Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.
Nothing good ever comes of Bones being the on-call doctor for anything, be it sims, training exercises, or obstacle courses.
All the other doctors speak with relish about how easy being on-call for these things is, how dull it is to sit through them, how nothing ever happens.
Yet Bones has yet to make it out of one of these things without someone injuring themselves in some way. He's beginning to think he's a bad omen, but it's not his fault these overzealous security- or command-track kids don't know how to follow proper procedure and /not/ get their asses kicked.
He's surveying the Academy's (in)famous obstacle course this morning, his third time doing so. The course tests strength, stamina, and agility and, from what Bones has seen, it can be pretty brutal. Bruises, pulled muscles, and sprains are the least of what he's treated.
He thinks it's stupid, putting these kids through something so dangerous, but it's part of the Survival curriculum—always be prepared for what the Black may through at you.
Bones still doesn't like it; he stands with his arms crossed while looking out at the huge indoor hall from the observation platform. Several instructors mill about, waiting for the session to begin. He has his medkit ready and his gut tells him he's gonna need it.
A buzzer sounds and a door at the far end opens, revealing a sturdily built security-track cadet. She launches into the course at a full sprint, maneuvering with only little struggle.
She's fast and Bones is thoroughly impressed with her skill. She makes it through the first third of the course untroubled, speed above average, unfaltering until she must swing across ropes to get to the other side of the platform. The first two she does fine, but her fingers slip on the third rope, dragging her almost to its end. She dangles several feet above the ground, feet flailing for some purchase. Eventually, she's able to build up enough momentum and grab the next rope, pulling herself up once she reaches the platform.
The rest of her journey is rather uneventful. She loses a lot of time on the wall climbing section, going slowly and choosing footholds carefully.
She finishes the course sweaty and banged up, but intact. Bones treats her for rope burn on her hands and forearms.
"You did great," he says, finishing up.
To his surprise, the cadet just sighs. "No, I fucked up. And I kept fucking up, too. That was one of my worst times ever." She rises, and Bones lets her go with a stare.
Damn these kids.
The rest of the session passes by—surprisingly—with little drama. One kid banged his knee up real well, but nothing was broken. Bones stabilized the injury and gave him a painkiller and sent him on his way with the message to stop by the clinic later for a follow up.
It's the must uneventful run Bones has ever been on. As the last cadet steps up, he's almost optimistic.
Of course, when he sees that final cadet is Jim Kirk, the feeling is vaporized.
Damn it, damn it. Damn it all to hell.
He's almost pressed straight to the glass in order the follow Jim's every move, searching for fault before it may even happen.
But it doesn't; Jim is a natural. His long legs glide through the air, toned muscular arms pulling himself up, over, and through different elements. His movements are swift and graceful, and Bones can't help but be mesmerized.
And it appears as if he's going to pull it off, too: make it through without hesitating even a moment, have a perfect ending. The last main obstacle is the vertical climb; if he can make it through that, he's golden.
Bones watches with baited breath as Jim positively throws himself at the wall. Deft hands and feet find areas to grab with ease, though even Bones can see that he's trembling with exertion.
He makes it over ten feet up—
—and then he falters. In an instant, his hands slip, and then his feet, and then he is falling.
He hits the lightly padded ground left foot first, and then the rest of him follows, the sound resonating throughout the whole hall. A breath is caught in Bones's throat and he wants to race down there, now, but he knows the rules. He counts backward in his head from twenty, the allotted time cadets have to regain themselves, but Kirk isn't moving. Bones can't see his face but he can see his splayed limbs and the quick motion of his chest rise and fall.
The medkit is in Bones's grasp and by the time he reaches one he's already racing down to Jim.
He jogs across the white expanse of the bottom of the course, face composed. He is in Doctor mode, he is in Trauma Surgeon mode, ready to treat his patient. He's not thinking about Jim, his Jim, his broken Jim lying there. He's thinking about a patient who must be treated.
