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Chapter Eleven: In Time
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"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."
C.S. Lewis
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The next few days were awkward, but only in the sense of two people with a fairly predictable relationship who suddenly had to adapt to distinct changes in it. On the brighter side, the tension, avoidance, and anger that had always seemed to define their relationship was gone. Of course Leonard still had to spend the next week admiring his handiwork in the black and purple bruises that decorated his best friend's cheekbones, and that scarcely seemed enough punishment for what he'd done—though it was more than enough incentive to vow that it would never go so far again. With a friend like Jim around, he had a feeling that it wouldn't. And if Leonard McCoy had ever had any doubts that James Kirk would be indelibly intertwined in his life, they ceased to exist the day the kid forgave him the unforgivable. Jim forgave Leonard what his own family had never been able to, and that said more than words.
Come hell or high water, it was becoming ever more apparent that they were going to be stuck together for the long run.
Of course, that didn't mean their fragile friendship wasn't going to be tested and strained to the breaking point… on a daily basis.
Take today, for example.
"Jim…" The doctor sighed, dropping his forehead onto his crossed arms, repeating himself for what had to be the hundredth time that day. "This is a really, really, really stupid idea."
"Duly noted, my good doctor." Jim, whose patient replies had thankfully not yet evolved into annoyance or anger, leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs and balancing precariously. Leonard contemplated kicking it over. It would serve the younger cadet right for so shamelessly abusing academy property. The pair sat at a low table, holed up in a dusty corner of the academy's expansive library where they were unlikely to be scowled at and/or kicked out for their noisiness.
"You still have time to pull out." Leonard lifted his head just enough to scowl down—again—at the list of names on his PADD. "Lord help me, I'll even come up with some kind of medical excuse if it'll save your pride."
"My pride doesn't need saving, Bones." Jim said with a tone of longsuffering. "I think you're going to have to accept that there's nothing you can do about this, take a deep breath, and move on. It's healthy."
"Nothing's healthy around you." The doctor growled, sitting up and pushing the PADD away in disgust. It skittered across the table and bumped into Jim's boot.
The names on the screen contained a list of students that had been accepted to participate in a week-long training simulator known as the Duncan exercise. Like the Kobiyashi Maru, it was it was a grueling, realistic simulation designed to teach the students to work together in mimicry of an actual federation starship crew. Unlike the Kobyashi Maru, over two-dozen eligible students were sealed for a solid week aboard the "U.S.S. Duncan", where they took shifts, ate meals, and performed standard duties. It wasn't the exercise itself that was rubbing Leonard wrong—he didn't give a flying crap if Jim wanted to lock himself in a hellish simulation of a flying metal deathtrap. It was the two names that had been added to the roster after James Kirk's—D. Jameson and R. Lenot—that had his stomach in knots and his mind providing involuntary flashbacks to certain nasty wounds his friend had sustained while in contact with them.
Now that the simulator start date loomed only twenty-four hours away, Leonard had redoubled his efforts at convincing Jim to call it quits.
"Look," He switched from insults to tact with as much grace as he could muster, "No-one is going to hold it against you. People drop out of these things all the time—"
"No, Bones." Jim dropped the chair legs back onto the ground abruptly. "They don't. They don't because it's ridiculouslydifficult to get into them in the first place." He picked up the PADD and tapped it. "See how there's only a handful of names?"
McCoy glared at the offending machine, wishing he could think of a comeback.
"Besides, there's going to be like, a hundred instructors watching us at all times. It's super controlled." Jim attempted to rationalize.
"There's a couple hundred instructors running around the main campus, too." Leonard pointed out. "And somehow those thugs still managed to get to you."
"That's different."
"How?" The doctor was incredulous. "How the hell is it different? You'll be in a sim the size of a freaking warehouse. Observation deck or not, they won't be able to keep an eye on you all the time."
Finally, Jim was starting to look annoyed. "No, and they shouldn't have to. I'm a big boy, doc. I can take care of myself."
Bones felt like pulling his hair out. "If you can take care of yourself," he growled, "then what happened all those other times when you wound up bleeding?"
Jim shrugged one shoulder. "They got lucky."
