Title: Pressure Points
Summary: Bones is relieved of his position of asCMO of the Enterprise, but Jim has a plan.
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 8200
Warning: Secondary character death. Some clichés, dark themes. A touch of the absurd and more than a little dramatic.
Notes: Originally started for the First Date challenge on st_respect, but I thought it would be better slightly expanded. A couple thousand words later, here it is. McCoy-centric.
*
Section 1: When you fall, Leonard, fall with grace (his mother had once said)
But he didn't. He fell screaming like a two year old throwing a tantrum. They fell like ragdolls against the canyon floor.
Four minus three equals one.
The injustice left a bitter taste in his mouth (or was that blood?).
[You don't need a trial when you've already sentenced yourself.]
*
"If Dr. McCoy will not file a report stating his version of what happened planetside, you will have to remove him from his position. If he does not meet the mental health evaluation within a month of his removal, then he will be discharged from the fleet," Pike said quietly. "Those are the facts."
Kirk sighed.
"He's still recovering."
"Kirk, you can't have a CMO who won't—."
"None of his staff have any complaints. He's doing fine."
"He collapsed and was found to be dehydrated with dangerously low blood sugar levels. You can't tell me you want a man in that state doing a surgery on you. If you can't do it, I would be willing to sign the orders. I understand that you and McCoy are close."
Kirk pushed the chair back, trying to stretch out his legs. "I have an idea."
Pike grimaced.
*
Section 2: The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage
"Well, I guess this is it then, Jim," McCoy cleared his throat. [Pussy. That's what you say to the man you've been making love to for the past six months? iThere's no kissing, ergo it's not making love. He needed a release and I provided it. A convenient body. Convenient fuck/i.]
They were standing outside of McCoy's room. Everything down to the last stylus was packed.
"Jim… I just. It was good serving with you. I don't think I would have done it otherwise."
Jim reached out and hugged him tight. McCoy let his eyes slide closed. "Bones, I'd be dead three times over if it weren't for you." Jim let go, reaching down to grab one of the duffle bags and starting off down the hall.
Several ensigns went into McCoy's room and grabbed boxes.
"Careful! Those PADDS are worth more than your life!" [Haha, you know how much those lives are worth, don't you? A tax break and a medal ceremony.]
"More like thirty times over," he mumbled as an afterthought, trailing after Jim.
As they walked in silence, McCoy tried to commit the familiar corridors to memory. Despite his initial fears of space, the Enterprise had served him well.
"Jim… this isn't the way to the transporter room."
"I'm aware of that," Jim said cheerfully. McCoy stopped.
"Jim…"
"Leonard Horatio McCoy, I would like to welcome you aboard the Enterprise. Congratulations on your appointment as Master of Services. You will be overseeing the laundry, dining, and maintenance facilities!" Jim's smile glowed against his tan skin.
"No. I've been discharged. I'm not allowed to serve in Starfleet."
"Really? I'm sure you've heard that the Master of Services can be a civilian with a Space Living Certificate, which you have! What luck!"
"Jim! Stop! I don't want—."
"Go on. Tell me I can't take this choice from you. Tell me I'm an asshole. Tell me you want to go back to Joanna like this. Shit, you don't even argue with Spock anymore! I can't take it. If you really want to leave I won't stop you, but then you make the choice and walk out the door— don't just stand there and let others push you out without a word. You lived. And you're repaying them in a piss poor way if this is the way you are going to live." Anger radiated off Jim. Somehow McCoy's back was against the wall and Jim was standing close enough that he could feel it. It was too hot. Too hot. He was going to collapse.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Jim!" McCoy shoved him back. Instead of letting him push past, Jim caught his arm and shoved him back against the wall. Jim's fingers dug painfully into his skin. It was like a breath of winter air after stumbling out of a smoky bar. Refreshing and painful. [You're not a martyr, boy, no matter how much you pretend to be. iWhose side are you on anyway?i]
"Jim—let go," he whispered.
"Tell me and I'll let you go."
"Christ—"
"Is out at the moment, I'll give him the message just as soon as you tell me." [He's got you, boy. He's got you good.]
He stared at the wall for a moment and moved his gaze back so that he could look Jim in the eye. [With conviction, boy.i I don't want to be on this fucking death trap anymore, Jim. I'm leaving/i.]
Instead Jim leaned forward and kissed him. It was hesitant. Quiet. A wisp on his lips. A fucking contradiction of everything Jim Kirk was. It was so fucking human that McCoy could feel tears gather in the corner of his eyes. [Real men don't cry, boy. i It's a good thing that you call me boy then./i]
"Time. Take some time and decide. It's three months until we get back to Earth…" McCoy wasn't sure if he was referring to the position or the kiss. Kid always had a fucking impeccably awful and perfect sense of timing.
McCoy shoved him back. This time Jim let him.
He walked to the door of what he assumed were his new quarters.
"What the fuck is the passcode on this thing?"
"Same as your old quarters."
