McCoy was on his fifth cup of coffee that evening, the buzz doing nothing to ease the tired grittiness behind his eyes. He'd been sat in the same hard chair for the past six hours, slowly losing feeling in his ass. Being on the other side of the doors was impossibly trying, even with the information he was being drip fed by some of the more compassionate nurses.

Doctor Gregorivich was Jim's overseeing surgeon and McCoy didn't know much about him beyond hospital gossip. He was still carving a space for himself in a new position and was too far down the ladder for someone of Gregorovich's status to pay much attention to. General consensus was that he was a good doctor - a solid surgeon - and that Jim was in safe hands.

Which was good, because when McCoy got a hold of him he was going to strangle the little bastard. Not hurt McCoy's ass. Even without having the kid under a scanner McCoy had been able to diagnose severe blunt force trauma and probable pneumothorax. In what kind of world did that class as not being hurt?

He ran a weary hand over his face. What the hell was taking so long?

"This seat taken?" McCoy glanced up at Christopher Pike and wondered if they'd ever actually share a conversation when Jim wasn't in some kind of trouble. Damn kid was a magnet for the worst kind of luck.

"Be my guest." He said, taking a sip of his now cold coffee.

Pike took a seat cautiously, his back ramrod straight and his uniform as perfect as ever. Even his expression was placid and relaxed. The only thing that gave away his worry were the slight wrinkles around his eyes. "Has there been any word?" Pike asked, not looking at him but straight ahead at the door that separated them from Jim.

McCoy shook his head. "No, but given the damage he went in with I'm not surprised. Tell me you caught the bastards who did this."

Pike inclined his head ever so slightly. "Cadets Mitchell and Anderson were operating under the assumption that Kirk was responsible for their friend's stabbing."

"So they decided to do what? Practically beat him to death?" McCoy hissed in outrage. "Finnegan's only alive because Jim found him, and this is the thanks he gets?"

"Kid's got shitty luck, McCoy, what do you want me to say?" Pike asked sternly.

"That Jim'll get the justice he deserves and you'll start doing something about the shitty way people are treating him around here. You know Gioni makes him do twice the work of the rest of us in PT? And I know he's not the only one. If everyone's so in love with George Kirk, why the hell are they being such shits to the man's son?"

"Politics, McCoy," Pike said wearily. "It's always politics. The other cadets dislike him because they believe he gets preferential treatment. The instructors are so harsh with him as to avoid the appearance of favoritism."

"So he's screwed whichever way you look at it." McCoy said flatly.

"You're not a true Starfleet man, McCoy. Your family has no prior links with us. Many of the cadets here have a family history with Starfleet that goes back generations. The Kirk's, and indeed his mother's family the Davis's have been members of Starfleet for as long as we have existed. The kind of reputation they had was nothing to be sneered at even before what happened on the Kelvin, an event now as well known for its tragedy as much as George's heroism. After so long, subject to public opinion, people had formed their own ideas as to what the son of one of our most celebrated heroes would be like."

"I'm guessing Jim's not it." McCoy scoffed. Not that any of them tried getting to know the kid.

"Jim has a chip on his shoulder the size of a small planet and no respect for authority." Pike said wryly. "He's here because I dared him when he was drunk enough to think it was a good idea and is now too stubborn to wash out."

"That's not true." McCoy disagreed. "I mean, sure he might act like a cocky little shit, but he loves this stuff. He can, and annoyingly does, talk about warp physics for hours. He speaks better Andorian than our instructor, and he talks about things in Federation History like he was actually there."

"He might have been for some of it." Pike snorted. "And if not, then I'd not put it past him to know someone who was. His family is incredibly well connected."
"And yet he didn't have a credit account until he came here and owns exactly one set of civilian clothes." McCoy said suspiciously.

"His enlistment was sort of a last minute thing." Pike said enigmatically.

"His family couldn't send him his stuff?" McCoy pushed. Jim had said his mom was dead and obviously George wasn't in the picture, but he must have been raised by someone. He didn't just pop up out of thin air.

Pike's eyebrow rose as if he sensed McCoy was fishing for information. "Just because you ignore the correspondences from your family does not mean Jim is in a similar position."