"Of course they did." Leonard muttered under his breath, forcefully massaging his throbbing temples as he tried to will away the headache that was Jim Kirk.
"You get so worked up." Jim chuckled. "Can't be good for you. Besides, you're going to be staffing, aren't you?"
"As physician on call." The doctor clarified, glaring. "I won't be in the simulator, I'll just get called in to mop up your bloody remains after the fact if –when—something goes wrong. Probably at the most inconvenient of times. Like the middle of a test, or at three in the morning."
"At least you can't call your life boring." The kid beamed, like that somehow made up for everything.
McCoy watched the kid pack up his books with furrowed eyebrows, thinking that in the six or seven months since he'd met the kid he'd certainly been unable to call his life boring, and he wasn't even sure if that was a good thing.
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Four days later, McCoy sat with his elbows on his knees in the wide, glass-faced observation deck above a convincing model of a starship interior. So maybe he'd offered the attending physician to switch out a shift or two, and maybe the other doctor had agreed on the spot and ran, hoping McCoy wouldn't change his mind. Sitting for hours at a time while starry-eyed cadets ran a routine simulation did not strike the ordinary man as appealing. Hell, it didn't even strike Bones as appealing. What did was keeping on eye on Jim, and more importantly, on Jameson and Lenot. How those meatheads had qualified for the exercise at all was beyond Leonard.
On the other hand, the fact that Jim had the highest test scores of any other cadet taking the test did not surprise him.
This fact also caused Leonard to take a good, hard look at himself. In the hours he spent in half-awake limbo on the quiet, empty personnel observation deck, there was plenty of time for this. At first, he wondered why in the world Jim wouldn't have told him he'd be operating in the position of captain in the simulation. It was the sort of thing he would have wanted to congratulate the kid on, maybe take him out for a drink.
And then it hit him: with the way he'd been acting lately, why would the kid have told him? All Leonard really did lately was nag and fuss and berate the cadet. He didn't think he'd want to tell himself anything, either. In his rush to overcompensate for the mistakes of the past he'd made himself into a doctor and a protective sibling rather than a friend. He hadn't exactly made himself available
Well. At least he had a solid three days left to figure out how to word his apology.
Bones was catapulted quite abruptly from his brooding thoughts by the sudden, ear-piercing wail spiking through his senses. He jumped a little, squinting as sets of bright red lights (altogether unnecessary, in his opinion) came on at strategic points around the simulator.
He'd never been on a ship (thankfully) that was in full-blown panic mode, but even from his perch fifty feet above the action, he thought it looked pretty damn convincing. Eerily so. The entire simulator became a web of noise and running feet and blaring sirens, all bathed in pulsing red light. The "crew" of the Duncan exploded into action. Those that had been "off duty" (and damn it sounded corny when Leonard thought of a sim that way) were up in a heartbeat and sprinting for their stations.
Leonard found himself watching Jim, because he was interested and supportive (he told himself) and not because he was paranoid. Even in hyper-active protective mode the doctor was curious to see how the younger cadet would react in such a scenario. He knew the kid had nerves of steel and the instincts of some kind of wild animal, but he'd never really been able to see those skills translate into anything more noble than getting himself into or out of a bar fight. Usually the former.
To Leonard's relief, though not really to his surprise, the blond cadet seemed to be keeping his head. He jogged around the command deck with quick, decisive movements, all action and poise. One moment he was giving terse instructions over the pilot's shoulder, the next he was demanding that the communications officer acquire an immediate report on the internal systems failure from engineering.
As he watched, Bones couldn't help feeling impressed and maybe a little proud of the kid. He was going to have to give off some major proud-sibling vibes after Kirk got himself freed from Starfleet limbo. In that department, he felt that he had a lot of catching up to do.
"Captain," The voice of one of the command deck ensigns carried over the speaker system as the youth addressed Kirk, "Engineering is reporting one of their technicians is trapped in a pressure compromised airlock. Please advise."
Kirk froze for a moment, lips pursed. Bones could practically see the gears in his head turning as he was faced with one of the simulation's key leadership dilemmas. Well, Leonard couldn't have sworn that's what it was—but it damn well smelled like it.
"I'll go down myself." Kirk surprised them all. "Tell them to prepare two bio-hazard suits and evacuate and pressurize all surrounding corridors."