His door opened in a flurry of dust. Jim began to cough. McCoy ran a critical eye over him. It appeared to be a mild allergy.
"Fuck you, Jim. I'm not your puppet whose life you can play with just by pulling some strings."
Jim tensed. "Don't do it for me, Bones. Do it because so many people owe you so much and they want to repay you. Do it because Jocelyn told you that it was impossible. Do it because your father—"
McCoy shoved him back and smashed their lips together. It couldn't be qualified as a kiss in any sense of the word, but it got Jim to stop talking. McCoy shoved him back and walked into his new quarters.
[Sometimes when you leap, boy, you've got to watch out for puddles.i Shut up/i. Or you could just be a fucking idiot and leap into the ocean.]
He shut the door on Jim's shocked expression.
*
Section 3: Life fades faster than guilt
McCoy wondered what if a lot. He imagined he could hear Uhura at her station, but it was Jim's broken body under him in that forsaken jungle-desert-place-maketheimagestop.
Stop. [If you were a better man, you would have died.]
Yet the ship moved on. His new duties were insulting to his profession. He was essentially the head janitor. Granted, he was the head janitor serving onboard the flagship, but it all boiled down to two things: making sure other people did their job and making sure no one died.
All right, admittedly that wasn't too different from being CMO.
In the beginning he tried to ignore the weight of responsibility. He drank in his new room (so new that there was still plastic on the mattress—all the better to vomit on after a bottle of bourbon and no dinner), left the lights off and wallowed. It was a fabulous plan. After the third day of it, he could barely hear the voice on in his head.
And then the lights came on. 100%, all the way up, natural (artificial) sunlight bulbs.
And they stayed on. Nothing he said or did to the computer changed it in the slightest.
After three hours of sitting in his now sunny room, McCoy took a quick shower and stepped out of his room, intent on finding a new dark corner to wallow in since Jim Kirk apparently controlled this one.
He slunk into what appeared to be an unused conference room. The lights were dim and the metal of the wall was blissfully cool against his face.
McCoy woke to a gentle shake.
" Er… sir. The staff meeting is going to begin soon. I assembled everyone." The young man's face swam into focus. McCoy belched and winced at the taste of it. He remembered seeing the man before, some official meeting or another.
The young man grabbed his upper arm and pulled McCoy up. McCoy lurched forward. Yep, still drunk. About three (six? ten?) confused faces looked at him.
McCoy fellto his knees and vomited.
The young man clapped his hands. "Ernie, if you could get that cleaned up we will get started!"
McCoy grasped the chair handles and pulled himself up. It was all very hazy and surreal. The Enterprise gave a lurch and McCoy grasped the armrests ofthe chair. A dream. Yes, that's what this must be.
"If we could all introduce ourselves," McCoy muttered to the hallucinations.
"I'm Eldred, I am in charge of the kitchens. I am delighted to have to you as Master of Services. Ever since the passing of the last Master—," they all crossed themselves at this point. "—it has been a little bit chaotic down here."
McCoy nodded as though he understood the dilemma. His head was spinning.
"I'm Eve, the waste management engineer captain." There were several snorts.
"I am Robert," the young man who had originally held him up said. "I run the maintenance crew." Robert's voice had a melodic quality to it. McCoy's head throbbed in time with the iambic pentameter of his statements.
"I'm Leonard McCoy, I'm the new Services Masters? Master Services? Master of Services? Yeah, and uh… it looks like you're all doing fine. Shit fuck, can we lower the lights?" Robert's eyebrows climbed.
"Lights 30%."
"Dismissed."
There were noises of people moving as the door closed.
"Sir, let me help you back to your quarters," Robert said. McCoy didn't have the strength to fight him.
*
Three hours later McCoy discovered another thing about the lights in his room. They were designed to mimic the sun's natural light… meaning they gave off UV radiation. Meaning that passing out naked on the floor was a terrible idea.
McCoy winced as he stood up. Of all the places to burn, it would be his ass.
Fuck.
McCoy let his head fall back. He was lucky enough that he didn't drown in his own vomit…
iBlood dripped out of her mouth into his hair. They were roped together tight enough that he couldn't even move off her.
"Uhura—?"/i
McCoy opened his eyes as though the reality would erase the images from his mind.
[You know what you are, boy? A disease. Death and Bones wherever you are.]
*
It was three in the fucking morning and the lights were still on. McCoy had finally reached the state of tired drunken hangover (all of his alcohol had mysteriously disappeared) that he just wanted to sleep, but the light! God. And he couldn't even sleep on his back because his ass was on fire.
Throwing his pillow on the floor, he pulled on a sweatshirt and some shoes and went to Jim's quarters.
"Bones?" Apparently Jim hadn't gotten into bed yet.
"What the hell are you doing up?" Bones asked, slightly bitter he wouldn't have the pleasure of waking Jim up to be miserable.
"Just finishing some reports… I don't have anything until Beta shift tomorrow. Come in."
Bones stepped in cautiously. It looked the same as before this whole mess had happened. A haphazard collection of things ranging from old antiques to trashy publications picked up at the last refueling stop.
