A/N: I'm not dead! I went about a solid 3 months without Microsoft Word, but I've got it situated, now! I'm trying to finish this fic up because I'm neck-deep in another fandom right now that's also undergoing a rescue mission. Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is a wonderful show, but Nickelodeon just prematurely canceled it, and so we are working to get Netflix to adopt it. #saverottmnt. That, and I'm working on another fic for that fandom that may just be my longest yet - I've already hit 30k words and I'm maybe halfway through? Super excited.

But, I won't delay you any longer. Enjoy!

Xenobiology

Jim and Spock circled each other on the mat, feinting a couple times to drive the other into moving first. In the corner of the gym, McCoy scrolled through a PADD on the bench, one eye on the medical journal he was reading and another on the sparring partners. Truthfully, it was a boring match so far: the two officers spent the first round much like they played chess, which meant that they spent (in McCoy's opinion) too much time sizing up and psychoanalyzing their opponent before making a move.

But as much as he wanted to shout 'just fight already!' he also didn't want to give away the fact that he was watching. His nonchalance was well-cultivated, thank you very much, and he had groused at them for ten minutes prior to the session about how he wasn't going to treat anything they decided to voluntarily do to themselves.

So he was just reading this medical text and minding his own business. There were plenty of new breakthroughs to catch up on.

As always, Jim finally broke first and made a move. Predictably unpredictable, he dove for Spock's legs – something McCoy was certain he'd never seen in any kind of martial arts match, Earth-based or otherwise. At the last moment he twisted his body so that his legs were forward, lashing out to knock Spock off balance instead of tackling with his hands. Its final form reminded McCoy of a baseball player sliding into home.

Spock, who had been prepared to merely dodge the lunge, now had to recalculate as the longer-ranged legs came towards him. He elected to jump straight upwards. He twisted as Kirk rolled, countering a punch aimed at his open back with a double-karate chop on the captain's shoulders as he landed. Kirk dropped down to soften the impact of the blow and grabbed Spock's leg that was rising up to knee him in the face. He pushed it backwards, intending to knock the Vulcan over, but Spock grabbed his bicep and took him down with him.

They tussled for a few moments and McCoy forgot the PADD entirely as he watched the weirdest fight commence before him. It ended when Spock sprang up from a pinned position, somehow having gotten his legs behind him and springboarding both him and Kirk upright. As the momentum of the move pitched them forward, he switched hands and they landed in a heap, this time with Spock pinning Kirk.

"How did you manage that?" asked Kirk, slapping the mat three times to yield. "I totally had you."

"Vulcans are thrice as strong as humans, Captain," he replied, helping Kirk to his feet.

"Plus he's used to higher gravity," McCoy chimed in. He pointed a finger at Kirk's thoughtful expression. "And don't you dare think about pulling that move yourself. You'll pull both your hamstrings. And your Achilles tendons."

"He is correct, Captain."

"Are your legs okay?"

"Spock's got different things going on down there, he has extra sesamoid bones protecting him." McCoy added under his breath, "and a lactic acid system that should physically set him on fire."

"Thank you, Doctor," the Vulcan replied as if he had been speaking to him. "It seems you have been catching up on your textbooks."

McCoy rolled his eyes and waved his PADD. "Catch up, nothing. It's all new info. Honestly, retraining should happen every six months instead of every year."

"You want more re-education seminars?" Kirk grabbed a towel and wiped his face before dropping it over his shoulders. The incredulity never left his face.

"Of course! Do you know how many sentient species are in the Federation, Jim? Do you know how many more we encounter every year? The stuff going on with him," he gesticulated at Spock, "is barely scratching the surface!"

"I thought that's why we hired M'Benga. Isn't he a Vulcan specialist?"

"There are no specialists, not anymore. What used to require a team of doctors now only takes one, and that covers many once-separate fields: get a cardiovascular surgeon, trauma doctor, gynecologist, podiatrist, neurologist, psychiatrist, and more all in one. Except all that information is different from species to species. You can study one group more than another, but it's all still general information mostly geared towards just keeping the patient alive." He huffed. "And our definition of life is expanding more every day, too. You ever had to keep a stone breathing?"

"The Horta is not a stone," Spock corrected.

"My point stands! There's a lot to cover. And too much simply happens in a year now." He tapped his PADD. "Half of the info is already outdated by the time it gets published in training circles. Medical teams need to be more up to date out here in the black because that one crazy article about taking out a neurological parasite in regards to telepathic vs non-telepathic species may just mean the difference between curing your patient and killing them."

Kirk frowned at the morbid note. He ran over McCoy's words in his head. "That's… a lot of variables I've never considered before."

"Many don't, but there's a reason three quarters of Starfleet med classes are focused on xenobiology." McCoy stood up and stretched. "So no attempting Vulcan maneuvers in a human body, and I won't hit you with one of my textbooks, okay?"

"Okay."