"Sir, that's not pro—"
"I'll expect those to be ready when I arrive." Jim cut the younger boy off sternly, and Bones could have sworn he sounded twenty years better than his age.
"Yes sir." The ensign blinked, a little taken aback.
Fully committed, Jim strode across the deck. He took the "lift" down the single story to the engineering deck. The simulator was big, but not that big. Most of the ship's technical details were left up to the imagination. The scale was actually slightly deceiving, given the technical realism of aspects like the communications network, air pressurization, and artificial gravity. The crew couldn't count on the psuedo-realism of the sim cutting them any breaks: the carefully structured, glass-topped hallways were each pneumatically sealed. Leonard wouldn't put it past the instructors to initiate a serious depressurization emergency in one of the airlocks to test the protocol of the crew's response. Of course if something were to go wrong, they were likely to step in before any real injury was done, but the potential was there. It looked and felt for all the world like the crew was aboard a real, albeit small, federation starship. Of course that was probably the point, but it still threw the doctor a little.
He watched in half anticipation, half apprehension as Jim arrived at the engineering deck and his crew debriefed him on the situation. As he'd ordered, the surrounding airlocks were abandoned and the safety suits required for entering the depressurized space stood ready. He suited up in one and tucked the other under his arm.
"Captain." The acting Chief engineer hesitated when Jim moved towards the first airlock door. She looked almost a little concerned. "This is highly unprecedented, you do realize. You're the last person who should be endangering themselves. We have extraction crews, we can—"
"Where is a captain's duty, if not with his crew?" Jim turned, and the old James Kirk resurfaced in devilish, dazzling smile. "Your concern is touching, officer, but I hardly think this is the time or place for sexual advances."
Cocky bastard.
The Chief Engineer did not look amused. Sighing, she ushered the handful of other team members out of the hallway, sealing the door behind her.
Jim didn't hesitate after that. He commanded the computer to check the airlock integrity, and when it confirmed stability, he switched on the artificial oxygen in his own suit. The onboard computer informed anyone who cared to listen that the cadet had six minutes of artificial oxygen remaining.
Bones winced a little. He sure hoped the kid knew what he was doing.
The doctor found himself standing without really meaning to, creeping closer to the edge of the deck, pressing against the glass in a vain attempt to get a better view of Jim's movements. He silently cheered for the kid as he made it into the faulty airlock without mishap. Damn punk had better get some kind of commendation for this.
"This is your captain." Kirk informed through the porthole panel that was all that stood between him and the trapped" crew member. "Are you able to communicate?"
An unintelligible response was mumbled through the airlock door, but it seemed to be enough for Jim. Stoically ignoring that eerie omniscient voice alerting him that only 4.5 minutes of safe oxygen remained in his suit, he methodically ordered the computer to make a repair stabilization on the airlock, which was done to a 56% safe level (the omniscient voice informed).
Moving quickly, Jim opened the airlock and stepped inside, his steps painfully bogged down by the semi-gravity of the compromised corridor. He was mumbling instructions to the stranded crew member, but the ship's sim-wide intercom system was predictably faulty in the area and the conversation was almost unintelligible.
There were a few moments of dead silence that followed, and Leonard felt himself tensing up automatically. A thousand and one scenarios were screaming through his mind, none of them favorable or for that matter, even very likely, but call it the cynic in him. Or maybe the part of him that knew Jim and his penchant for bad luck all too damn well.
The partially closed door blocked most of his view, but he thought he finally caught a blur of movement, a muffled sound over the intercom. After a few moments of tense silence, a suited figure emerged, moving slowly in the semi-gravity towards the safety of the outer hallway. Leonard couldn't have been certain, but the figure didn't look like Jim... he didn't move like Jim.
Unconsciously keeping pace, Leonard moved down the glass wall to keep his eyes on the... person. He was pretty convinced it wasn't Jim, and the quick, furtive glances he shot every few seconds back to the airlock showed that the real Jim was not emerging.
Bones felt panic bubbling in his chest, and like a bolt of lightening, enlightenment struck. Half-jogging down the stairs to the lower deck, he approached the technician seated at the nearest simulation control panel.
