Not Bones
(Or, five times someone other than Jim called McCoy "Bones")
1. Uhura
"Where is he?"
The problem with Starfleet, McCoy figured, was that no one had really grasped the concept of minding their own fucking business. The training the school offered only went so far, it appeared. It didn't matter that he was the farthest, darkest, most "leave me alone"-esque corner in the entire library. His back stiffened as he kept his eyes on his book. He exaggerated his scowl.
"'He' who?"
"Kirk. Your annoying shadow."
He squinted up in the direction of the voice, the harsh artificial lights of the library too bright for him. The owner of the voice was a woman, leaning with a hip cocked against the side of the table he'd claimed as his own hours before. She looked vaguely familiar—he knew he'd seen that smirk before. He shrugged at her before lifting the book up closer.
"No idea," he glanced at his watch. "This time of night, he's usually up to some casual law-breaking or public annoyance."
That earned him a slight laugh from the woman. He went back to his book, already regretting his choice of moving to the library to study. It had seemed like such a good idea two hours ago. He was venturing out. He was boldly going. Now here he was, chitchatting.
"In that case, is it okay if I share your table?"
"I wouldn't recommend it, no."
A bag dropped down near his elbow and he turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. The woman adjusted her ponytail.
"You're hogging the last table," she said.
He grunted, pushing his stuff closer to him so she could slide into the empty seat. He turned back to her, raising his book to his chest like a shield.
"I don't like talking," he said bluntly. "And you don't fidget, do you?"
"I have never," she paused, the words getting stuck. When they come out, they sound entirely foreign. "Fidgeted a day in my life."
"Good." He went back to his book. Then abruptly stopped, turning back to the girl.
"Wait, how do you know Jim?" He squinted his eyes at her. "You didn't sleep with him did you?"
She rolled her eyes.
"The day I find myself attracted to Jim Kirk is the day I put a phaser to my head and pull the trigger," she stopped moving her books around in order to stare at him dead in the eye. "It takes a lot more than Iowa charm and bad puns to get me into bed."
The corners of McCoy's mouth twitch traitorously but he didn't say anything. He lets his shoulders stand down, no longer on the defensive.
"How you willingly put up with the man, I have no idea," she continued. "I can't tell if I should respect you or if I should pity you."
McCoy shrugged. "Either. Both."
She slid into the seat, smiling dryly.
"I'm Nyota, by the way. Nyota Uhura."
McCoy set down his book with a snort.
"Uhura? Jim's 'girl with no first name?'"
"Nyota," she repeated. "And if you tell Kirk that, I will never forgive you."
McCoy gave a mock salute to her.
"Yes, ma'am."
She smiled and picked up the largest book in her stack. The title wasn't in any earth language, of that he was sure. Probably.
"Communications?" he asked, despite himself.
She nodded.
"Second year," she elaborated. "How goes the medical track?"
He frowned, unsure how to put his feelings about Starfleet's population of medical cadets into actual words, instead of just angered grunts and exasperated flailing. He felt the vein in his neck twitch.
"Have you ever been in a room and found yourself worried that the combined level of stupid residing in it might end up suffocating you?"
Nyota frowned before lightly shaking her head. McCoy nodded.
"Well it's sort of like that," he sighed. "Except worse, because you know that the idiots in the room with you are going to responsible for the care of entire starships full of people. And they will be gettin' paid to do it."
Nyota went back to her book with raised eyebrows.
"Maybe you should have tried communications," she said. "You have way with words."
"Yeah, I know," he said, blowing the dust off the cover of one of her books as he examined the picture on the front. "How did ya know I was medical?"
"Oh, I know all about you, Bones," she said off-handedly. The smirk on her face dipped at McCoy's sudden, violent, groan.
"Don't call me that," he whined. "That's a stupid nickname that I am never, ever, going to allow to catch on."
She tipped her head in understanding.
"That's the only thing Jim calls you," she explained. "So I don't actually know your name."
"Leonard," he supplied. "Leonard McCoy. Doctor."
"Alright then, Leonard Leonard McCoy Doctor. No nicknames," she smiled. "Unless I find out you ratted out my name to Jim. Then I'll change your comm frequency so it says Dr. Bones every time you try to call anyone."
That, actually, drew a laugh out of him.
"Ah, don't worry," he smirked. "Upsetting Jim just so happens to be my favorite activity."
"Odd. Because I think it just might be mine as well."
They shared a smile before going back to work.
2. Spock
McCoy sank down into the chair, sighing a deeply sincere "Fuck," as he did so.
He ran a hand along the length of his face, surprised at the sharp hair he felt there. He didn't remember the last time he had shaved. Or slept. Or left this room, really.
He seriously did not get paid enough for this.
Jim was dead.
Was dead.
As in, past tense.
As in, he wasn't presently.
