That night was especially busy at the hospital. It was a strange transition for Bones, officially Doctor Leonard McCoy, from the controlled environment of a classroom to the hectic but exciting life as an actual doctor. He had always known what he wanted to be as a child, medicine the only mystery he found worthwhile with so much more was still to be discovered. Also the pay and status were perks, he still resided in an old apartment on the lower class side of town, but nothing too bad. A couple of years with his new paycheck and he would be living in a house of his own in no time, maybe starting a family. He scoffed at the last notion, remembering how his high school to college sweetheart had left so abruptly taking most of the items they had together and leaving him with basically nothing. It's better this way. He thought to himself. A fresh start to a new life. He did however keep one thing, his old car that would huff and puff and spew smoke in all four directions, but nevertheless it was his. He was humming along to the crackly radio as he pulled up to the parking lot. It was late, and the street lights were already into effect, but the moon was only barely visible, a white smile against the dark blanket of night. As he walked across, he passed an alley way, though trapped in his own thoughts, he knew the smell of blood. He stopped, nearly tripping over himself when he turned and saw a young man soaked in his own pool of blood.

The man was heaped against a wall next to a trash can, his breathes airy and swift, a hand pressed against a wound on his stomach. He looked up at Bones, his blue eyes piercing throw the darkness. He attempted to smile at him, a moment of clarity, but the pain was much too real, making the man grimace.

Bones ran over to him, taking off his doctor's coat and draping it around him. "Jesus Christ," his eyes ran over his body, bruised and cut with a deep gash in his abdomen. "Can you stand?" The man merely nodded, slowly rising, his legs wobbly. Bones helped him up, the man's arm going around his shoulder, leaning heavily against him.

"Kirk," the man said as Bones used his other hand to find his keys. "Jim Kirk."

"Well okay then Jim," McCoy doing his best to keep his voice soothing and calm. "You're going to be alright, I'm taking you to the hospital—,"

Jim drew back, nearly toppling Bones over. "No, I can't… no…family…money…" He shook his head.

"You're bleeding from every nick of your body and you don't want to go to a hospital?" Bones pulled him forward. "We're going to get you help, now."

Jim's body stiffened and slouched, dragging Bones down with him. "I'd rather die here," he let out in a raspy voice. "Less political bullshit to deal with later you know, doc." He managed a smile as he turned his head lazily over to the side, looking at the name on the coat. "Dr. Leonard McCoy."

Bones struggled to get up, looking at Kirk lying in the middle of the parking lot, his white coat now soaked in this stranger's blood. He paced a back and forth for a moment, trying to figure out what to do with him. He looked back at Jim, his eyes now blue slights directed at him with a slight grin on his face. Bones could not believe that he was smiling, his mouth all cracked and bleeding, yet smiling at him. He let out an audible sigh. "Get up," Bones commanded as he grabbed his arm. "We're going to my apartment, it's in that building over there."

Jim stood up, leaning heavily unto Bones. "What no dinner doc? Not even a movie?" He laughed to himself before stumbling into McCoy's body. His bruised face touched his neck, Bone's flesh heating up at contact. He looked at him, their eyes meeting, and Jim flashed him another smile.

"Dammit, just try to walk forward," Bones snapped, quickly pulling out his apartment keys and unlocking his door. The place was quaint, with one bedroom, a kitchen area, a place for his couch and tv (recently purchased). He laid Kirk on the couch, gently as he could. "Stay put, I'm going to help you." He groaned as he strangely enough thought of his poor couch. "The one day I decide to take the plastic off…" he mumbled to himself and he took of Jim's shirt to see the whole damage.

Jim moaned, seemingly unable to talk anymore. Bones grabbed his doctors bag, rummaging through the various items. "Okay, you've lost a lot of blood, but first things first I'm going to clean your wound and then shut it." He poured some alcohol unto a rag. "This is going to hurt, you may want to hold on to something." Bones began to clean the wound, and Jim's hand went to clutch his other. He stopped for a moment looking down at him, a young man with bright intelligent eyes surrounded by swollen purple flesh now clutching him, needing him to help. He's putting a lot of trust in me. I won't let him down.

He continued his work throughout the night, doing the best he could do with his limited supplies. He knew he would need to get him blood if he was to recover, but he was hesitant to leave Jim by himself. Eventually he did drive over to the hospital, and on his way out muttering to himself excuses of stealing blood packs he shook his head and took a few deep breaths.

"Heey, McCoy!" he heard a voice behind him. A coworker, shit, just get it together Bones. He turned and smiled at the other doctor. "Didn't expect to see you here on your day off," continued flipping through a newspaper. "Pretty interesting in the papers, those gangs are at it again. Cops came by this morning to see if any of them came for some stiches." He looked out the window. "No one showed up, pretty crazy out there for vagrants."

"Yeah," Bones agreed, his words hollow. "I, just came to check on my schedule for tomorrow." Bones patted the other doctor on the shoulder. "Have a good one."

"You too," he waved as he rustled through his paper.

He sat in his car, starting the ignition, and laid his head on the steering wheel. "What the hell are you doing, Bones?" he spoke out loud to himself. He knew Jim had to be something with the gang fights recently. His hair was greased back, the leather jacket he found him in, and the worn denim jeans. And he blatantly refused to go to the hospital. He was housing a criminal. A gang member, one of those greasers. He knew he had to get rid of him, sooner or later. He could lose his job, his world if this got out.

McCoy basically floated to his doorstep, thinking of how to get him the blood and then get him out. As he opened the door, he heard the sound of water. Afraid of a leak or something he quickly pulled the blood packs from his coat unto to his table and rushed to the sound. He checked the couch where Jim had slept, but now there were only the stains of his blood remaining. He walked over to the kitchen in awe, where he saw Jim, the greaser, doing his dishes, in Bones's clothing.

"Wha…" he could not find the words as a rush of emotions flooded him. Anger and relief, with a strange satisfaction of seeing him clean in his sleep shirt, it took a moment for him to recover. He cleared his throat, "I…well… I got you some blood packets but it seems to me that you get better quick."

Jim turned around, drying a plate. "I could probably use it, I feel a little light headed." He smiled and looked down at himself. "I hope you don't mind, but I changed into something a little more comfortable doc."

"Well I guess I couldn't expect you to stay in bloody rags all day," Bones let out a sigh. "Well, come over here, sit down."

Jim complied, a stupid grin still on his face, as he sat down presenting his arm. As Bones set up the tubing, Jim fidgeted a bit. "Hold still for Christ's sake, or I'll mess this up."

"So doc, where can a guy get a shower here?" Jim rubbed his other hand through his sun bleached hair.

"Really?" Bones looked up at him. "Now, you're really asking about that right now?"

"Where can a guy get a shower please?" He raised his eyebrows revealing a small pout on his lips.

Bones looked up. Lord forgive me for my stupidity. "I'll show you after this."