Leonard McCoy groans as he gets up from his uncomfortable plastic desk chair, placing his barely warm cup of replicator-made coffee on his cluttered desk. It's only his second day at Starfleet Academy, and already they've put him to work as a doctor at the campus clinic, handling the physicals of other new cadets. McCoy thought that the only thing more boring than looking through the medical records of cocky, self assured kids before giving them flu shots and having to put up with their whining, would be watching grass grow though the cracks in old bricks. Now, he suspects maybe even that might be more fun.

He had been a well respected trauma surgeon, in a proper hospital, for God's sake! And now he is just a lowly cadet, giving bratty kids hypos in some clinic, just so he'd be able to work on some God-forsaken starship. He hated flying, and space, and anything involved with it. Why the hell had he done this to himself?

Oh yeah, thats right. Because he has nothing left, nothing else he could do, thanks to his lovely, ever so faithful, ex wife.

But this is no time to wallow in self pity, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like doing his 12th physical of the day. He can't think of a single thing he'd rather be doing.

Leonard shakes himself out of his internal grumbling, grabs his PADD from his desk, puts on his professional face (a simple swap from 'angry death glare' to 'what do you want from me' glare), and walks out the sliding glass doors that let him into the patient waiting room.

"James Kirk?" he calls, reading the name from his list of appointments for the day.

"That's me!" replies a golden haired boy, who was oddly familiar, and wearing one of the obnoxiously red cadet uniforms.

"Follow me, then," McCoy grunts.

"Lead on, sunshine," says the kid, a cocky half-smirk falling into place.

McCoy leads Kirk down a white hallway, and turns into an examination room with a biobed, which McCoy instructs Kirk to sit on, a desk, and a bunch of random medical equipment and supplies.

"So, I'm Doctor McCoy and I'll be doing your physical today," McCoy says.

"I know who you are, Bones," replies the kid, his smirk growing wider.

"Bones?" McCoy questions, before realization dawns on him. "Oh good god, you're the kid from the shuttle."

"Got it in one, Bonesy."

"Please stop calling me that," McCoy snaps.

"Sure thing, Bones," Kirk responds.

McCoy doesn't even bother replying, just sighs, rolls his eyes, and gives in to putting up with this kid and his stupid nicknames for the next half hour or so.

"Anyways," he continues, glaring at the kid when he makes a face like he wants to continue their previous line of conversation, "I'm your doctor. Today anyways, and you're here for a physical. So that is what we are going to do."

"Are we really though, Bonesy? Are you sure you wouldn't rather do something a little more uh... physical?" the kid says, even going so far as to wink salaciously. The smug little bastard.

"No," says McCoy firmly, his eyebrows drawing together, giving him the appearance of a disgruntled owl.

"Aw, come on, live a little," replies Kirk, his eyes sparkling with evident mirth.

"Kid, I'm a doctor, not a back alley hooker, and this is an appointment. Now shut up, sit down, and let me read your goddamn file."

Apparently, even McCoy's legendary grumpy face isn't enough to dampen Kirk's spirits even slightly, but he sits down on the edge of the biobed anyways, and swings his legs back and forth like a bored and petulant toddler, his eyes still glimmering cheekily.

McCoy takes this in, sighing deeply through his nose and attempting to put his professional face back on.

"So, your name is James Tiberius Kirk and you were born on the fourth of January, 2233, correct?"

"Yep," replies Kirk, popping the 'p'. "Although I'd rather that the Tiberius part stayed between us... and you can call me Jim."

"And you're... oh," McCoy pauses in his readings, noticing just where the file said Kirk was born.

"The Kelvin baby? Yeah, I am. Most people put that together as soon as they hear my last name," says Jim, his tone joking, but his eyes saying something else.

"I don't spend my time prying into other peoples business, kid, I really don't care where you were born or just who your daddy is," says McCoy flatly, continuing to scan through Jim's (surprisingly long, yet suspiciously incomplete) file.

"Huh," is all Jim says to that.

For a few minutes, everything is quiet, and McCoy reads Jim's file, his frown deepening with every line.

"Jesus Christ, kid, what aren't you allergic to?" he says as he looks at the long list of drugs and food items the kid can't go near without fear of death

.

Jim pretends to think for a minute. "Hm... *** and alcohol, thank God," he says, after a minute, his face deadly serious, before breaking into a grin again.

