4. McCoy
Doctor McCoy was certain that James Kirk was going to be the death of him.
Not in the course of a space battle or some strange alien plague. No, no doubt, he would die by conversation. The things that flew out of that man's mouth! He fully expected that one day, his heart would simply stop and no amount of liquor or medical technology would persuade it to start again. There was a limit and the rate at which Jim was approaching it left little doubt that McCoy would not live to be an old man. Some days, it seemed like Jim did it on purpose.
Today was one of those days.
McCoy was minding his own business. Yet he must have done something to offend God. He couldn't think what, because he was busy doing his damnedest to be polite and professional to the local, walking refrigerator and that merited him to sainthood if anything did.
"Look, commander. I need to contact your father and get those records. Either you get me the connection and we handle this without all the bureaucracy or I go through Uhura and both you and I end up spending half a shift filling out duplicate forms."
"You have all relevant records of my medical history, doctor."
"What you consider relevant and what I consider relevant are not likely to be the same thing."
"That is highly likely."
"So, you agree. I need to see those records to have any idea of what is important."
"No, doctor." Spock had the gall to raise that blasted eyebrow at him. "In fact, quite the opposite. I believe it highly likely that our views of relevance on this matter would differ simply by the fact that our views are often diametrically opposed to one another."
"Now look here, I know you Vulcans are anal-retentive about everything, especially privacy, but this is a matter of your health! And I am your CMO, dammit!"
The door to sickbay opened and Jim sauntered in as if he owned the place. Considering how often he visited, he certainly rented it often enough. He waved at a passing nurse but soon focused his attention on the two of them.
"Hey, Spock. Bones! Quick question."
"Not now, Jim."
"Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," McCoy answered.
"No, we are finished," Spock said over him.
"Now wait one blasted minute! I am nowhere near done with you!"
"It is kind of important, Bones," Jim said, rocking on his heels.
"Are you bleeding?"
"No."
"Are you hearing voices?"
"No."
"Then you can wait." McCoy turned back to Spock with finger extended and brain quickly gathering together every combination of green-blooded and pointy-eared insult that he could imagine.
"It's just I think I might be pregnant."
McCoy's brain crashed.
It took nearly a minute before he could find two brain cells to rub together.
Even Spock looked like he momentary lost the power of speech.
"What. Did. You. DO!"
Of course, Jim didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed.
"What? No congratulations?" He gave them both that shit-eating grin that had started a dozen bar brawls. "Okay, look, so there was this girl planet-side. Well, I thought it was a girl. Not that that hasn't happened before. She/he/it had this thing on her arm. Pricked me with it. Said I was going to have her baby and then walked away. Craziest thing. Didn't even buy me a drink."
The man had no shame. And McCoy was sure as hell not paid enough for this shit.
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Spock in next chapter.