Title: One of Each of Us (2/6)
Characters: Kirk, McCoy, various
Rating: PG-13 for movie level language and eventual (now canon, was theoretical when I wrote this) off-screen character death
Word Count this chapter: 1300
Warnings/Spoilers: Basic movie spoilers referenced here and there. Also warning for references to TOS episodes and off-screen (and non-AOS) character death. You'll find no ship but friendship here, as this was very early fic for me, written well before the second two movies came out and I really had a handle on the characters.
Summary: Five times Bones comforted Jim, and one time Jim returned the favor
A/N: Written for the LiveJournal community StarTrekReverseBang. Since it was a bit rough trying to settle into an idea and voice, I asked my artist if she would like anything in particular; she gave me a few details (including the presence of 'Cupcake', whom I am presuming is the AOS equivalent of the TOS Security Chief Giotto) and the summary, and this was the result.
Title comes from this quote, from the TOS episode The Balance of Terror, McCoy speaking to Kirk: In this galaxy there's a mathematical probability of three million Earth-type planets. And in the universe, three million million galaxies like this. And in all that, and perhaps more...only one of each of us. Don't destroy the one named Kirk.
A/N2: There's gorgeous art to go with this fic by megan_moonlight; visit my LiveJournal, kcscribbler, to see the link in my unlocked master post for this fic.
V.
"You've gotta be the only starship Captain in history who'll have to spend an entire month's pay on repairs for a rented resort cabin."
"Shut up," he mutters, suitably mortified, as his Chief Medical Officer-turned-traitor grins from across the wooden table. His ears start to burn as the two Security men who have been on standard guard outside the cabin in question try desperately to not keel over, laughing their heads off. Finally Spock re-enters with perfect serenity, empty jar in hand, just in time to save him from further embarrassment. "Well?"
"The problem has been disposed of, Captain," the Vulcan replies solemnly, and after almost a year together he can so tell that Spock's dying laughing on the inside.
"Well done, Mr. Spock," he responds with as much dignity as he can muster, all things considered, which is namely…not much. "I knew I could count on your scientific knowledge to rectify the problem satisfactorily."
Cupcake looks like he's strangling on something, but Jim has to give the guy credit for only making a kind of wheezing hurrrk sound before the two redshirts make a hasty retreat outside. He has no doubt the lower decks are going to be rolling tonight with highly embellished tales of this disastrous shore leave incident.
Leonard McCoy is under no such obligations to spare his captain's puny dignity, however, as is indicated by the fact that the man is sprawled back in his chair, head tipped toward the ceiling, cackling like a hyena.
"Shut up," he growls, flinging himself into the other chair and daring Spock to make any further comment about the phaser lying on the table between them. He pretends not to notice the faint smell of ozone still lingering in the air. "It was HUGE, I tell you."
"It was barely seven centimeters in diameter, Captain."
"Who asked you?"
"I was merely observing, sir; you did say you were 'counting on my scientific knowledge,' did you not?"
He scowls. "Nobody likes a smartass, Spock."
And there it goes, the eyebrow. He ignores his far too smug First in favor of trying to get Bones to stop hiccupping. Serves the guy right for laughing like that. Jim sourly hopes he pulls a muscle.
"Bones, breathe."
"The whole wall!" the doctor manages between gasps for breath. "You took out the whole wall!"
"I hate them!" he protests feebly, knowing even as he says it that he's not going to be able to get out of this with his dignity in any way intact. "They're creepy and disgusting and they've got way too many legs and they JUMP AT YOU and –"
"And they are perfectly harmless, Captain; I believe the phrase told to schoolchildren is, they are more scared of you than you are of them?"
Ok, Spock is dead when they get back on board. He's already writing the replicator script coding in his head to turn plomeek soup purple and chunky and tasting faintly of hamburger. "I'm not scared of them," he says, squirming in his chair. "Just…I don't like them. Really don't."
"Not scared, my sainted aunt," Bones snorts. "You shrieked worse than any child I've seen, girl or otherwise, Jim."
"Did not."
"You so did. It was gorgeous, darlin'."
The blush has now spread all the way down his neck, he's pretty sure. "I didn't shriek. I yelled," he tries, and knows he's failed miserably when Spock doesn't even deign to give him an eyebrow. "It was very controlled, very dignified yell for assistance, as per protocol."
"Let us hypothesize for the moment that that is correct, Captain," Spock begins, and in that condescending tone that only a Vulcan can pull off without getting decked. "I daresay that firing a phaser at it, multiple times, does constitute a slight over-reaction to an arachnid in your shower stall. I am more intrigued as to the reasoning for your having such a weapon within reach inside the lavatory to begin with."
"That's none of your business, and it was as big as my freaking head!"
"Jim, you blew a hole the size of a tractor in your bathroom wall!"
Bones explodes with another fit of laughter after gasping that out, and Jim starts plotting how to lock his not-best-friend-any-more in the transparent observation dome and see how well he reacts to his own phobia. Jerk.
"All right, so I'm scared of them!" he snaps finally, really and truly embarrassed now. "Sam used to wait until I was asleep in the farmhouse and then drop them on my head in the dark, okay?" Even now he shivers, remembering the feeling of scratchy legs scrabbling over his face, eyes, lips (ugh, that was the worst, he's sure he ate one at one point in his sleep), in the darkness of an Iowa spring night.
Now God (and he'd bet not even He) only knows where in the universe Sam is, and the thought must show on his face, because Bones stops laughing, and looks at him with something that's too close to concern for him to really enjoy; he'd rather have the mockery, because it takes less explaining and makes it easier to stay angry. He's surprised, but really shouldn't be, when McCoy says nothing further about any of it, just pats his hand a few times where it rests twitching on the old table, and suggests they call the Security men back for a round of poker before the Enterprise is due to beam them back up from a slightly-aborted shore leave.
Jim's not sure how the doctor coerced (read: blackmailed) Cupcake into not saying anything about his captain's minor overreaction, but somehow he did, because word never gets out, and he's pretty grateful about the fact.
McCoy's a hell of a lot scarier than a six-inch spider in his shower, and that's one thing the whole ship is in agreement on.