half-heartedly at the narrow settee standing under the large computer screen and steered Kirk towards the desk.
"Here, sit down," he lowered him gently to the chair. "Rest your arms on the desk, slowly. Sir."
The captain surprisingly complied, still looking at him with a strange expression, so he shrugged and added nonchalantly:
"I figured we are uncomfortable enough as it is, captain, without all this madness going on over our heads. I'll step out for a moment to scrub and get some things. You may rest your head on your arms, but try not to fall asleep, all right?"
He was totally unsurprised when he returned and found the young captain fast asleep. Of course, even such a great strength must succumb to the exhaustion once in a while, but it was good to know that Kirk found his office safe enough to allow himself that bit of self-indulgence. Not wanting to startle the man, McCoy moved his chair closer to the desk and put a careful hand on his head.
"Captain? Sir? Would you… wake up?" no response, but McCoy's tricorder had already told him that the captain was merely sleeping and not in any new danger.
He placed the lukewarm compress on the captain's overheated forehead and tried again:
"Captain? Wake up, sir. Oh, for the love of… kid! Wake up, now!"
McCoy quickly wished he hadn't been so harsh, when the young man lurched as if stricken and cried out from pain the sudden movement caused.
"Shhh, easy, kid," he placed his hand on the captain's forearm, trying to ground him in reality.
That seemed to work, for the captain smiled briefly and whispered:
"Doctor McCoy… what a start… I must have disobeyed your orders, again. Humble apologies."
McCoy sighed, already sensing that it wouldn't be last that his words about outranking the captain were going to be shoved back to him. He picked up the wet cloth and pressed it into the captain's hand.
"Here, sir. You may clean your face, that should help you feel a little bit more human," he waited until his CO followed his instructions and continued, "I already scanned you briefly while you were asleep and I must admit things don't look so bad, considering. As bad as it looks, and, I'm sure, feels, there's not much damage to the muscle tissue and what's most important, there's no damage to the spine and the nervous system," he stopped himself short, when his patient blinked at him owlishly from under the cloth. "What I mean, is that, unless something pops up, the only thing I need to do is to clean your wounds, close them with the dermal regenerator and give you some fluids to help to counteract the blood loss. The rest needs to be left to the nature. But it isn't half as bad as it might have been, I'm sure it won't keep you from your duties for more than three or four days."
"Out of the question!" Kirk abruptly dropped the cloth and moved as if to get up.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I need to return to the bridge today," the captain remained oblivious to the stunned look at his CMO's face. "Now, in fact, would be the perfect time."
McCoy opened his mouth to start another tirade, but something told him that it wouldn't be the best way of dealing with the captain's incredible stubbornness. Instead he opted for only shaking his head and making sure the kid wouldn't actually get up:
"Look, captain. How about you let me do my job and try to get you to yours as soon as possible, hm? In case you didn't notice, I am on your side."
To that his patient actually snorted.
"Hey!" McCoy shouted indignantly, carefully programming the hypo. "But I am. Let me give you some painkiller, for starters. Unfortunately…"
The captain grasped his hand with a lightning-quick dash:
"You can't! Unless you want to kill me."
McCoy calmly returned his look:
"As I was saying, unfortunately I can only give you a mild one, which won't block the pain completely, but also - and that should make you happy - won't make you drowsy. Relax, captain. I would be a fool not to look at my commanding officer's medical records. I am well aware of all your allergies. And also," he added upon the captain's sound of distress, "I couldn't have not noticed the gaping holes in those records. But I figured they are classified for a reason and I trust they don't contain any vital information. At least, vital for me, now."
Here it was, the same strange look the captain had given him before. But now McCoy became aware that he recognized gratitude in that look, gratitude, but there was much more than that. All in good time. He depressurized the hypo into the captain's neck and his patient actually yelped with pain:
"God, McCoy! Would you mind a little warning… I hate that stuff, ow…"
McCoy took a long look at the now cleaner but still ghostly pale face of his new captain and for the first, and how he would see not at all the last time, he wondered who actually was it, this extremely young, vibrant officer, who inspired such loyalty in his crew that it was clearly visible even during the first moments on this ship, who went from anger to laugh in seconds and who could withstand the torture without as much as a flinch and yet was grimacing and complaining at the barest of stings of the hypospray. For now, McCoy vowed to be gentler with those things in the future (the vow he will break easily hundreds of times) and reached his fingers to gently massage the offended area of his commanding officer's neck.