"I hear you held a very interesting staff meeting today," Jim started conversationally.
"Shut the lights off in my room. I tried to get Scotty to do it, but he kept saying that he couldn't get around the authorization. Also, approve my order for new fucking bulbs for the quarters. I got sunburn on my ass like you wouldn't believe."
A heated red spread up through Jim's neck.
"Just sleep in my bed. The creator was a bit overenthusiastic and has it set to add days if anyone tries to access it. Just let it run its course." Jim gestured grandly to his bed. "I'll take the couch."
"Jim, one day I'm going to strangle you." McCoy could feel the tiredness coursing through his bloodstream. "Don't tell me you've finally managed to outsmart yourself."
"We are our own worst enemies."
Jim dimmed the lights and kicked off his boots. "I'm going to sleep on the couch now, so you might as well take the bed." McCoy suppressed a smile at the dramatic longing look Jim threw at the bed.
"G'night," Jim said. McCoy crawled onto the covers and collapsed. After five minutes of luxuriating on Jim's silk sheets unable to fall asleep, he gave in.
"Dammit, Jim, I can't handle seeing you curled up like that. Get in the bed and put on some pajamas!"
Jim grinned. "Yes, mom."
Jim crawled into the bed, carefully managing to stay on his own side for once. McCoy shivered.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she, Jim?" he asked after a few minutes.
Jim's eyes looked black in the dim lighting of the room.
"Yes," Jim whispered.
McCoy nodded and shifted, uncomfortable on his back.
"Do you want me to get you something? You look a little burnt on your face too."
"No, I'll get it myself in the morning."
"Bones…"
"No."
Jim got up anyway.
"Aloe." Jim tossed the bottle to him.
McCoy quickly spread some across his ass, making a point not to notice Jim's breath quicken or the way he shifted further fartheraway from McCoy on the bed.
And then he slept.
[You better watch yourself, boy. No need to bring him down with you.]
*
Section 4: Stabbing yourself in the neck (don't worry. I know where the jugular is)
"So what you're telling me is that you have negotiated a treaty with the i sentient/i bacteria that live in the kitchen and in return for them killing all the bacteria that cause spoilage you… what?" McCoy ran a hand down his face. He was back in his (thankfully normally lit) own quarters now, but the replicator would only give him a beer with 3% alcohol. The sleeping aids didn't stop him from the nightmares. He was just so physically exhaustedand tired of dealing with people. He either wanted to die or to be better, he just couldn't make up his mind which. Both seemed to require him to get out of bed.
"We sacrifice a goat for their god, Hoopla, on the fifteenth of May. Which is less than month away," Eldred pointed out helpfully. "And we need to procure a goat."
"I think a better plan is that we get rid of the fucking bacteria with, I don't know, soap? Soap as you may recall has this spectacular property of cleaning things. Or how about bleach?"
Eldred took a step back. "Dr. McCoy, while I realize new situations can cause some alarm, it would behoove you to take a calmer approach when dealing with my staff and I me. I assure you the results would be better."
McCoy mentally counted to ten. Clearly Eldred was not Chapel, who was the only one more anal about hygiene in the Sickbay than he was. "Eldred, you cannot have sentient bacteria housed with products that we eat. It violates all of the health codes. I'm not talking about toeing the line here. I'm talking about taking the line out back and violating it with a—"
"Dr. McCoy, these bacteria are immune to all of the standard cleaning treatments that Starfleet provides as well as several nonstandard treatments such as UV radiation which we modified ourselves. They are able to adapt to any and all environments we put them in. We make do like this. It was actually one of my professors at the Academy, Commander Duke, who suggested that this might be a better option. Especially considering the next repair stop was in three months and we were in the middle of the mining planet battle at the time. Symbiosis, as a scientific man you should be able to appreciate this."
"A goat?"
"It has been procured by the Master of Services in the past."
"Was it approved by the Captain?"
Eldred gave a heavy sigh. "We do not bother the Captain with such trivial manners. Surely you didn't burden him with all the details of your Sickbay."
McCoy had to concede his point. There were quite a few things that didn't make it into his reports to Jim and the Admirals.
"I don't care—."
"Dr. McCoy, this would be an excellent opportunity to show the rest of the staff that you are able to keep up with the demands of this job. There were several other qualified candidates for the position. Not to mention the sentient bacteria will likely kill us all before we are even able to relay a distress signal."
Superb. Politics on the ship. Blackmail from bacteria. What more could he ask for in a day?
"Does the goat have to be a specific color, only from the western region of Peru, any other thing?"
"No."
"I'll get the goat."
McCoy walked into the store room from the kitchen to continue with his 'inspection'of his facilities. He snorted. It was more like they were inspecting him than the other way around. On the corner of the shelf sat a jug with the label 'Alcohol'. He looked at the inventory list and saw it was the precursor to the synthetic alcohol the replicators served. Basically you hooked up the jug to the machine and it made shitty beer (for McCoy at least).