As in, no monetary sum in the entire world would be enough to accurately translate into the amount of sweat, tears, blood, and goddamn grit McCoy had put in literally bringing his best friend back from the dead. And while he may have succeeded, dealing with Jim's subsequent coma after being reacquainted with a pulse was an equally Herculean feat. The kid never did anything half-ass, that was for damn sure. Since they'd transferred him over to Starfleet Medical's ICU six days ago, he'd coded twice, dropped his blood pressure to levels lower than McCoy had ever seen in his entire career, had a mild seizure and then, just for kicks, casually bled out of his ears for a little while. All of that made McCoy angry enough that, had he not been so worried about Jim, he would have beat him to (re)death with his own hands. The kid was too stupid to live.
Jim was being selfish. Granted, after saving a good chunk of the world, the kid of deserved it. But that logic did nothing to soothe McCoy's frayed nerves or calm the aching, acidic pit in his stomach. He wanted Jim—proper Jim. Grand, ungodly, god-like Jim—in order to accept that it was all worth it. He needed to see Jim, racing off somewhere with his grin that just screamed "Look at me!" Jim was never good at sitting still while life went on around him. Yet here he was. McCoy wanted to yell or complain and pissy and difficult but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
But he looked back to the bed, where Jim was still as comatose as ever. At this point, there was nothing more he could do. Jim seemed to have stabilized, so there was no immediate problem for him to be distracted by. McCoy was tired; so, so tried yet he knew he couldn't stay seated for more than another couple minutes. He had to do something. Anything. Action of some kind. He needed something to plan out, to put in A-to-B-then-C terms, in order to feel the rush of something being completed accordingly. Because, like he said, Jim was being selfish and refusing to wake up, no matter how much McCoy planned on that.
As predicated, he jumped out of his seat not a second later. Dammit, Jim.
"May I speak freely, Dr. McCoy?"
McCoy looked past Jim's bed to the other side of the room, where Spock had been sitting for the last hour and a half—that's it. Sitting. In absolute stillness. None of the fidgeting or symptoms of restlessness that McCoy had been suffering from since he'd been in the room. Then again, he'd always handled smaller spaces better than McCoy had. And really, it was truly a small room. You'd think for the captain of the fleet's flagship, someone who had previously been deceased, they would have-
"Dr. McCoy?"
McCoy blinked. He was slipping. Focus. Spock had asked him something? Dammit, Spock had asked him something.
"Spock, we're not on duty—hell, we aren't even on the ship," he finally managed. "Speak freely all you want. And you know you can call me Leonard, right?"
"Of course, Dr. McCoy. "
Okay, then.
"What is, Spock?" McCoy asked, too strung out for a fight, no matter how disgustingly soothing he would probably find the distraction. Spock was turning his inability to handle Jim's death into a spectator sport and McCoy was just as sick of that as he was of Jim's broken God complex.
"I wish to express my censure at your newly developed behaviors ," Spock said, the hands clasped in his lap the image of peace, despite his tone falling almost chilly.
McCoy rubbed at the back of his neck. Censure. That was one of those unnecessarily formal words nobody used anymore, except for Spock.
"You wanna run that by me again?"
The look Spock gave him let McCoy know that he wanted dearly to roll his eyes at him, if Vulcans were even capable of such things.
"I do not agree with how you have been handling certain things since the Captain's-"
A pause? Was that a pause McCoy heard?
"Since the Captain has fallen ill," the Vulcan finished.
"'Fallen ill,'" McCoy laughed, bitter, hollowed, and very obviously biting. He couldn't help it. He glared down at Spock, let his hands clench against his thighs. "That's an awfully kind way for you to describe it."
"I was merely try-"
"Died," McCoy bit out, moving forward a step around Jim's bed, a step closer to Spock. Regardless if Spock had intended to start a fight, he was going to get one now. "Died is the word you are looking for. Jim died. So, yeah, you can say I've been a little be preoccupied to 'handle' things. I'm sorry I did not fill out the proper FM764 form or whatever the hell it is. Because I may have saved Jim, but he is doing his damn hardest to waste my good work. I've barely had time to leave this room to-"
"Exactly."
McCoy's foot stumbled mid-pace.
"What?"
"You have barely left this room since the Captain was transferred here. You are not sleeping. You are not eating," Spock told him, his clinically tone sharp enough to feel.
McCoy dropped the anger he'd been gathering the last few minutes in a heap, his shoulders slumping. He sighed, real and honest, and let his head dip forward.
"I know," he muttered. "I've just—I've just been a little bit busy."
Spock shook his head once, quick enough it was easy for McCoy to believe he hadn't seen it.
"The Captain's health is not an excuse for you to endanger yourself as you have been," Spock pressed. "You do not look well."
McCoy tried for a smile.
"I think I regret lettin' ya speak freely."
Spock (surprise, surprise) ignored the remark.
"The Captain's condition has not changed in five hours," he pointed out. "It is logical to assume he will remain as he is for as long as it will take you to eat and rest."
Before McCoy could protest, Spock pressed on.
"Besides, I will be here," he said. McCoy waited. "Along with the other 2,424 Doctors and nurses on duty in the building."
