CHAPTER SEVEN
"Jim?" McCoy called softly, hating to wake the young man, but he'd just run another scan and the results showed significant improvements... with one glaring exception. Jim's glucose level was at the extreme lower end of normal. He needed to eat. Since McCoy already suspected regular meals were low on Kirk's priority list, that wasn't apt to happen without some serious pushback, unless the kid got to take the shower he so badly wanted.
It was turning into a pretty day outside. Yesterday's storm clouds had steadily dispersed, leaving behind a clear, rain-washed sky, bright sunshine and dripping trees. The daylight flooding into the bedroom had driven Jim to burrow deep beneath the covers, his head nearly buried under his pillow.
"Jim?" he repeated more loudly, carefully peeling back the blanket and sheet to avoid tangling them around the IV line.
"Mmm…?"
"You want to shower or sleep?"
Kirk yawned sleepily. "I need to use the head."
"It's about damn time. Fluids are doing their job." McCoy helped Jim turn over onto his back, keeping a close eye on the IV tubing. "Hold on while I get you unhooked."
The cadet swallowed another yawn. "Sure, Bones. Just be quick about it, okay? My bladder feels like it's going to burst."
McCoy separated the line from the IV port, screwed a protective disinfectant cap onto the end of the tubing, then a second one onto the port, before covering the insertion site with the pliaderm bandage he'd removed from the med kit earlier and left on the bedside table. "There. Watertight and secure. You're good to go."
"Thanks, Bones," Kirk said. In a flurry of motion, he pushed upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed. McCoy expected him to sit on the edge of the bed for a minute and get his bearings, but the kid lurched to his feet.
"Whoa, slow down. You've been horizontal for a long time." McCoy grasped Kirk's upper arm. "Nice and easy, now. How's your head feeling?" he asked. "Any dizziness?"
Kirk took a deep breath, looking wan in the bright light streaming through the bedroom windows, and let it out slowly. "I'm good." His gaze zeroed in on the closed door of the bathroom. "You can let go of my arm now."
"Not gonna do that. Let's see how you handle walking."
Kirk grimaced but he didn't waste his breath arguing about it, which McCoy appreciated. What he didn't appreciate was the headlong rush Kirk was making for the bathroom. He didn't want the kid to pass out and give his skull another hard knock on the floor. "Slow down. It's not a race."
"Tell that to my bladder," Kirk retorted but he moderated his pace slightly.
Once through the door - mercifully, without incident - Jim's arm flexed beneath his grip as he reached for the drawstring on his scrub pants. "I'm good, Bones. Go find a chair and relax while I get cleaned up. You look a little tired."
McCoy snorted. "You're joking, right? You see anything but hard surfaces in this room? The consequences of passing out in here would not be pretty." He shook his head. "Thank you kindly, but I plan on staying."
"I had no idea you were such a mother hen," Jim huffed, visibly annoyed. "At least turn around while I urinate."
McCoy crossed his arms and stood his ground. "You ain't got nothin' I haven't seen a thousand times before, kid. I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake."
Biological imperative took the upper hand, giving McCoy the edge in the standoff. Jim raked him with a cutting glare, turned his back, and began relieving himself.
"Let me take a gander before you flush," McCoy said, when Kirk finished. He peered into the toilet bowl. "Still pretty concentrated. I want you to work on pushing fluids today when you're awake, okay?"
"Fine. Whatever makes you happy," Jim said tersely, holding his untied pants in place with one hand. He flushed the toilet, edging away as much as the limited space of the bathroom allowed. A faint blush painted his cheekbones. "Seriously, Bones, I could use a little privacy here."
"And I could use an hour in the porch swing at Gram's house with a glass of good bourbon. But I'm not gonna get what I want anytime soon, and neither are you. Now, you gonna shuck off those scrubs or are you passing on the shower?"
If looks could kill…. "Shucking," Kirk said stiffly, obviously still annoyed by McCoy's intrusion into his personal space.
McCoy turned away and opened the glass door to the shower. "Go ahead and get undressed. I'll set the water temperature controls for you. Do you have a preference on the temperature?"
"Anything around 43 degrees is fine."
McCoy took his time programming the shower controls, glancing at Kirk from time to time as he worked. He entered a ten second delay for the Start cycle, and quickly backed out of the stall.
Kirk stared at him for a long moment, before releasing his hold on his scrub pants. The cotton garment slipped from his body, pooling in folds around his ankles. Stepping out of the puddle of cloth, Kirk nudged them aside. Then, with another quick glance at McCoy, he reached for the hem of his scrub top and pulled it slowly over his head.
McCoy was relieved to see the kid was able to get out of his scrubs without too much difficulty, although his movements were tentative and careful. Once naked, he hesitated, holding his bunched scrub top over his genitals, before letting it, too, drop to the floor.