Surely he was fucking entitled to one sip of alcohol. Since the highest proof the replicator did was 80, it couldn't be more than that. He poured himself half a glass and sipped it. Yes. It hit his stomach like a blanket, slowly encompassing his body. He finished up the inspection and left the kitchen.
His head was feeling a bit cloudier and the tiredness was getting to the point where the floor looked rather comfortable. McCoy tried to take a deep breath, only to have the right side of his vision go white.
And then nothing.
*
McCoy woke up drunk. Not an unusual experience, but he felt oddly out of his body. There were sheets around him… when had he fallen asleep? He tried to open his eyes, only to find that it was pitch black out. McCoy reached up and felt around his face before pulling off the offending bandages on his eyes. The dim lighting of the gamma shift burned his retinas. McCoy pulled the bed sheets over his face. What happened to him?
A vague thought of falling down came into his mind.
"You're awake," Chapel said.
"Wa'er?" McCoy asked, pulling the sheet down slowly.
She handed him a cup filled with water. Leonard sipped on it gratefully.
"Doctor McCoy—Leonard, I understand this is a particularly bad time in your life, but I have to tell you that if you try to drink any more alcohol your liver will shut down. As it is, it's barely functioning. It'll be fine in a few months, but until then absolutely no alcohol. Also, we are going to have to start you on a glucose stabilizer and a diet. And if you ever do anything as fucking idiotic as trying to down five ounces of methanol again, I will cut off your balls.Doctor M'Benga, the patient is ready," she calledout before McCoy could even formulate a response.
M'Benga shuffled into the room. "Well, McCoy, because of the timing of the methanol treatment your liver function is about at 15%. Your eyes are functional, but they might be a little sensitive to light for a few days."
"Can I see?" McCoy asked, brusquely gesturing to the PADD.
M'Benga handed him the PADD. McCoy blinked, trying to bring the screen into focus. He grunted. M'Benga had done good work.
"Er, McCoy."
"Yeah?"
"I have a question for you, as former CMO."
"Well, it's hardly like I can go anywhere."
"Is Chapel always…?" He made a spastic arm gesture.
McCoy let a smile slip out. Chapel knew how to handle men. "Yeah, just let her do her job. Don't micromanage, don't let people die, and memorize the list of the Captain's allergies. You're doing just fine from what I hear."
M'Benga gave a bitter laugh. "You know, Doctor, I have always wanted to be CMO, but not like this… I was guaranteed a position on the Sparrow after these five years were over. I would have been ready, but now? I am not ready. There is so much paperwork!"
"Well, you have to take what life gives you andtry not to fuck it up too bad."
M'Benga was silent for a second. "Chapel is supervising your treatment. I will come and check on you tomorrow, barring any complications."
McCoy closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the slightly drunk feeling of the drugs he was on. It would likely be the last time for awhile that he would be able to sleep without seeingi seeing seeing everything hurt/i.
"Doctor?" Chapel shook him gently. "You should have another glass of water."
"What happened?" McCoy asked after he had drank the second glass of water.
Chapel rolled her eyes. "Eldred found you passed out in the hall and alerted the Captain, who then had Scotty beam you to the Sickbay. It wasn't pretty. I thought the Captain was going to burst, he was so angry when he found out what had happened."
[Can't do anything right, can you boy? iI wasn't trying to do anything!/iThen you're just an attention whore.]
*
Section 4.5: Interlude with a comm.
Couscous. Well, it was that or the egg salad sandwich and there was nothing worse than egg fucking salad when you weren't at a picnic. So couscous it was. It wasn't terrible or anything, but McCoy was having a pregnancy-style craving for steak and ice cream.
The comm buzzed. "McCoy here."
"Daddy?"
"Joanna?" Her small face appeared on the view screen.
"Daddy, I can't see your face!"
"Oh, the video is broken, we can just talk." That was mostly a lie, there were piles of clothes everywhere and he hadn't shaved in about a month. "How are you? When does school get out?"
"I tried to call you yesterday and the day before that, but you didn't answer." She had the exact same look as Jocelyn when she used to accuse of him of having an affair or needlessly spending on a new washing machine. He hadn't checked his messages when he had been released from the Sickbay. "You were supposed to come home a week ago."
"I know. I sent you a message. Did you get it?" She nodded. "Well, daddy will be coming back with the Enterprise."
"Daddy… are you okay? Are you still sad about that lady—"
"I'm fine, Jojo."
[How sweet do your lies taste, boy?]
"I miss you, daddy! You never send me any messages."
"I'm sorry. I have just… been busy."
Tunnels. That's all this was. He was in a darkasfuck tunnel and all he could think about was himself in this tunnel. He closed his eyes and just for a second he could see Jim's face in the corner of his vision.
When he opened them again, Joanna's face was stillonthe screen.
"Jojo, are you going to be around in an hour? I need to finish up some work, but I'll call you back." Joanna nodded.