"What the hell do you know about that?" McCoy snapped, outraged that Pike might have been prying into his family life.

"It's my job to know what is happening with my Cadets, McCoy." Pike said.

"Leonard McCoy?" McCoy was saved from punching out a Captain by the arrival of Doctor Gregorovich. He held out a hand for McCoy to shake, something McCoy doubted he'd have done if they hadn't both been doctors.

"How is he?" McCoy asked, all thoughts of Pike forgotten.

"Stable." Gregorovich said. "He's a stubborn one."

"Don't I know it." McCoy muttered. "Look, I know I can't treat him but-"

"I've authorized you to access his files. From what I understand you've made some headwork into his allergy workup over the past few weeks?"

"Yeah. Kid's immune system is a mess." McCoy said, something of an understatement.

"He came out from sedation twice while he was on the table." Gregorovich said. "He's got one hell of a metabolism."

"Damnit Jim." McCoy muttered. "Thanks. For fixing him up."

Gregorovich shook his head. "Nice to be challenged once in a while." It was the kind of comment that, between two doctors, was nothing new or all that controversial, but as Jim's friend McCoy felt his hackles rise. Gregorovich must have seen something of it on his face because he stepped aside. "He's in bay twelve."

McCoy didn't bother waiting. He marched down the hall towards the recovery unit and didn't stop until he was at the foot of Jim's bed. There, he hesitated.
Pike went right to the bedside and put his hand on Jim's, gently taking affirmation of his health. McCoy swallowed, not knowing how much of his own contact would be welcome. For all that Jim was forever in his personal space, he was very prickly about how such moves were conducted. McCoy didn't know him well enough to take liberties without him being conscious.

Instead he accessed Jim's file, reviewing the data from the surgery and reading between the lines as to what exactly those bastards had done to Jim to land him in such a mess.

"Is this…how long will they keep this in?" Pike asked, indicating the tube that was still inserted in Jim's chest.

"Until they're sure they've drained all the fluid buildup in his lungs." McCoy said, feeling more sympathetic for Pike now he was seeing him like this. Most of the stern faced persona was gone and the worry was evident.

Pike nodded and squeezed Jim's hand. "You're determined to turn me gray kid, aren't you?" Jim turned his head groggily at the sound of Pike's voice. "Hey. Easy, easy." He soothed, gently settling Jim down as he tried to move.

Jim blinked up, his eyes cloudy with the lingering effects of the sedation. "Dad?" He asked, voice soft and hopeful.

Pike flinched back sharply and let go of Jim's hand. He gaped at Jim, his expression something half hurt, half desperate.

McCoy swallowed and stepped in. "Hey kid." He said, drawing Jim's attention away from Pike.

Jim blinked again and frowned, no doubt struggling to place McCoy. "Bones?"

"Yeah, it's me. Take it easy. You got your ass kicked."

"Oops?" Jim ventured, settling back down, his hand creeping up to touch the tube in his chest.

"Ah, ah, no touching." McCoy said, grasping his fingers and setting his hand back down on the mattress. "You need to do as you're told and behave. You're in a bad way, Jim."

"M'fine." Jim slurred. "Where's Pike? Was he here?"

"Ye-" But when McCoy looked up, he was alone by Jim's bed. Turning back to the confused look on Jim's face he schooled his expression. "He's sorting out some things."

"Oh."

"How's your pain?" McCoy asked.

"You my doc?"

"No. I'm your friend. Your worried friend." McCoy said. "Your worried, angry friend."

"You're angry?" Jim frowned, struggling to stay awake.

"Damn right I am."

"With me?"

"With a lot of things." McCoy said, unable to face putting a hurt expression on Jim's already confused face.

"Oh. Sorry."

"I'll lecture you when you can stay awake long enough to appreciate it." McCoy smiled. "I'm working on a doozy."

"That's nice." Jim said, his eyes closing.

"Sleep, Jim." McCoy said gently.

"Stay?" Jim asked him.

McCoy squeezed his hand and settled down in the chair next to the bed. "Not going anywhere."