"All right. That should take effect in seconds, so how about I start cleaning those welts, hm? I need to warn you that it won't be pleasant, but something tells me you'll survive…"
The captain blinked at him, clearly still angry about the hypo, but offered no protests, so McCoy began his tedious task.
'Not pleasant' wasn't really the word for it, as the doctor was well aware. He wasn't even halfway through when his unfortunate captain's posture became rigid with pain, he started flinching at the lightest of touches and from the cover of his hands there came some suspiciously sounding sniffles. McCoy stopped for a moment to place another cool cloth at his patient's forehead and lie a gentle hand at his head.
"Easy, kid," he spoke soothingly. "Try to relax, it will be over in a moment. You're all right, kid."
At times like this McCoy really hated his job. Doctors were supposed to cure people, not to add to their pain. He continued his task, on and off, stopping often to calm down his patient and offer him some respite. Finally, after what was possibly the longest time he had ever spent on such a task, he put down the disinfectant and grabbed a dermal regenerator. The kid barely heard its whirring when he sat ramrod straight, showing to McCoy his white face and barely coherent, red eyes. The doctor gently guided Kirk's head back towards the desk:
"Relax, kid. It won't be so bad now. You will only feel a really strong warmth, but it would be nothing, comparing to earlier, OK? It really is all right, kid."
The captain acquiesced and McCoy took a while for him to really calm down, before he set to his work, all the time drawling soothingly and keeping his free hand on his patient's head.
When he was almost finishing, the captain suddenly moved his head towards him and peeked at him hesitantly from under his arms.
"Jim, McCoy," he uttered at last.
"Sorry?" McCoy finished his work and turned the regenerator off.
"It's my name."
"I know it is, captain."
Kirk sat up slowly and smiled at the doctor's baffled expression:
"So I thought, since you outrank me and all, and you're already calling me 'kid', you may as well use my proper name. It would sound, you know, slightly more dignified."
McCoy felt his face going red, which seemed to actually add to the captain's glee. He laughed merrily, his eyes suddenly full of warmth and no longer pained:
"No worries, my good doctor. As I said, you need to learn an awful lot about this ship. For now 'Jim', instead of the 'captain' will do well. Oh, and I would appreciate it if you taught that to this Vulcan First Officer of mine."
McCoy shouldn't really have been surprised with such an outcome, but nevertheless he was and he suspected, quite correctly, that he would never really fail to be taken aback by his captain's prowess. And so here they were glaring at each other, in the captain's personal quarters, after the quick battle, albeit of the intensity of the Vulcan sandstorm, over being admitted to sickbay. The battle, that he, the CMO, had obviously lost. Even now, after only an hour or so, McCoy already knew that captain James T. Kirk usually gets what he wants. So they had agreed, more or less grudgingly, that instead of being admitted to sickbay for three days, the captain would be confined to his quarters for twenty four hours, instead of being sedated and given the IV fluids in sickbay, he would rest in his own bed, with the IV hanging from the improvised holder above his head, and finally instead of being monitored by the impersonal biobed in the cold hospital room, he would spend some time with his CMO in the familiarity of his comfortable quarters, getting to know each other and sharing stories from their previous assignments. Call it a win. I suppose.
"Now, would you get into that bed?" McCoy barked, his patience now really very thin, after the stress of the previous hours.
"Maybe, you know, I was thinking…" Jim Kirk crept surreptitiously away from his bed, the ever present smile plastered to his face, even if now becoming a bit tinged with worry.
"Too bad, kid," McCoy harrumphed, shoving him unceremoniously towards the offending furniture, all the while being extra careful of his healing back and arms. "Get in! Now!"