McCoy went and shaved (the old fashioned way), his hands were shaking badly enough that he cut himself twice. He looked considerably more presentable, but still something between a very tan zombie (he really needed to order some new bulbs) and a naked bear. After he shoved most of the mess of clothes and PADDs out of view of the camera, he turned it on and called Joanna back.
*
"Feeling better?" Jim asked nonchalantly after McCoy opened the door and let him in.
"Yeah, M'Benga and Chapel fixed me up."
Jim sat down heavily on his couch.
"Are you bleeding?"
"I just shaved."
"Really? Sure you didn't try and go a few rounds with an angry lion? Throw some methanol on your cuts after for good measure?"
"Dammit, Jim—."
"You're an idiot," Jim said, running his tongue along the barely healed cut on McCoy's neck and then blowing on it. McCoy inhaled sharply at the sensation.
"It was an accident."
Jim pulled back to look at him for a moment long enough that McCoy wanted to start squirming. He held his gaze steady, feeling slightly childish that he was intent on winning the staring contest.
"No more accidents," Jim said before he leaned in and bit down on the swollen skin next to one of the deeper cuts on his neck.
"Fuck," McCoy exhaled before pulling Jim's face up to his and kissing him.
*
"Jim?" McCoy said sometime later.
"Mmm?" Jim hummed, his face still pressed against McCoy's sheets.
"If we wanted to get some livestock on the ship for fresh, ihealthy/ithings like eggs and milk, would it be completely impossible?"
Jim snorted and turned his head, so that he was facing Bones. His hair was deliciously rumpled. "It is theoretically impossible because of something about the air filtration system and stupid rules, but we can do it."
Bones made a noncommittal noise.
"It's not a bad plan. I've been looking to do some home improvement anyway," Jim said, stroking his chin.
"It was just a thought. Don't do anything stupid."
"Is that couscous with goat cheese?"
"Yeah."
"Can I try it?"
"I already ate, go ahead," McCoy said.
*
Section 5: Tales of Your Ass and My Goat
McCoy was nervous. It was the first away mission since he had been "reassigned" that Jim was going on.
That and McCoy was going to sneak off the Enterprise, hike up a mountain and steal a goat.
Earth II was one of the very few planets that carried the Earth species of goats.
"Scotty, beam me down."
Scotty looked at him blankly.
"And don't tell anyone. Beam me to the auxiliary landing site."
"Doctor—McCoy… you aren't assigned to the mission."
"Scotty, remember that time that I had to treat you for Klingon shingles… you know, the type you can't get unless you've been up close and personal with a Klingon... and I didn't report it. Consider this repayment." That was far less subtle than he had hoped.
Scotty turned bright red. "It was from a toilet seat! I cannae help it when I have to potty!"
"Dammit, just fucking beam me down, Scotty."
"Did the Captain—?"
"The Captain doesn't have to know about this, Scotty," McCoy interrupted.
Scotty muttered a bit more. "Why?"
"I have some business to take care of… I'm going to have a package with me when you beam me up, so if you could beam me directly into one of the cargo holds."
Scotty looked like he was about to have a heart attack. He opened hi s mouth, but nothing came out.
"Scotty, please," McCoy said.
Scotty sighed and started punching in some coordinates.
"You need to be back within four hours. If there is an emergency I'm beaming you back."
McCoy nodded. "Energize."
And his body broke into atoms and he fell into space.
*
Jim only managed to sprain his ankle (he tripped while stepping off the transporter pad). It was basically a perfect mission, for which McCoy was grateful.
"Stay," McCoy said to the goat. It looked at him balefully and took a step forward to sniff his crotch. McCoy stumbled back into the chest of drawers. Not that they were holding much nowadays… most of his clothes were strewn across his chairs and floor. He sighed. He really needed to clean up soon.
None of the cargo bays were suitable for goat holding, so to McCoy's quarters it was. He wrinkled his nose as the aroma of trash got stronger every time the goat opened his mouth.
His comm chirped.
Lovely.
*
"Do you know how to use a sonic mop?" The ensign nodded.
"McCoy—."
"Lieutenant McCoy to you."
"iLieutenant/i McCoy, this is hardly fair! I'm here on the command student placement program for two weeks. I'm supposed to be on the bridge in ten minutes. It's your job to clean up—."
"Listen here," McCoy said, trying to remain calm. "I don't give a fuck who you are. You made a mess and you damaged several important species of plants, not to mention put the lives of everyone on this vessel in danger with that stunt. You do realize that command means that you are going to have to clean up your own messes, right? Consider this a practical lesson. Do you understand me?"
The ensign nodded.
"Good, then clean up this fucking mess. And that floor better be clean enough that you would let your mother eat off of it."
McCoy headed back to his quarters. He needed to feed the goat and get a few hours of sleep. The ensign thought it would be a great idea to use botany labs as a phaser shooting range. The result was soil everywhere, Sulu cradling (and possibly cooing at) several plants and burn marks on the wall. Hell if his staff was going to clean up this mess completely. Command students.