McCoy looked at Spock. He looked at Jim. He looked down at his shoes. He looked back at Spock.
"Tomorrow morning," he finally said. "I will be back first thing tomorrow morning. But I swear to God, if anything changes and you don't call me, I will-"
"Understood," Spock said, inclining his head.
McCoy hesitated reaching the door, looking back uncertainly at Jim's prone figure on the bed.
"Go," Spock intoned quietly.
McCoy's eyes flickered to him before he nodded, getting his feet moving once again.
"Rest well, Dr. McCoy. Or, as the Captain would say,"
McCoy reached the door, paused.
"Get some sleep, Bones."
McCoy smiled at the door close behind him.
3. Scotty
"Did anybody bother to tell you guys that this was a dumbass idea?"
"No, that's why we've got you, isn't Bones?"
McCoy folded his arms with a huff.
"Whatever. It is a stupid idea, Jim, just for the record. A stupid, idiotic, dangerous, no-good, idiotic-"
"You said 'idiotic' twice," Jim called down to him.
"That's because it needed repeating."
Scotty chuckled beside him.
McCoy ignored him.
He and Jim had been on their way to lunch when Scotty had come running up to them in a panic, going off about the inertial coil or something. McCoy had understood about every third word he said, but knew enough to get the fact that he was most likely going to be eating lunch alone. As Jim had folded his arms with a frown while Scotty babbled on, McCoy had given him a small wave before leaving the pair to it.
And now, three hours later, McCoy wished he had stayed because clearly, the two needed a voice of reason. He'd come down to see what was up after he'd found Jim missing from the Bridge only to see both him and Scotty elbow deep in some giant machine, covered in grease and reeking of who knows what. After apparently fixing whatever the bottom of the machine had been broken, someone needed to climb the ladder along the side that looked about four decades older than anything else aboard the ship. It looked forgotten, rickety, and a whole other list of adjectives that made him antsy as he watched Jim climb.
"Is this machine dangerous?" McCoy asked, shifting eyes to look at Scotty instead.
"Oh certainly," he said cheerfully.
"And you're alright letting your Captain go up there?" McCoy asked, indignant. "Aren't you worried he's going to get hurt?"
Scotty shook his head with a smile, looking up with pride at either Jim or the machine, McCoy couldn't tell.
"No," he said, "That's why we've got you, isn't, Bones?"
McCoy looked back up at Jim's ascent, Scotty's smile making him even more anxious than he was before.
4. Joanna
McCoy hiked Joanna more securely on his back as he took off down the hall. He glanced sideways, where Jim had fallen in step.
"You're a miracle worker," he said, still slightly in awe.
Jim smiled and ran a hand along the back of his neck in a clear self-deprecating move.
"Just trying to help, Bones," he said.
McCoy opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Joanna letting her head fall between the two, her tiny face scrunched up.
"Bones?" she said simply, raising an eyebrow—an amateur move, if McCoy was the judge.
"A nickname for your dad," Jim explained, twisting his body around until he was walking backwards in front of the other two. "A very special nickname."
"Bones," Joanna drawled out and testing the word.
"Because he's a doctor, get it?" Jim said excitedly.
"Jim thinks he's funny, sweetheart," McCoy informed her, smirking at Jim's fallen face.
"I like it," she said, smiling.
"Me too!" Jim's own grin was back. "Finally, someone who appreciates it."
"Bones," Joanna said again. "Dr. Bones."
And thus, McCoy was forced to walk the rest of the way to the cafeteria among Jim and Joanna's unending, excited chants of "Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones!"
5. McCoy
There was a big difference between dead and presumed dead.
There was a big difference between Jim laying in a zipped up body bag and Jim being missing.
Right?
He barreled through his office door, slamming it roughly shut behind him. Immediately, he began pacing the short distance between wall to wall, his breathing harsh and fists clenched at his sides.
No, no, no.
Jim wasn't dead. Not again. He was going to show up any second and make fun of them all for worrying so much. I find your lack of faith disturbing he probably say, slapping McCoy on the back harder than was necessary.
Right?
McCoy slammed both his hands on his desk with a growl. For a second, he was deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He let his head drop.
"Get it together, Bones," he mumbled.
He hated being reminded that Jim is not indestructible. He hated that the Jim is simultaneously his favorite person in the world and the person that annoys him the most—the favorite and the prodigal son. And, above all, he hated that he had been right this morning. If there was one thing he knew about Jim Kirk, it was that only an idiot would bet against him.
He opened his eyes.
Only an idiot would bet against Jim.
Pushing off against the desk, he took off at a run out of his office door.
/
Author's Note:
Woah, two updates in one week? Am I okay? Spoiler alert: I'm great! And I love you guys. And I really love this chapter. Like I said, I was not a fan of the last one, so I wanted to assure everyone that I can do better. Thus here we are. Also, did someone order angst with a side of heartbreak and sadness? Because that's what the next chapter is.
Have fun thinking about that. Happy weekend!
-Ashley
Up next: Not Breaking the Rules (Part One)