Advances, None Miraculous - [Sickbay]

[behnd_blueyes]

First order of business was a haircut. There was a system onboard, which is to say there was a barber without scissors, so that everyone could keep trim without fear of a blade. Kirk suffered the stares of those he passed--either word had or hadn't gotten around, and it was hard to tell which state accounted for them--and the stiffness of his body

Comments

[mirrored_npc]

Chapel actually smiled when Kirk walked in. She was almost done with the first sock she was knitting for him. If she could hurry and finish the second, she would have a nice gift for him.

"Your hair looks nice."

He really was a handsome man.

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk smiled back, because it was only polite, and because hell, there was something about keeping her happy that seemed important. Even aside from her being fucking scary when she wasn't.

And Kirk knew how to smile. Plus, Chapel didn't look at him like he was a freak. Probably reasons for that he didn't want to think about, but it wasn't unappreciated after his day.

"Thanks," he said. "You look good in blue. Anyone ever tell you that? Your boss around?"

[mirrored_npc]

Her patient, some unidentifiable redshirt, was still bleeding but Chapel wandered away from the biobed and closer to Kirk.

"That's sweet of you to say. I don't think anyone else has ever said it." She stopped, another biobed between them. "He locked himself in his office about an hour ago."

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk raised his eyebrows after glancing past her to the bleeding idiot behind her. Fucker was stupid enough to get injured, he deserved it.

"Matches your eyes," he pointed out. "He leave any instruction, or anything?"

Kirk would knock, or whatever those little bot things wanted, but he figured information was cheap enough in this case.

[mirrored_npc]

The security ensign had been to Sickbay before - he knew better than to make a fuss. But his pained eyes watched their interaction.

"I don't think he's in a very good mood. You should be careful. But you'll cheer him up, I know you will."

[behnd_blueyes]

Seemed Chapel, on her good side, was a sweet little thing. Provided one didn't give a shit about the ensign, which Kirk didn't. Though he liked the vague fear coming off the man.

"Thanks, Chapel," he said. "I'll do that."

Making no moves towards her--he wasn't that lulled--he smiled again, winked at the ensign, and headed for McCoy's office. He wondered what had happened but he knew better than to think he could figure it out from the cues currently available. Nothing for it but to go in.

And he couldn't say he'd mind cheering him up, if it meant anything like getting fucked. There were some varieties of not being able to walk he took better to than others. He touched the door, thinking, from what he'd seen, the little fuckers would tell McCoy who was on the other side.

[sharpestscalpel]

He'd told Chapel not to fucking bother him so it either better be a fucking emergency or it better be a fucking emergency.

The PADD in his hand was halfway back so he could throw it at the door. But the probes twittered at him in their way and McCoy paused - Kirk. He'd planned to stop by after his haircut for a little... they'd call it a goddamn booty call when he was a resident. Figured they still would call it that, actually.

The door opened at a thought and McCoy put the PADD down on his desk. "Took you damn well long enough, didn't it?"

[behnd_blueyes]

Was fucking creepy, the way those things obeyed without a sound. Kirk sure as hell didn't want them in his head but then again... He could see the advantages.

Could see the advantages of having a metal hand, too. Didn't mean he wanted one. He leaned against the doorway, not remarking on the way the PADD had seemed likely to fly this way. Or, for that matter, on the fact it hadn't. He smiled, not even thinking this time about his own disgust at the expression's current effect.

"Pretty like this takes time," he observed. And then, figuring McCoy was likely to be irritable and impatient enough, he entered, letting the door close.

[sharpestscalpel]

He'd gone to visit Sulu. Asshole. But at least an asshole that wouldn't be bothering anyone any fucking more. But it had left him in a foul mood, with stained pants and a cut on his palm where the saw had slipped. He'd use the dermal regen unit later but for the moment....

"Get your ass over here, goddamn it."

McCoy shoved the PADDs that littered his desk out of the way so there'd be a place for Kirk to sit, in front of him.

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk didn't really like the look of that open wound, or indeed McCoy's tone. He wondered what had led to both, but he figured that while he was learning McCoy's moods and could start to tell when they were about him or not, but he didn't want to make him more angry, or turn his irritation personal.

So he went and sat, casually as he could under the circumstances, as if he could pretend he'd wanted to in the first place.

"Bad day?"

[sharpestscalpel]

"For a bunch of goddamn genuises, there's a lot of fucking morons on this shitting tin can."

McCoy didn't hate the Enterprise. But some days, like this day, he hated being trapped on it with most of the particular people who were its crew. Fuckers.

He waved his injured hand at a bag in the corner, one of the wet bags Sickbay used for contaminated articles in order to prevent leakage and cross-contamination. "We need a new fucking pilot, that's for damn well certain."

McCoy scooted his chair closer in, so he was sitting between Kirk's spread legs. He rested his forearms on Kirk's thighs - the contact was settling. Physicality was such a grounding thing.

[behnd_blueyes]

At the best of times, the same was true for Kirk, though it had been muddled through the years with the variety of experiences Kirk had had at the hands of others. It was more than muddled now by the sight, the certainty, of that bag. He dragged his eyes back to McCoy, trying not to think too hard about whatever was smeared on his clothes.

It wasn't as if he was unacquainted with a callous attitude towards death. He shared it, long as it wasn't his own. And Sulu was a fucking idiot. Had been. Whatever. Point was, McCoy was upset. It wasn't so important why, at this point.

"Didn't do too shabby on my pilot rating," he said. He wasn't sure what Sulu had died of, and it was best not to ask, but even McCoy's own sense of self-preservation was hard to trust when it came to contamination. Upshot being he wasn't sure what he could touch. There was what looked to be a patch of arm, though, that Kirk could lay his hand on.

[sharpestscalpel]

Given that Sulu's demise had been preceded by a nasty experience with some flesh-eating bacteria, McCoy ought to have been more concerned with contamination. But he was a goddamn doctor and he knew the shitting percentages. Weren't likely his clothes would be the thing to trade it off - it was the fucking wound on his hand, motherfucking slippery goddamn saw

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk was not a doctor, but he knew better than to make rash assumptions about bodily fluids. Especially where Sulu was involved. Kirk, at least, actually took care of himself. There was no good way to interpret the little he was picking up, especially considering McCoy's mood. Maybe he was really upset about losing a patient, but Kirk wasn't about to suggest that sort of weakness.

"Just got the use of my prick back," he said with an easiness he didn't quite feel. "I'm not looking to compromise that. Besides, sooner you stop bleeding, sooner we can get your clothes off."

[sharpestscalpel]

He hadn't lost a patient - he knew exactly where all the parts and pieces were. At least at the moment. Weren't his fault if some little bits got lost in the shuffle later.

Kirk's meaning had him applying the regen unit with a little more motivation, at least, though he wasn't entirely aware of it. "I reckon that's a valid fucking concern on your part. Wouldn't want my good work to get all fucking up anyway."

The regen unit hummed merrily. "What the fuck you been up to this morning anyway?"

[behnd_blueyes]

Did McCoy regularly just shove bodies in his office? He tried not to think about it, in light of everything. In light of being McCoy's own patch-up job, apparently.

"Haircut," he said. "Scaring people in the halls. And I ate again." He'd checked his logins, too, for all the good it did. Everyone was keeping their distance. "It's a fucking vacation."

His hands had moved to hold McCoy's as the other worked on it, cradling the injured hand and stroking the fingers as the regen unit whirred.