The door to his room slid open and McCoy found himself facing Goat (he didn't want to name it because they were going to have to kill it tomorrow), who was now looking at him balefully and chewing on McCoy's last pair of clean underpants.
Wonderful.
"Did you eat all of my clothes?" McCoy asked Goat. Goat bleated. McCoy pushed the mass of clothes into the laundry chute and fell on the bed.
"Do you like living?" McCoy asked Goat after a few minutes.
Goat head butted McCoy's desk.
"Me too," McCoy whispered. He pulled a tranquilizer out of his drawer and managed to hypospray Goat in the neck without getting bitten.
[Is this the life you really want?]
*
Eldred raised his eyebrows at him. Damn Vulcans and their eyebrows.
"I have been preparing my will because the likelihood of you procuring a goat was less than 3%," Eldred said.
"I'm the fucking Master of Services," McCoy muttered, realizing how much he sounded like Jim.
Eldred nodded. "I find this quite distasteful and would understand if you turned away."
McCoy heaved Goat into the giant sink and Eldred pulled out a large butcher's knife and precisely cut Goat's throat.
The blood gushed out of Goat's neck, staining his white/black fur a deep crimson. Senseless. Goat didn't do anything wrong except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. McCoy felt nauseous. i
"I'm thinking about asking Spock to marry me… do you think he would agree?" she asked, swiping her tongue around the top of her cone.
"Why wouldn't he?" McCoy allowed the hot fudge to sit on his tongue before swallowing.
She shrugged. "Tradition? He doesn't love me enough? He and Jim are secretly having an affair?"
"Stop it. Self-doubt doesn't suit you. I know you and you wouldn't even consider doing something like that unless you were sure."
"I've been thinking about it for awhile, but now… I feel like it's the right time." Shestopped and her hand fell onto her still flat stomach./i
Thousands of what seemed like dust flakes floated toward the sink. Parasites. Trade offs. McCoy hated it.
[That's right boy, lash out. Let that anger fester.]
"What's that smell?" McCoy asked.
"I believe they produce ethanol as a byproduct of their feeding."
"Eldred… are there any more floating around? They communicate telepathically, right?" Eldred nodded.
"There aren't any more in the air," he said after a minute.
McCoy pulled a lighter and lit one of the bamboo kebab sticks on fire before dropping it in the sink. The results were instantaneous. The stench of smoked meat filled the air.
Eldred's face was pulled into a distasteful expression. "They are dying."
"Good."
[Now if genocide doesn't send you straight to hell, I don't know what will.]
*
Mostly McCoy wondered why this time was different. He had lost patients on his table before. Hell, that didn't even include the ones who hadn't even made it to his table. He had killed his father. One would think that losing a comrade and a close friend would be… well, easier to deal with.
McCoy let the cold feeling crawl over him when he realized what he was thinking.
[Yes, because all life that isn't your own worthless skin is expendable. Is that it, boy?]
Death, in most counts, was senseless. This one was more senseless than the rest. This death was so fucking worthless and excessive and random and just—wrong.
McCoy tried to shake the thoughts out of his head as he walked into the Captain's ready room. He slipped into his chair, nodding at Jim at the head of the table. Taxes (even millions of miles from the Earth they couldn't escape), duty rosters, and the upcoming diplomatic mission were on the agenda.
"Lieutenant McCoy, do you have any updates?"
"Yes. Scotty, please instruct your staff to not touch the windows when their hands are covered in greasy—."
And then it happened. A torpedo or some other ugly ass weapon (McCoy never really bothered to learn all of their names) hit the Enterprise, throwing everyone out of their chairs around their room. McCoy's pants caught the side of the chair, ripping the side seam.
Jim was already barking out orders. Damage reports were coming in. Thousands of sounds filled the air, yet McCoy couldn't distinguish any of them.
i"We will show Starfleet just how superior humans are!"
"Listen to me, asshole, this is going to show them nothing! This is going—" She was cut off when his meaty hand hit her face. /i
"Bones!" Jim was shaking him. "Bones!"
"I'm fine! Just stunned!" McCoy pulled himself up and immediately went to the nearest body (a groaning Yeoman—she was also fine, just a bruise).
"Bones… are you not wearing any underwear?" Jim's voice had an edge of strain to it. McCoy automatically started looking for blood on Jim's person.
"What?" McCoy asked before realizing that half of his ass was hanging out of his pants.
"Captain, we are being hailed by the U.S.S Chalker," Sulu's voice rang out. Jim let go of his delete "his"McCoy'sarm and walked over to the nearest console.
"Captain Kirk! We apologize for the misfire—we're on a training mission and one of our ensigns was a little overeager," McCoy made out over the din.
McCoy rolled his eyes. Idiots. They could have killed someone or cracked the hull or someone could have sustained abrain injury or—.
At some point Jim must have finished the call and was now standing in front of McCoy again.
"Bones… what the fuck were you thinking? Always wear underwear! What if acid had spilled on you or something?" Jim's eyes had not left his exposed hipbone. McCoy took a deep breath. He just… needed to get out of the room and lie down.