McCoy hadn't figured on Kirk's sense of modesty being such an issue, especially since the young man hadn't made much of an issue about it in the ER except during McCoy's direct examination of his genitalia and perineum during his physical exam. Since most patients reacted similarly, McCoy hadn't given it a lot of thought. While he regretted embarrassing the young man now, it couldn't be helped. Having brought the kid home with him, he was responsible for Kirk's safety. Close monitoring was a given until he was confident Kirk would remain steady on his feet.
"Light blue bottle is shampoo, the dark blue one is conditioner and the green bottle is body wash," McCoy narrated, stepping back as far as the small room allowed. "There's a clean washcloth on the shelf inside." He motioned for Kirk to enter the shower. "It's all yours, kid. Take your time."
Kirk sidled past him, eyes averted, and stepped into the shower stall. McCoy closed the door behind him, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the sink countertop to keep watch.
Bowing his head, Kirk stepped beneath the spray. The water immediately saturated his hair, turning the thick strands from bright gold to brown before he reached for the shampoo. McCoy watched Kirk closely for dizziness as he squirted the shampoo into his hair and, using both hands, began vigorously scrubbing his scalp. Kirk winced as he did so, but kept going.
The suds turned pale pink as the dried blood in his hair liquified. Kirk stopped scrubbing, rinsed his hair, and reapplied the shampoo, his fingers moving steadily again over his scalp. He followed the second rinse with a squirt of conditioner, worked it through his hair, then rinsed it out beneath the spray. Wiping his eyes with his fingers, he picked up the washcloth— and hesitated. Bracing his free hand against the tiled wall, he lowered his head and stood unmoving, water cascading down his lean body.
McCoy moved swiftly. Yanking the shower door open, he barked, "You okay, Jim?" while reaching for Kirk's shoulder.
Jim jerked at his touch, whirling to face him, easily breaking the hold McCoy had on his water-slick skin. Breathing hard, hands fisted at his sides, he looked feral, his eyes twin blue supernovas in a strikingly pale, tense face.
"Whoa," McCoy said, holding up his hands in the universal 'don't shoot' position. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just want to make sure you're not about to pass out. Are you feeling dizzy? Do you need to sit down?"
Kirk stared at him, as the water continued to pour over his head and run down his body. Then, just as McCoy was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy, the kid's hands unclenched and he relaxed. "Sorry, Bones," he said lightly. "Got light-headed for a second. No need to overreact."
I'm not the one who overreacted.
"No worries, kid," McCoy said, deliberately keeping his stance easy. "Maybe you should get out of there now."
"No, I'm fine. Let me finish." Kirk flashed him a determined smile and deliberately turned back around, maneuvering so that the water struck his shoulders and chest instead of his head. "I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to shower again with designer body products. It smells like an Italian courtyard garden in here. Very classy."
"Stop jerking my chain and finish up," McCoy growled. A lot of his former life had gone up in the smoke generated by the scorching fire of his divorce. His preferences in toiletries and civilian clothing were two of the few things he'd managed to reclaim after climbing out of his alcoholic pity-party. Thank God that Gram was still alive, her hands firmly on the McCoy family assets, or Jocelyn would have stripped him of his entire heritage without a second thought.
Kirk began to lather up with the bodywash, running the soapy washcloth over his torso and long limbs. McCoy's professional eye noted the near-perfect build, the visible play of muscles beneath the fair skin, all signs of good genes and peak conditioning. With all that pale skin, he'd bet Sunday supper that Kirk sunburned easily. In order to acquire and maintain the physical condition he was in, he must spend a lot of his free time working out. Was he a gym rat? A runner? Given the body modesty he'd displayed, did he date? With his looks, he'd have no problem acquiring sexual partners, if he wanted them. McCoy made a mental note to ask Kirk for information on both his sunscreen use and his sexual proclivities, which caused him to nearly laugh aloud over the odd juxtaposition of thoughts.
"What's so funny?" Kirk asked, staring at him through the glass of the shower door.
"I'll tell you later, while you eat. Are you about done?"
"Yeah," Kirk said, shutting the water off. "All finished."
McCoy snagged the folded bath towel off the counter and shook it out, handing it to Kirk when he stepped out of the shower. The open door released a waft of warm, humid air that was redolent of citrus and rosemary.
"I feel like a new man," Jim said, burying his face in the thick, plush towel. "Wow, this is nice, Bones. Definitely superior to the towels the dorm provides." He smirked at Bones. "Who knew you had such refined tastes underneath that cranky exterior?"
The kid was too damn observant. And annoying. McCoy stepped forward and snatched the towel out of Kirk's hands. "Let's get this show on the road, Jim," he said brusquely, and proceeded to dry off Kirk's back before wrapping the towel around the narrow waist.
