A/N: Happy New Year! This chapter's shorter than most because I had such a struggle hammering it out. I drew a blank on what kind of scenario would foster this one, though I kinda knew what I wanted to have happen. But, to get over this hurdle here it is anyway. Happy 2019!
Orders
"Captain-"
"Bones, don't you dare."
"But Jim-!"
"That's an order, Doctor."
McCoy's mouth clicked shut and he clenched his jaw so hard he could feel his jaw ache. Kirk glared at him in warning, teeth also grit, but due to pain instead of anger.
The Tsh'lake warriors around them watched the exchange with keen interest.
They reminded McCoy a lot of the Capellans. Big, war-like, and had the same beliefs about how only the strong should survive. They had been briefed that when on-planet it was imperative they not show any weakness, or they would not be taken seriously – or at worst, killed.
And so when one of the warriors, laughing, accidentally sent Jim tumbling into a thick briar patch, neither of them were supposed to treat it.
McCoy fumed. He had dealt with these types of ideologies before and typically did alright. And sure, Jim had ordered him to do things before, such as apply kironide, and inject certain things (the most radical order being transforming Jim into a Romulan) but he'd never ordered McCoy not do something before.
To not be a doctor.
Jim turned back to their companions and put on a pain-filled smile. "That was quite a clap on the back, Cha'rasel," he quipped.
The warriors laughed, and the tension was broken. They continued on, with Kirk wincing at every step. McCoy's frown deepened as the small pinpricks of blood darkened on his shirt. For all they knew those thorns were poisonous.
Oh well. If you can't break something, bend it.
McCoy tipped one of his few hyposprays into his canteen and handed it to Jim. "Here," he said, with as much disgust as he could muster. "At least rinse that blood off ya; you know I can't stand soiled uniforms."
"I'm fine, Bones," Kirk warned him.
"Consider it an order, then," he replied in kind.
Kirk glanced at him, then finally caught on. He tugged off his shirt and started pouring McCoy's water, now spiked with an antiseptic, over his cuts.
One of the warriors prodded McCoy. "You can give him orders, as well?" he asked curiously.
"Only when he does something I don't like," McCoy answered, avoiding the words 'medical authority'. "I can't abide blood-stained clothes; you well know they're a pain to clean."
The warriors laughed again. "It is not much farther to the river, we may all wash and refill our cups there," they said bemusedly.
"Glad to hear that," he replied earnestly as Kirk returned his empty canteen.
"Thanks, Bones," he murmured.
"Just doing my job, Captain."