"Captain, I assure you that the matter will be resolved shortly. I have to go make sure the engineering repair crew knows how to get the scorch marks off the floor," McCoy said, as he walked out the door.
*
Section 6: Cut it loose, let it roll
Spock was back. Three months of mental health leave was now over… three months was all it took to not be emotionally compromised for a Vulcan. McCoy might have been jealous, he wasn't sure.
He heard the optimized stepping pattern ("The heel must hit the ground at a 30 degree angle, Doctor.") before he saw him.
iThe rope was cutting into his skin and it was itchy. That was his last thought before the burly man—of all the dangerous creatures to have almost killed him, apparently it was going to be the good old humans that did him in—pushed the other two off the edge. He heard Uhura call out in panic before they too were falling off a cliff that was less than 5280 feet high (4059.2 feet to be exact—he looked it up after). He knew because he was aware for all of the fall. Aware, looking into her eyes and he was falling under her and then he was on top and all he could think about was how much he hated shuttles how much he hated everything and the fear in her eyes. She was screaming something. He must have been screaming because his throat was hurting. It was all wrong. They were up up up high. Too high. No, too low.
And then stop.
Her bones broke beneath his weight.Broke his bones too. Dead? He wasn't sure. Force equals mass times acceleration. Gravity on earth was 32 feet per second. Or was it meters?/i
McCoy found himself slumping to the floor.
"Doctor," Spock's modulated tone began. "I think it isbest that we go to the Sickbay."
Spock half dragged him, half carried him to the Sickbay. Chapel took one look at him and gestured for Spock to put him into a bed.
"Ow! Chapel—I don't need that!"
"Your heart rate is far too high to be safe," she said. She nodded at Spock and went over to the comm unit to call one of the other doctors.
"I'm fine, dammit." He tried to snatch the other hypospray she was loading, but she moved in the last moment out of his range. Spock moved in front of him and pushed him gently back so that he was lying down again.
"Doctor, when your heart is not able… it is good to remember that you have friends. People that care. I do not blame you. Nor would she. Nor should the Captainblame himself. It was a random act of aggression against Starfleet. No one could have predicted that the terrorists would be on that planet."
The sedative kicked in and McCoy let Spock's voice fade out.
*
"You and the Captain are tied for the most visits to the Sickbay for this month," Chapel said as he shook his head to clear the effects of the sedative some time later. Chapel watched him for a moment before pulling her gloves off and moving her fingers to her lips. She strummed them against her mouth for a moment before putting her thumbnail in her mouth.
"Just say it. I don't want to be responsible for a ruined manicure on top of my other sins."
"Do you want to talk? If it makes you uncomfortable to talk to me, I can arrange private conferences with another one of the psych staff at Starfleet."
"No."
She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I am just so sorry, but you—."
"Don't pity me," McCoy said, looking directly into her eyes. She stepped back, closed the curtain around the biobed, and left.
*
Section 6.5: Interlude with Chapel
Watching McCoy sleep in the biobed as the Captain commed her for hourly updates wasn't exactly her ideal Wednesday. She sighed. It was more than a little difficult to see McCoy like this. It was easy to shove everything out of your mind most days, but sometimes… you picked up the comm or turned to comment on something and the person you wanted just wasn't there.
Contrary to popular belief, there was no battle every other day on the Enterprise. Most of their missions were diplomatic in nature. And when things did go wrong, it was rarely full out war casualties. It was broken legs, phaser burns, and 'Oh my, I had no idea that I was pregnant!' And the incident was… it was just something that didn't make sense.
And yet, when she heard the news her first thought was how she would was finally going to get a chance with ihim/i and… well, those were the kinds of thoughts that made you a bad person.
Her second thought was 'shit, I just lost my best friend'.
She wondered which thought haunted McCoy the most. The fact thathe was there or the fact thathe couldn't stop it.
She knew which one of her thoughts haunted her most.
*
Section 7: Pulling the Trigger (all wrong)
Jim wasn't waiting in the chair next to the bed when he woke. McCoy wasn't sure why he felt disappointed at that. He disconnected the sensors and slipped out.
Jim was waiting in McCoy's room, sipping a glass of water andreading iThe Fountainhead/i.
"You have good spies."
Jim shrugged. "Or I had a feeling you would come down here when you woke up."
McCoy simply resigned himself to the conversation.
"I heard you got the goat."
"Stalker."
"I know my ship."
Bones snorted. "I think you are confusing knowing your ship with knowing whathappens on your ship. They aren't the same."
[Sinking to the bottom of that ocean, regretting the jump yet?]
Jim gave him an imploring look. "Actions always speak louder than words."
McCoy could feel that old petty rage bubble up within him. The last time it had been that strong, it was the last night with Jocelyn before he left. "Well, when you play puppet master you make the actions that suit what you want most.Defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"
"I was protecting an asset to this crew because you're the best."
"You were protecting yourself! I'm not even Leonard Horatio McCoy anymore. I'm some construction of him that you see in your head! A fantasy of a perfect… something! Something that isn't me!"