"Who was the cadet trapped in the airlock?" He demanded without fanfare.
Looking a little taken aback, the technician nonetheless did a quick check of his holoscreen. "It looks like the cadet assigned to this exercise is Jameson, Dirk."
Shit.
"Get that door open." McCoy commanded sharply. "Open it now."
"Doctor, the simulation is in progress." Catching wind of the commotion, one of the instructors approached with a frown. "These doors cannot be opened except—"
"—except in the case of a medical emergency." Bones snapped, feeling his apprehension pique. "And I am telling you, Cadet James Kirk is experiencing a medical emergency, or something pretty damn close, right now."
"Check it." The instructor snapped at the technician, who nearly jumped out of his skin in his hurry to obey.
"You'd better be right about this, Doctor." The instructor—J. Wright, read his patch—scowled. "If this turns out to be an unfounded accusation, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the simulation premises."
"I'll leave when the cadets under my supervision are all medically safe and sound." Leonard barely wasted time to snap at the man—he rounded the console instead and came to peer over the shoulder of the nervous operator.
The technician's fingers flew rapidly as he drew up security monitors for the corridor in question. The first images showed a suited figure exiting and re-stabilizing the outer airlock.
At almost the same moment, the simulation computer informed the crew still inside the simulator that Captain Kirk's air supply had reached critical levels.
Since one cadet had already emerged from the compromised area, Leonard found it safe to assume that Jim was still in there somewhere.
It was officially time to panic.
"Jim!" Leonard bellowed, feet flying down the observation ramp. He practically flew at the bay doors, fumbling for his override identification card. It took him a few tries, hands shaking as he mindlessly screamed his friend's name over and over again, but he got the doors open just as the security team reached it. He bolted ahead of them, ignoring their calls to wait.
He wasn't thinking about anything in that moment but reaching Kirk, and damn if anyone was going to hold him back.
Except for, possibly, the sim itself. What had looked like a relatively simple layout of hallways and corridors from above looked featureless and bland from down here, surreal and shifting in the effect of those stupid red strobes. Leonard realized within seconds that he had no idea where he was. He aimed in what he remembered being the general direction of the engineering segment, and ran.
"Fuck!" He ranted at the walls as he took yet another wrong turn. He really wished that he'd paid closer attention to the layout of the simulator; he was about ready to strangle somebody out of sheer stress.
He was distantly aware of the simulation's emergency override initiating as gravity and pressurization protocols shut down one by one. The red lights and wailing sirens ceased and suddenly the crisp white hallways seemed to make sense again.
Within moments, Leonard was tearing down the hallways towards the airlock panel. "Jim!" He screamed again, voice hoarse, and dammit, he really wished the kid would just pop up somewhere with that stupid grin and tell him he was overreacting and being melodramatic and wasn't he just going to give himself a stroke someday?
He slammed into the panel; it didn't budge. Desperate, he cupped his hands over the small porthole, trying to see inside. His head was spinning a little as the oxygen-drained corridor slowly began to regain air circulation, but he could still make out a still body lying on the floor inside.
Pulling back, Leonard dropped his shoulder and slammed into the door.
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Dang, steady weekly updates and then nothing for two months? You guys must be really mad at me right now. I understand.
I want to apologize first off for a poor choice of words in the last chapter. Those of you who read it know what I'm talking about. It was tactless and definitely out of line, and I'm not sure what I was thinking at the time that I wrote it. Other than the fact that my daily companions are six college-aged boys and whoever I happen to see at work, my only theory is that I was thinking like a guy at the time. I sorry. That's definitely the last time I post anything without major proofing.
As far as the whole missing-in-action thing goes, ultimately I feel I owe you a short explanation. Feel free to skip it and get straight to reviewing.
I jest. But not really.
ANYWAY. So college just started, been working like mad, blah blah blah. My biggest excuse is: I am joining the military! Woohoo, I'm stoked. So are ALL of my muscles. I have been spending every waking moment at the gym or buried in "ASVAB for Dummies". I will be enlisting at the end of the year and shipping out for basic in the spring, it looks like.
So the first reviewer who can correctly guess which branch I'm joining gets to send me a Kirk/Bones centric prompt for my next one-shot. How's that for motivation, eh?
I love you! :3