"I'm not five years old, Bones," Jim said, his blue eyes a little startled.
"You could have fooled me," McCoy retorted, more than ready to get Jim out the little room with all its sharp, hard edges. "You can finish drying your legs and feet once you're sitting down on the bed."
"Whatever makes you happy."
McCoy snorted. "Happy? I'd settle for mildly pleased, at this point."
Jim grinned. "You sound like you're a hundred years old."
"I feel a hundred years old, some days."
"Well, you're not," Jim said. "You need to climb out of that pit of gloom you're wallowing in." The kid spread his arms, threatening the stability of the loosely wrapped towel. "There's more to look forward to in life than designer bath products and nice towels. Although that's a start. I can work with it."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?"
"Every day."
"Color me surprised," McCoy snarked.
Jim gave him a cheeky smile. "I may talk a lot but no one has told me I'm wrong."
"They're probably too busy running in the opposite direction."
Jim laughed, and McCoy felt an answering smile tug at his mouth.
And, dammit, the kid was right. It did smell like an Italian garden in here.
"What's this?" Kirk asked as McCoy slid the loaded plate in front of him.
Dressed in fresh scrubs, his teeth brushed and his hair combed, Jim Kirk looked like the new man he had called himself earlier, despite his lingering pallor. McCoy hoped a decent meal would improve Jim's color.
"Farmer's scramble, melon and whole wheat toast, with a glass of milk on the side."
"I'm not sure I can eat all this."
"You won't know until you try," McCoy said easily, sipping at a fresh mug of coffee. "And there's a freshly made bed waiting for you when you finish. Nothing smells better than clean sheets, my mama always said."
"You're a tyrant."
"I thought I was a mother hen."
"You're both." Jim scooped up a forkful of eggs, eyeing the ham-and-vegetable-studded curds.
"This looks good, Bones."
"You're supposed to eat it, kid, not admire it."
Jim shot him a grin and ate the bite on his fork. He chewed slowly and deliberately, eyes closed, like some pretentious food connoisseur on a holo vid. Finally swallowing, he pronounced, "Tastes great. If you get tired of doctoring, you could apply for a position in the mess hall kitchen."
"How often do you actually eat anything from there?" McCoy asked, curious.
"Most days," Jim replied. "Aren't you having any of this?"
"I ate earlier, while you were sleeping. Does that include all three meals? One? Two? How many days don't you eat anything at all?"
"What?"
McCoy took another swallow of coffee. "You said 'most days.' Flesh that out for me."
"Jeez, Bones, why are you so curious about my eating habits? I eat when I'm hungry, like everyone."
"I'm your physician of record now, remember? Humor me. I'm trying to fill in the holes in your medical chart."
Kirk sighed and stabbed a piece of melon. "If I didn't already have a headache, all your questions would give me one," he grumbled. "Look, getting to the mess hall at mealtimes hasn't been easy for me, lately. I've had a lot of challenge exams to prepare for – and take – these past few weeks, plus all my regular classes. I ate when I could. But if it makes you feel any better, I took my last exam yesterday."
Well, it was an answer, albeit a somewhat evasive one. He still had no idea exactly what or how much Kirk was eating, but clearly the kid didn't feel inclined to elaborate. McCoy sighed and shelved the topic of food for the time being. Besides, if he took what Jim was saying at face value, there was no sense in collecting data based on skewed circumstances. Time would tell whether the kid was being an honest reporter or not.
"All the more reason for you to clean your plate now." He took another sip of coffee. "And you should be glad I was asking about your food habits."
Kirk looked at him, his shadowed eyes wary. "Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because we could be discussing your sexual history."
Kirk's grin was huge. And genuine. Which was surprising, after the display of modesty in the bathroom.
"Got the hots for my body, Bones? Or do you just want some tips on how to get laid?"
McCoy grimaced, and hoped he wasn't blushing. "Maybe that blow to your head scrambled your brains more than I thought," he said sarcastically. "You're talking nonsense."
Kirk shrugged and took a bite of eggs. "You've been out of the game for a while, Bones. I'm just trying to help."
"Whaddya you mean, 'out of the game'?"
Kirk used a toast triangle as a pointer. "That white stripe on your ring finger? It looks to me like your divorce was pretty recent. You probably signed the papers the day before you stepped onto the shuttle, judging by the drunken, ranting meltdown you threw when the co-pilot dragged you out of the head."
This time, he did flush. "That doesn't mean I need your advice on how to re-enter the dating world."
"If you say so," Kirk said, sounding dubious. He took a bite of toast, chewing slowly and looking thoughtful.
"So, from your responses, shall I assume you're sexually active?"
"When the opportunity presents," he agreed, with another grin.
"Do you practice safe sex?"
Kirk rolled his eyes. "Do I look like an idiot?"