McCoy pretends he didn't hear this, and keeps reading. "Do you have any idea why parts of your medical records are missing? There aren't even records of your teenage vaccines!"

"Oh, uh, I was off planet for a while, so I guess they didn't get transferred?" Jim sounds oddly awkward now, considering how confident he'd been a few minutes ago.

"They should've been... but seeing as they're not here now, I'll need you to tell me. Did you even get your vaccines?" McCoy asks, his brow still furrowed in confusion. The parts that are blank don't look like they're just missed appointments or notes that didn't send, they look like they were erased from the file after they'd been put in.

"Uh, yeah, I think so. I was in the hospital at one point and they jabbed me with so many hypos, I'm sure some of them were vaccines."

"Then why aren't they recorded?"

"I don't know, I told you, I guess they didn't get transferred or something," Jim said, his already monumental defensiveness mounting further.

"Hmm," McCoy grunts in response, still reading and trying to understand what sort of a life the confusing mess of a file was showing him. "How did you break so many bones?"

"I was a clumsy kid," Jim says, easily.

McCoy raises an eyebrow, having heard that excuse a lot of times, but lets the obvious evasion slide, anyways. He finishes with the file, and marks down in his own notes, the things that may effect Jim's career in Starfleet.

"So there's nothing there that would stop you, as long as you've got some sort of control on your allergies?"

"I don't let people drug me with stuff unless I know what is is, and I know what I can or can't eat," says Jim, his eyes daring McCoy to say anything else on the subject.

"All right, that parts all fine then. Now I need you to take your shirt off and sit up straight for me."

"Why?"

"Because this is the part where a 'physical' gets its name from," says McCoy, one eyebrow again raising slightly.

"Are you sure that isn't just an excuse to see me naked?"

"If I wanted to see you naked, I'd have taken you to a four-star restaurant, not my day job." replied McCoy, that same eyebrow still raised, in its sarcastic way.

"Oooh, is that an invitation? 'Cause I won't turn down a free lunch," says Jim, still doing nothing to obey McCoy's request.

"Just strip, you infant."

"I'll have you know that this body is far too hot for an infant," says Jim, finally acquiescing and taking his shirt off with a flourish, revealing pale skin with freckled shoulders, lightly defined abs, and several faint scars on his left side that look like they wrap around to his back.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" McCoy raises his eyebrow again.

"You wound me Bones, you wound me," Jim says, his ridiculously blue eyes going wide in feigned hurt, raising his hands to cover his heart.

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy replies, grabbing a tricorder of a desk in the corner of the room and scanning Jim with it.

The little machine beeps, and McCoy studies the readings. Apparently, Jim is currently healthy, aside from the still black eye, but his body shows signs of malnutrition at integral growing stages and there are signs of badly healed injuries, broken bones and cuts that were left too long.

Once again, the surly doctors eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't say anything.

"What, is it telling you I'm too hot to be allowed?" Jim asks teasingly, this time raising his own eyebrow.

"No, it's telling me your a damn jackass," replies McCoy.

"Words can hurt, Bones," Jim says chidingly, smirking again.

"My name is Leonard McCoy, damn it!"

"I know it is, Bones."

McCoy sighs exasperatedly, and rolls his eyes. "Now I've just got to take a look at you and then we're done."

"I knew you just wanted me for my body!"

"Shut up, kid," McCoy has Jim stand up, and when he does he sees the scars he notices earlier do in fact spread around to his back, and there are several others on his back as well, some of which look like they were once badly infected. Then he does another once over with the tricorder, takes a not of Jim's height and weight, and then they're finished.

"You're free to go, cadet," McCoy says.

"Thanks, Bonesy!" Jim calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room as fast as he can without it looking suspicious.

McCoy finds he can only shake his head and wonder whether he'll see the cocky blonde with the mysterious records again. He's not entirely sure he wants to.

A/N So, this was literally written because I loved Beyond so, so much, but I felt like Jim and Bones didn't get enough friendship time... or, actually, I feel like poor Jim was a little left out of all the bonding... Spock and Bones, on the other hand. ;D

Anyways, this is a 5+1 and there will be 6 more chapters.

Edited on the 31/8/16. This has just been beta read by the wonderful, incredible, amazing starwarrior72 without whom this would continue to be an unreadable mess, so thanks so much for that, I legit owe you so much! She writes amazing Star Wars fanfiction, too, and really... you should go check her out because she's just that awesome. :D

Thanks for reading! 3 xx