Chapter 1: From Me to You
"Dammit, John!" Dr. McCoy slammed his clipboard down against the metal countertop in his examination room. His patient, John Kennex, jumped slightly at the loud, unexpected noise but recovered quickly.
"Look pal," Kennex started to say but Leonard McCoy wasn't the kind of doctor that took lectures from his patients. He doled them out. And no one ever needed a lecture as much as the man creasing the paper cover of his examination table with his smug, unruly, intractable ass.
"No, you look," Dr. McCoy poked a finger in the middle of John's chest. John looked down at the infringing hand murderously. "You have been a no-show for every appointment I've set up for you in the past fourteen months. Frankly, seeing you here is a shock."
John wasn't about to admit that the only reason he was here was that he'd been practically dragged here by his android partner and husband. "I haven't needed anything," John responded lamely.
The doctor looked ready to blow a gasket. He'd been John's attending physician since before his accident. All through his coma, Dr. Leonard McCoy saw to John's health and wellness, and now he hadn't seen the man in over year and he comes waltzing back through the doors for his abandoned, standing monthly. "Bullshit," McCoy muttered, waving his hand dismissively through the air in front of John, "How has physical therapy been going?"
John shot his eyes up then back down, "Good, great even. I think I can stop now, actually."
The doctor looked like he'd swallowed a lemon wedge. He turned his back on John and took a few deep breaths. When he spun back around, his voice held a thicker Georgian accent than normal. "You liar. You haven' been back since the secon' day. It's all in yer file!"
"It was just a workout!" John argued back, but quietly. He wished this guy would chill the fuck out and keep his voice down. He didn't need Dorian privy to any of this. "I went, saw what they had me do, bought the equipment and did it at home. And look, I'm fine!" He held his arms out as if to display himself.
"A physical therapist is not a personal trainer, John," the doctor looked so exasperated and, frankly, pissed off.
John was kicking himself for letting Dorian see the appointment notice in his email. Nosey benedict android. John had no smart reply so he just squirmed on the table. He didn't think this doctor had any right caring this much about what he did and didn't do. It was his damn life.
McCoy leaned one hand on the table and gave the man finally back under his care an annoyed look, one eyebrow arched up across his forehead like it was trying to escape. "If you had continued with your therapy, you'd have recovered much faster and you wouldn't walk so stiffly on your right side."
"I don't walk stiffly," John countered.
The doctor's eyebrow climbed ever, impossibly higher. He tapped the white wall in front of them and it dissolved into a large light screen. With deft fingers, the doctor scrolled through files, accessing the security cameras. He scrubbed through the hall video and stopped it, expanding the screen so John could watch himself walking in next to Dorian.
John's right side was pronouncedly stiffer than his left. But the doctor lost his focus when he saw Dorian. "Is that one of the older model police androids?" he asked.
"Yeah," John said, gnawing on his bottom lip. Desperately searching his mind for a good reason to escape this room early.
"Isn't this your time off?" McCoy asked, still studying the tape.
"Yeah," John said, furrowing his brow, "look doc, can we speed this up-"
McCoy held up a hand in front of John's face to shut him up. "You haven't been in this room in over a year and you want to speed this up?" he captured his patient in a stale gaze.
John folded his arms and looked away.
McCoy stared at him coolly long enough to see him squirm again then went on with his examination. When he asked John to remove his leg, the detective just sat there a moment until Leonard clapped his hands and said, "Stop wasting my time, John."
John slid off the table and unlaced his boots and heeled out of them, then he loosened his studded belt and pushed his pants down off his legs. He stood there in his black boxer briefs and sighed.
"Back up on the table," McCoy ordered.
John was never ever fucking coming back here. Dorian was going to have to carry him in physically to get him back in this room and even then he wasn't going to comply. Fuck this doctor. Fuck his smug face. Fuck his eyebrows. Fuck his moral superiority. Fuck his stupid accent. While his mind reeled with expletives, John obeyed the doctor and sat back on the bench.
McCoy inspected his leg carefully, looking at the connection. "Take it off."
"I assume you meant to say please," John grumbled as he removed his synthetic part.
"Why'd you assume that?" McCoy muttered, sinking to look at the connection pad at the end of John's thigh. "Been feeling a little less responsive lately?" the doctor quirked his eyes up at John who looked down at him a moment before nodding softly.
"The monthly appointments are designed to keep everything up and running with your connectors. I'm going to have to get in and replace this pad. It's been neglected too long."
"You mean like a surgery?" John asked, trying to keep the stress out of his voice.
"You'll have to go under but it's simple, outpatient, yes."
"This pad is fine," John said, reaching for his leg and snapping it back into play. He slid off the table and stomped back into his pants.
"You leave that pad as is and it'll quit on you, leave you stranded. Two months, tops."
"Well I guess that's what happens to me then," John said, sitting down to lace his boots with shaking hands.
When he sat up, the doctor put his hands over John's and held them steady. "John," he said gently, "You're still apprehensive about hospitals. I told you the last time I saw you, I have a psychologist that can help you with that. Dr. Spock is really good, logical. He won't make you get all emotional."