"The jury is still out on that one," McCoy said darkly. "Have you ever been treated for an STD?"
"No, and you should stop asking such nosy questions."
"Doctor, remember?" McCoy said, pointing at his chest. "Your doctor, in fact. Two more questions and I'm done on this topic for the time being. How old were you when you became sexually active, and what is your sexual orientation?"
"None of your business, and who cares?"
McCoy raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously, Bones, as long as everyone's happy getting naked, why does any of that matter?"
"Very egalitarian," McCoy said dryly, wondering if the kid was espousing a belief based on personal practice or simply an ideational philosophy. "But age and emotional maturity at the time of an individual's first intercourse experience are hugely predicative of that individual's ability to form stable relationships as an adult."
"Wow, what boring psychology text is that a quote from? You need better reading material, Bones." With a sigh, Kirk laid his half-eaten toast aside. Rubbing his forehead, he said, "I can't eat any more right now." Between one breath and the next, Kirk's pallor had increased and the tiny pain lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. "Sorry."
Most of the eggs, half the melon and a few bites of toast. Not bad, all things considered. "Take a couple of swallows of your milk and I'll help you back to bed."
The kid's mouth tightened, and McCoy was sure he was about to refuse, but he reached for the glass instead and obediently took two swallows before setting the glass aside. "Ready," he announced, and jumped to his feet, swaying as the little color he had regained drained from his face.
McCoy hurriedly set down his coffee mug and rushed around the counter to grab the young man's upper arm. "What did I tell you about rushing around, idiot? Take a deep breath. Do you need to sit down?"
"No, I'm fine. Just dizzy for a moment. Why does that keep happening? And when will it go away?"
McCoy snorted. "Have you forgotten about the building that fell down around your ears, yesterday? Jesus, kid, you've got to stop running around like your tail's on fire, especially for the next couple of days. Give your body a chance to recover and regain its equilibrium or you're going to end up doing a face plant. And I'll be pretty pissed if I have to fix your head twice in twenty-four hours."
"Okay, okay, I'll be more careful. Stop fussing, Bones." He tugged against McCoy's steadying hold. "I'm fine now. You can let go of my arm."
McCoy dropped his hand but kept a sharp eye on Jim as they made their way to the bedroom.
"Lie down and get comfortable," he said, after steering Jim to the turned-down bed. "I'll get your IV hooked up, do your checks, and then you can take a nice, long nap. You won't be due for another round of neuro checks until this afternoon at 1400." He sat down on the edge of the bed to get a better angle on Jim's arm. After carefully peeling off the clear pliaderm film covering the IV insertion site, he reached up and snagged the trailing end of the prepped intravenous tubing. Removing the protective caps from both the catheter needle and the tubing, McCoy connected them with a deft twist of his fingers. After re-taping the tubing into place, he opened the line. In a few moments, the solution began to steadily drip, sending much needed fluid and electrolytes directly into Jim's vascular system.
McCoy lightly tapped the back of Jim's hand. "Okay, you're free to move that arm, now, but don't jerk on the tubing. I'll be in and out periodically to check on the infusion but I'll try not to wake you." He leaned forward and picked up the penlight. "Let me check your pupils and I'll leave you to rest."
Jim winced at the play of light. "I'll be glad when you don't have to do that anymore."
"Two more times after this one. Then, if we don't encounter any problems, I can discontinue the checks. Twenty-four hours will have elapsed since the injury, and you'll be in the clear."
"Good to know," Jim said tiredly. Turning his face deeper into the pillow, he closed his eyes.
"How's the headache?"
"Okay. It's not going to kill me."
But it's probably not going to let you rest easily, either.
McCoy walked over to the med kit and loaded a hypospray with another dose of Contonicin. Returning to the bed, he placed the device against the side of Jim's exposed neck and triggered it. "That should take care of the pain and help you sleep."
Jim's eyelids fluttered. "Jeez, you're a maniac with that thing, Bones. Give me a heads-up, the next time."
"Why? So you can tell me you don't need it, when clearly you do?"
Jim huffed, and turned on his side, drawing the covers up to his chin as he did. "Go away, Bones. I'm sure you've got more important things to do than harass me with unnecessary hyposprays."
McCoy shook his head. Jim Kirk had an outsized streak of stubborn independence which was probably going to be a major pain in his ass to manage, now that he'd agreed to be the kid's physician of record. He could just imagine Jocelyn's scalding laughter, since she'd often accused him of having the same irritating character flaw.
Really, Leonard? Isn't that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?
McCoy frowned and, with an effort, pushed the memory of Joce's mocking voice aside. "Shades, 100%," he ordered, and the windows instantly darkened, occluding the bright sunshine, leaving the room dim and shadowed.
If only it were that easy to block out the bitter memories of his past.