Bones can see shut eyes and slides into a kneel next to Kirk, fingers unclasping and opening his medkit. "Jim?" he asks, one hand tapping his face, the other brushing the medscanner over his body.
Jim's eyes flutter open halfway and he emits a low, pained groan. "Bones?" in says in barely more than a whisper.
"Right here darlin', right here. What hurts, sweetheart? Where's the pain?" His left foot is bent at an extreme angle and Bones winces just looking at it, clearly knowing where the pain is, but he needs to keep Jim talking.
Another groan, this one much louder. "Bones," he grits out. "Ankle."
"I see it, Jim," Bones says, loading a hypo. "I'll patch you up soon, good as new." He glances back at the the two nurses setting up the hovstretcher behind him, ready to place Jim on it as soon as Bones stabilizes his ankle. The doctor presses the hypo against his neck, and then moves on to his lower limb, setting up the stabilizers around Jim's booted foot. He'll need to do an x ray down at Medical, that much is evident, and the scanner reads a minor concussion, as well. Bones wants to sigh. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
On the way out of the huge hall and building, Bones stops, tight lipped, in front of one of the instructors. "His ankle may require surgery," he says, simmering quietly.
The instructor just nods. "I have faith in you, McCoy. Kirk is in good hands." Bones wants to say he shouldn't have to be but instead he takes his leave after the nurses.
Bones prays that the rest of Jim's treatment is hell of a lot smoother than this damn transport ride to Medical. With every jostle, Jim lets out a hollow gasp of pain and flinches, sweat beading on his brow, blue eyes squeezed tight. Bones hates that he can't do anything more to help, he hates that he couldn't have done anything to prevent the injury in the first place. "Just a little longer, Jim," he manages.
Jim doesn't reply.
"You really fucked up your ankle, kid."
The surgery did end up going better than the ride over; perfectly ordinary, no complications, but the extremity was a mess, pretty ruined from the fall. But Bones is rather good at what he does, and what he does is fix people, even reckless little shits like Jim Kirk.
Jim frowns at him from his place on the biobed. "Yeah, like that was my intention. I totally meant to fuck up royally. Thanks, Bones."
Bones raises his palms in a placating gesture. "I'm just saying. The fracture required a bit of surgery to repair properly, and you're lucky that-"
"Cut it, Bones, I don't wanna hear it. How much longer until I can walk?" Jim does not look happy, to out it lightly. He looks a bit humiliated, at the injury and the fact that he didn't manage to finish the course, a first for him. He's bristled and annoyed and wants to get out of her and be left alone.
Bones shoots Kirk a Look. "You still have a few more rounds to go with the osteo-regenerator today and tomorrow, and I want you to keep weight off your ankle as long as possible."
"How long?"
A sigh. "A week or more would be ideal, but-"
"A week? Hell no, Bones. I can't be on my ass for a week."
"Would you let me finish? I know you can't manage a week, Jim. I'll let you go the day after tomorrow and affix you with a brace. Is that satisfactory?"
Nothing could satisfy Kirk. His frown deepens when he realizes that's still three days in Medical, and then god knows how long he'd have to wear the brace for.
Bones continues. "This is the only offer you're getting. Just so you know. And no strenuous activity for at least two weeks, alright? No excessive running, and no training for that death trap they try to pass as an obstacle course, alright? Just take it easy for a little while, okay?"
"But I don't want to take it easy-"
"I know you don't, Jim. But here's the thing: I don't care."
An exasperated sigh. "I know you don't, Bones."
The doctor stares at his thoroughly miserable friend and realizes, perhaps for that first time, that the kid truly has no idea. About, like, anything: the fact that it's fucking scary to see your best friend lying motionless and in pain, no matter the circumstance. The fact that Bones hates operating on Jim, even for minor things, but that he also doesn't trust anyone else to do so. Jim truly has no clue the effect he has, on everyone. But especially on Bones.
The doctor reaches over and clasps a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Get some rest, kid. You'll be outta here soon enough."
A/N: Thank you for reading! Feedback is much appreciated!