"Pass," John said, wrenching his hands back. "Anger management was bad enough. I don't need my fucking head shrunk, too."
McCoy leaned against the counter again, crossing his legs at the ankle comfortably. "Are you alone, John? Or do you have someone in your life now?"
None of this seemed relevant, but arguing wasn't getting him anywhere with this guy. "I'm married," John said, his eyes flashing up at the wall where the screen was paused on Dorian and him. McCoy looked at the still image too and a smile ran up his face.
"Is there anything you wouldn't do for your spouse?" McCoy asked.
This was pure manipulation. John ran a hand down his thigh, his fingers pressing at the ridge that marked the end of his body and the start of his synthetic leg.
"I'm married, too," McCoy added, jostling John along with continued conversation, "And there isn't anything I wouldn't do for my husband."
John pressed his lips together and looked up at the doctor, his eyes looked glassy with emotion.
McCoy sighed and put the kid gloves away again. "I'm putting you on the schedule for next Tuesday. Listen John, if you don't show up for this surgery on time, with an empty stomach, ready to make it happen, I will personally find you, knock you out with a hypospray, and drag your ass into my OR."
John pulled himself together enough to roll his eyes, "Are we done?"
"I need to get your labs, then we're done," McCoy slapped his hand on the exam table again.
John sat on the table and dragged one sleeve up his arm. The doctor wiped alcohol on his arm and pinched the hypo into his vein, drawing six vials of blood.
"Doesn't a nurse usually do this part?" John asked, wincing when the needle jiggled slightly in his arm as the doctor pushed the final tube into the hypo.
"Yeah," McCoy grumbled, "But I like my nurses. They don't need to deal with the likes of you."
When he was done, McCoy stuck a cotton ball on John's arm and held it tight against the injection site. Then he placed a bandage over the cotton and tapped John on the shoulder. "Up."
John pulled his coat on and followed the doctor out of the room. Dorian was sitting right outside the door and from the look on his face, John could tell he had heard everything. Stupid androids and their supersonic hearing.
"See you Tuesday, right?" McCoy asked, popping John's chart under his armpit, "8 AM, no food or drink for twelve hours, right?"
"He'll be there, doctor," Dorian said, putting a hand on John's shoulder.
McCoy smiled at Dorian and held out a hand, "Leonard McCoy," he said, "just Len is fine."
"Dorian Kennex," the android replied amicably, "I'm sorry John hasn't been coming to his appointments. He'll be here from now on."
The doctor ran his eyes between John and Dorian and smiled. He seemed genuinely happy. John suppressed a groan.
"That's music to my southern soul," McCoy said, clapping Dorian on the shoulder. The doctor walked off, his perfectly pressed white scrubs hugging his form and making him look clean and sterile.
"I like him," Dorian said.
"You fucking would," John muttered and took off down the hall. Dorian walked with him.
"You'll need to take the week off to recover," Dorian said, "I've already informed the captain."
John glowered at him, feeling picked on and annoyed. His stomach was upset just thinking about going under anesthesia again.
As they walked toward the exit of the hospital, a blond man making his way in stopped in his tracks and dropped the bag he was carrying. A salad in a plastic clamshell container rolled out across the floor, spilling lettuce and sending cherry tomatoes rolling and croutons skittering through the clean halls. "John?" he asked in happy surprise.
Before John could react, the attractive younger man had his arms tossed around his neck, squeezing John so tight. The detective put his hands up in shock, splaying his fingers in the air.
The man hugged him, squeezing him snug and long, his chin nuzzled against the back of John's neck. When he pulled back, his bright blue eyes were pooled with happy tears. He covered his nose and mouth with both hands a second while admiring John. "I can't believe it, John, you look so fucking good! Up and about. Moving around. God!"
John was so confused. A homeless spark of recognition ran through his mind as he heard the man's softly graveled voice. It was reminiscent of the dizzying, intoxicating first few minutes of the headrush caused by taking a Membliss pill.
Dorian watched with wide, curious eyes, his blue lights running as he identified the young man with his facial recognition software.
"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry," the stranger said, reading John's face and chuckling. He looked away to smear a his fingers under his eyes, still beaming, "You don't even really know me and I know you so well." The excitement in the blond man's voice was palpable.
John was even more confused. "How do you know me?" He was desperate to connect the voice to his sunken memories.
"Honey, you were in a coma and," he paused, looking at the hospital walls with a frown. "Look I dropped my salad and that's perfectly okay because I'm sick of eating salad. Do you guys have time to grab a burger so we can chat?"
John didn't like the sound of that. "We'd love to!" Dorian chimed. Of fucking course.
"I'm taking what's left to Len and I'll meet you by the front entrance in five minutes, okay?" the kid scooped up the bag he dropped and checked on the salad inside. "Promise you'll be there waiting, John."
Dorian stuck a hand out and introduced himself. "We'll be there." Dorian promised.