"I know it's not a fantasy because I spent from my earliest thoughts to the time I was 25 trying to deal with some fantasy construction ofrevenge in my head and in the end, I blew it into smithereens and it wasn't anything like how I imagined. You were constantly telling me to live up to my potential—why don't you do the same! Why don't you stop thinking about Jocelyn? Why don't you stop blaming yourself for your father? Why don't you honor those who gave you this gift of life by using it?" Jim was clenching his book so hard that Bones expected it to rip any second. Perhaps if the book had been smaller then it would have.
"You're selfish—," McCoy started. He couldn't help but feel as though he was plummeting. Whether to rocks or the open ocean he didn't know.
"I did it because I want you and I need you, Bones! Because I am stupid about the people I love and even though my father left because he wanted me to live, and my mother left because she couldn't handle my father's memory and Sam left because he couldn't stand Frank and Frank left because I drove him out. I still love them. I still message them on birthdays and I hate them. I hate them so much and I hate myself even more for caring. Don't make me out to be some sort of dictator, Bones. That's not what I am. You had your choice."
"I'm old enough to realize there is no good and bad in the universe, Jim. It's why you do things. You didn't make it easy to refuse."
"Is there? I asked you to stay because I wanted your company, Bones. I know rationally that you are and were a valuable asset to the crew, but that's not why I did it. I've pointed a phaser to people's heads because Starfleet told me to. Most of those people had never threatened me or the Federation. Are those really good reasons?"
Bones gave a bitter laugh. "How many instances can you point out when I was less than kind? Jim, I just stole and slaughtered a goatbefore I killed an entire sentient race. And you know the worst part? I felt satisfied that I did it. You gave Nero a choice. I didn't give the bacteria beings a choice because those other fuckers didn't give Uhura or me a choice. I took revenge. I took control."
Jim inclined his head. "And you improved the quality of life for everyone on this ship, prevented this group from killing any other beings, as well as took out a classified terrorist group as defined by Starfleet regulation 3.54, section 19." Jim reached out and touched his elbow lightly. McCoy fell heavily onto the couch beside Jim.
"I've never had it shoved in my face like that before. I don't like it."
"Neither do I, but who is going to do it if we don't? You've read the manual, you know what Starfleet's missions and goals amount to. For all the good, there is always some bad."
[Did you seriously believe the fantasy of only doing good in the world, boy? You've done your fair share of bad.]
"What is it that Spock says? The needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few?" McCoy said.
"Words to live by?" Jim asked.
"I suppose Spock might have been onto something."
"Spock is quite often right, but I have noticed it's the needs of the one that tend to drive the desire to be a better person," Jim said quietly.
"Fuck you and your logic," McCoy said without any venom, pointedly kissing Jim before Jim could formulate a response.
*
McCoy woke up with the sensation of falling, his stomach plummeting out of his body.
iThey were eating ice cream from one of the vendors when the man approached them. He was tall and well muscled. The sort you expect to have pea size brains. He zapped them with the sedative before they could even comprehend what was happening. /i
"Bones, I've got you," Jim said. Sure enough Jim had an arm around his waist. He was naked from the waist up and McCoy could feel Jim's muscles work against his own. "Lights 30%."
McCoy stumbled out of the bed and into the kitchen area, where he poured himself a glass of water.
"Happy birthday,"he said to Jim, after glancing at the clock.
"So it is."
"Hey, kid, you're a great Captain."
Jim fell back on the bed. Jim had been "too tired" to go back to his own bed after their talk the night before and had decided to stay.
"Did you just say something positive about me? It really must be my birthday," he saidwith a smile.
McCoy sighed and went back to the bed. He pulled a PADDfrom above his nightstand and handed it to Jim.
"Happy birthday, kid."
"What is it? Oh my god, don't tell me you finally found Andorian porn without getting caught by the filters!"
Jim turned on thePADD. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes quickly scanning through the document.
"Are you sure?" heasked.
McCoy nodded. It was time to file the report.
"And that's not all. Dinner… not this week or next, but soon. Sorry, the date kind of snuck up on me and I know we both have off on my birthday. It'll be a combined celebration of sorts," McCoy said.
*
Section 8: Actual yield and percent error
Jim stepped into his quarters. "Happy birthday!"He unceremoniously shoved a package into McCoy's hand.
McCoy grunted and opened the package. Good alcohol was an understatement. This was the sort of alcohol you only pulled out when Really Important People came over. Must have cost a pretty credit or two.
"Thanks, we'll have to drink this in a few months."
"I know. That's why I brought you this." Jim handed him the second bag. McCoy pulled out a bottle of peach soda from the local peach festival in McCoy's hometown.
"I haven't had this stuff in ages."
"Well, I've never had it."
McCoy pulled out two glasses and poured some into each of them. "Drink it slowly or you'll end up spitting it all out."
He took a slow sipletting the fizz wash over his tongue and the sweet tastes of the peach engulf him.
[Good bye, boy. You're a man now.]
*