One hand on my suicide, one hand on the rose - [Kirk, McCoy]
Kirk had not been gone long. But he hoped, hurrying (for a certain measure of "hurrying") back to McCoy's rooms, that he would return before McCoy did. Unless the doctor needed to for some unforeseen reason, or to check on him, he should be in time. Shift was not over yet. In fact, Kirk would have some time to eat something and relax and not be quite so... whatever was suffusing him right now.
It wasn't that he really was going to hide the outing. Nor, he suspected, would McCoy have left him alone without some way of keeping an eye on him. But he did not want to be surprised in the midst of his mild disobedience. He wanted to maintain some control over the interaction. As he regained his sense of self, he was increasingly convinced that the way to go about this was to defer, for now, to McCoy's power--but to challenge it in ways that only increased McCoy's interest, respect, or trust. It was a delicate balance, but Kirk wasn't all smash-and-grab. And his smashing days, he was afraid, would be a long time returning.
Nevertheless, there was something faintly satisfied about him by the time McCoy returned. He'd eaten again--ice cream and nachos, though not at the same time--but there was something other than a full stomach contributing to his glow. A new confidence, a spark, a restrained energy that had been mostly absent before. Some part of him had been reconstituted, noticeable even as he scrolled through a screen on McCoy's terminal.
It wasn't that he really was going to hide the outing. Nor, he suspected, would McCoy have left him alone without some way of keeping an eye on him. But he did not want to be surprised in the midst of his mild disobedience. He wanted to maintain some control over the interaction. As he regained his sense of self, he was increasingly convinced that the way to go about this was to defer, for now, to McCoy's power--but to challenge it in ways that only increased McCoy's interest, respect, or trust. It was a delicate balance, but Kirk wasn't all smash-and-grab. And his smashing days, he was afraid, would be a long time returning.
Nevertheless, there was something faintly satisfied about him by the time McCoy returned. He'd eaten again--ice cream and nachos, though not at the same time--but there was something other than a full stomach contributing to his glow. A new confidence, a spark, a restrained energy that had been mostly absent before. Some part of him had been reconstituted, noticeable even as he scrolled through a screen on McCoy's terminal.