"Great!" the man said and took off down the hall, he turned on his heels after a few steps and called, "and I'm Jim; Jim Kirk-McCoy!" He knocked into a nurse and had to apologize before speeding off down the hall.
John and Dorian walk to the entrance. "Let's get the fuck out of here," John said uncomfortably.
"No, I promised!" Dorian insisted, "He seems really nice."
"He's married to my asshole doctor."
"Your doctor is amazing. Everyone should be so lucky to have a doctor who insists on their wellbeing," Dorian practically scolded.
John felt increasingly agitated. Finally, Jim returned and looped his arms through John's and Dorian's. "I know the best burger joint and I never get to go because I'm married to Captain Heart Health. What'da'ya'say gentlemen?"
John unthreaded his arm from Jim's and said, "That's fine."
They didn't have to walk far and they were at the Burger Bar. Jim procured a quiet booth in the back and they slid around the C-shaped bench.
When the waitress came over, Jim ordered a pitcher of beer for the table and said "We'll take three of the house specials."
Dorian said, "Make that two. I don't eat." He flashed his lights.
Jim stared a moment then nodded as the waitress took off.
Flabbergasted, John said, "Did you just order for me?"
"You'll thank me," Jim winked.
Dorian cut in, not wanting John to open his big mouth and keep picking a fight over the ordering process, "So you were going to tell us how you know John."
Jim's eyes sparkled, "You know I said Dr. McCoy is my husband, right?"
John grunted in response.
"Yeah well, he's none too happy with you, either," Jim said, "I'd be afraid if I was you." The waitress came with a pitcher of beer and Jim poured John a glass and himself. He looked at Dorian with pity and the DRN waved him off because it was nothing.
John sipped his beer and felt himself relax. Listening to Jim speak had a strange soothing effect on John's overwrought mood. "I'm not afraid of him," he said, and smiled. Dorian relaxed seeing John's disposition lighten.
Jim said, "Anyways, Len and I were upset because no one was coming to see his patient who was in a coma." Jim's voice trailed off a little as a slightly hurt expression passed John's face. Dorian thought his synthetic soul might shatter listening to that and observing John's reaction.
Jim reached over and gave John's hand a pat. "I'm sorry. But that's how it all began."
John pulled his hand back slowly, "Yeah, I'll bet Len was upset, sureā¦"
"Well it was my idea," Jim admitted, "But Len approved! I hated you in that room with nothing but your own beeping machines to keep you company. So Len suggested we eat our lunch with you on days that he was working. I was coming in with lunch every day anyhow."
John listened while looking at his beer. Dorian was locked on Jim with eyes that betrayed his deep gratitude.
"I liked to visit you, John," Jim said, "I would stay and chat with you, tell you about my day, complain about Len when he wasn't in the room," the musical laughter in Jim's chest sounded so familiar to John. "We saw each other nearly every day for a year and a half, and then one morning, I came in for lunch and you were just... gone."
John was touched and unsure of what to say.
Jim didn't give him a chance anyhow, "I used to practice my singing for you, I'm a singer, kinda." Jim set his beer down and straightened his spine in his seat. He placed a hand on his chest and opened his mouth and sang a few lines from a Beatles song:
If there's anything that you want
If there's anything I can do
Just call on me and I'll send it along
With love from me to you
John felt his throat thicken with emotion and he struggled to swallow it before it could reach his eyes. Too late, he felt them prickle and his eyelids juggled the unshed tears. He could remember that voice and that song like it was a dream, a long forgotten dream that penetrated his mind in his darkest hour. Jim's voice was honeyed and modulated, his interpretation of the song was sweeter and slower than the original. Goosebumps rose across John's arms.
"You sang to me," he said, lifting his beer up and taking a swallow, pulling himself back under control. "I think I remember that, Jim."
"Now don't scare me, John," Jim warned, with a laugh, "Don't go remembering everything I told you. I must admit, I was a little chatty when it came to talking to my friend John."
John was searching for the right words. Thank you didn't seem enough. He was about to crack the words out of his throat anyhow when the burgers came.
They looked amazing. Under the table, Dorian gave John's hand a squeeze and John squeezed back, letting his husband know he was okay. They locked eyes a brief moment.
Jim stuffed four french fries at once in his mouth and gave them an enthusiastic thumb's up while he chomped away.
John hesitated, lifted his burger to his mouth and took a bite. It was the best burger he could ever remember having in his whole damn life.
"Didn't I tell you?" Jim asked, as John marveled at the burger in his hands while he chewed. "Good stuff."
Dorian put an arm around John's shoulders and looked at Jim, "I can't thank you enough for taking care of him when I couldn't."
Jim waved him off, "Oh hell, I didn't take care of him. That was Len. I just talked his poor ear off while he was sleeping. If he starts to remember our conversations, he'll start sending me psychotherapy bills."
Once John recovered from the shock of his delicious food he said, "Really Jim, thank you."
The blond man had a twinkle in his eyes as he picked up his own burger. "What are friends for?"
John stuffed another bite of burger in his face.
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Co-authored with KCgirl