Kirk obediently climbed into the bed, with a bit worrisome expression of shy uneasiness. In McCoy's head a tiny red alert sounded once more - this extraordinary captain didn't take well to being coddled, even, or maybe especially, to being taken care of when at his most vulnerable. The thought to be pondered at later times. For now McCoy pretended not to notice Kirk's embarrassment while fluffing his special air-pillows he had taken with them from sickbay and making sure he was warm enough and as comfortable as it was possible, given the circumstances.
Jim leaned very slowly against the pillows and closed his eyes, sighing in contentment. McCoy took several seconds to observe his face, even now looking a bit better, and set about preparing the IV. When he touched the captain's hand with his own, however, Kirk's eyes shot open and he restlessly moved his hand away. Now, McCoy was getting used to it.
"Come on, Jim," he soothed quietly. "I promise not to stick you with anything more than that. Well, at least not for some time, I can't promise anything in the future, seeing how careful you are."
To that the captain only gave him a dark glance. He hold that gaze and slowly reached for his commanding officer's hand. It was cold when he took it, so he quickly ordered the computer to raise the ambient temperature by two degrees. Jim offered no resistance other than keeping him under this unwavering, wary look. McCoy could take it no longer.
"Kid, you're an enigma," he gave the cold hand a light squeeze and reached for the disinfectant. "I hope one day I'll get to understand you, but for now I need you to trust me, all right? I have nothing but your best interests on my mind but I promise not to overwhelm you with them. On your part I need you to trust me that when I… pull rank, so to speak, it really is necessary. Can you do that much? It would make both your and my job much easier, if you did."
Kirk seemed to listen intently to his speech and when it was finished, he just smiled and turned his head away, relaxing his hand in McCoy's grip. McCoy debated over thanking him, but instead he just squeezed his hand once more and started the IV with the most careful stick he was able to.
The captain tried very hard not to flinch, the doctor saw that very clearly. He couldn't quite help it though and when McCoy finally released his hand, he gazed at it with wide eyes, his heart once more racing.
"You're all set, kid," the doctor once more pretended not to notice the proud captain's reaction and started moving around, collecting his things. Kirk, predictably, turned to humor:
"Sawbones," he said in an exaggeratedly pained voice.
"What?" McCoy threw the used paraphernalia into the rubbish collector and sat at the edge of his commanding officer's bed.
"Sawbones. Like in the old times, you know, when those so-called doctors cut off their patients' limbs with a saw. I bet you would do well in those times."
"What?!" McCoy realized that the captain was joking, but felt outraged at the bare parallel he was making. "Now, wait a minute, so here I am, trying with all my might and those blasted modern techniques, to relieve the pain, to save a life…"
"Bones," now the captain was all smiles. "Oh, yes, I get the feeling we will work excellent together. I'm sorry if I was being difficult. I can only say, once more, that there is much you need to learn. But that will come in another time."
"No worries, kid," the doctor replied easily. "I have all the time and willingness to learn. For now, how about getting some rest, hm? You look beat, Jim, and if I started guessing from that how you're feeling, I wouldn't believe how you could possibly be awake right now."
"True," the captain yawned discreetly and blushed. "But we were going to just… you know, hang out for some time, Bones."
"And we will," McCoy only afterwards noticed that he had let this weird nickname slip. "I'll stay here now, and when you wake up, we can order something to eat. I bet the captain can get his food delivered to his quarters?"
"The perks of the job, Bones, the perks of the job."
"Good. Now, sleep."
The captain closed his eyes, but his smile never left his face, so McCoy knew better than to hope that he was already asleep.
"Bones?"
"Hmm…?" only after the second did he realize that he'd actually reacted to that damn nickname and his indignant if somewhat amused 'damn it' predictably elicited a short laugh from the captain.
"Thanks, Bones," was what followed the laugh and to that McCoy just sighed heavily and patted the now warmed hand, lying on the blanket.
"You are very welcome, captain," he answered quietly in the afterthought and sat back on the nearby armchair, preparing himself for his silent watch.
For now they were good. McCoy was good. This afternoon had been, however, quite incredible, so McCoy got the feeling that he was going to spend quite a long time pondering whom he actually had treated today. But for now he was good. And if tomorrow he wakes up to the sensation that maybe, possibly, he actually is where he was supposed to be, then - oh, well, stranger things happened in this Universe.