Fic: Five Times Bones Didn't Raise His Voice
florahart requested prompts. So I contributed and in doing so, I bunnied myself.
Five times Bones Didn't Raise His Voice
No real pairings, no real warnings, beta by the ever-patient beadslut who snapped a whip and reminded me that a short fic was weakened by extraneous stuff. All remaining mistakes I claim as my own.
Fandom: Star Trek
1.
Bones glanced up at the swish of the door. With the ship in dock, he had time on his hands for a change and he was clearing out low priority messages and finishing files between routine upgrades and Jim bugging the hell out of him every half hour. “Still on duty, Jim.”
“Good, because I’m here for an actual medical need.”
“Boredom will not actually damage your brain, you know.”
“Actually, I was thinking of taking a nap. No, wait, hear me out. I yawned and I’ve got this click, and it’s not really worth ---“
“Get on the bed. You know, I could just sedate you for the next twenty hours.”
“I’m still on duty, too.”
“I could prop you up in the bridge chair. No one would notice the difference.”
“The clicking?”
“Stop grinding your teeth.”
“I don’t grind my teeth.”
“You do in your sleep.”
“How would you know what I do in my sleep, doctor?”
“Do shut up. And hold still.”
“Ow.”
“Wimp. Hold that. No, higher up, just under your eye.”
“What’s that?”
“Imager - I’m checking your bone structure.”
“Why you flirt. I’ve been told I have magnificent cheekbones.”
McCoy frowned at the screen. “Jim, enough, quit talking and hold still.”
Kirk immediately grew serious. “What?”
“How many times have you been hit in the jaw?”
“In numbers?” Kirk asked, then, since Bones had his jaw in one hand and the side of his face in the other, he resorted to mime, widening his eyes and shrugging.
“Bone thickens in response to miniscule fractures.”
“Oh. Um. Quite a few?”
“I’m shaving down the widened structure. That should stop the clicking. Stop getting punched.”
Kirk didn’t laugh. He might have snorted, but it wasn’t actually a laugh.
Bones rolled his eyes. “Try to quit getting punched in the face.”
Kirk emulated Spock’s eyebrow of astonishment.
“Get the hell off my biobed, Captain.“
2.
Bones hit the door at a run, the bag slamming against his hip, his left sleeve hanging free where it had ripped on ragged edge of metal. “Chapel, decon chamber-“
“Is ready.”
“They are right behind me, I need -“
“Tray behind you.”
He glanced, saw the hypos lined up neatly and closed his eyes for a moment in relief. He tugged his uniform over his head and threw it in the general direction of the bio-haz incinerator, then thrust his hands into the cleaner. “Thank you.”
She nodded and the door swished open.
3.
Kirk leaned in the doorway of the lab. “This is the quietest I’ve seen you all day.”
“I needed to come back to test the next batch of vaccine.”
“You going to shout at me a while?”
“What?”
“You’ve yelled at everyone else. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me best anymore.”
“I most certainly did not yell at ---“.
“You declaimed at top volume the idiocy of the council for their testing regime and then attacked Sulu as a representative of the Federation for our response time and then there was the thing with Spock.”
“The hobgoblin wouldn’t get out of my way.”
“My First Officer was attempting to explain - “
“It’s not a cultural issue. This is medicine.”
“It’s always a cultural issue, Bones. You know that. We cannot disregard the religious edicts of the planets we serve.”
“They’re damn fools, Jim.”
“And that’s why Uhura and Spock are still planetside, trying to convince the council that the Federation does, in fact, respect their autonomy.”
“I’m a doctor, not a diplomat.”
“And you’ve certainly established that today.”
4.
Chekov slept, the clean patches around the synth-derm on his face a contrast to the blood stains and burned edge of the remains of his uniform. McCoy set aside the shears in frustration and used his hands to rip the rest of it open so he could slide it off Chekov entirely, grimacing at the smudge of ashy char the cloth left on the bed. He saw Chapel finish with Kirk’s ribs, but he didn’t acknowledge him. Kirk walked up beside him anyway.
“Dammit, Jim, he’s just a kid,” Bones said.
“He’s a Starfleet officer, Dr. McCoy.”
Bones put his hands on the foot of the biobed, looked down, and held his tongue.
5.
Marita straightened to attention as Spock entered. He nodded casually, his arms behind his back and she hurried toward him to whisper. With the sheer number of injuries in the bay, they had the temporary cots in the lab areas and the sound dampeners didn’t reach there. “Mr. Spock,” she murmured in acknowledgement. “Are you in need or visiting?”
Spock lowered his voice as well. “I am uninjured. I have relieved the captain and am, as he puts it, ‘making the rounds.’ ”
“The injury report is as submitted and -“ she broke off and followed his line of sight. “Oh, he fell asleep. It’s okay, Nurse Chapel says to leave him be. He gets grumpy if we try to make him leave.”
“He is an officer, with properly assigned quarters.” Spock said. “He looks…disheveled.”
“Oh, I would imagine so. I mean, that first explosion was almost forty hours ago and he made all of us take a rest period, but he’s been running on nothing but stims and stubbornness since…” she trailed off, realizing too late that she just admitted their CMO had disregarded several policies designed to protect the medical health of the crew. She knew that Scotty and his team broke engineering procedures on a regular basis, but she was pretty sure that no one brought it to the attention of the Command crew.
“Forty six point eight hours, in fact.” Spock answered. She wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t noticed the rest, but she’d duck it while she could. She followed him into Dr. McCoy’s office. McCoy was hunched over his desk, his head balanced on his forearms, drooling. She couldn’t help but smile. She’d reported when the alarms went off and he’d been standing in the middle of sick bay, his arms out for Christine to wrap a surgery smock onto him and as she’d triaged and prepped, peeling burned cloth away and cleaning wounds for regen, he thundered in the background like some god of myth, a thunder-god maybe, roaring about the Klingons and the Romulans. He filled the whole area with sound until he had a patient on the table and then he went silent, as though his own focus could make the tools he used more delicate. Maybe it did; she’d seen him repair wounds that a planet-bound hospital would have trouble with and perform techniques that were taught as experimental at the Academy when she was there last year. But now, with his cheek squashed against his desk and in his black undershirt and uniform pants, he was nothing more than a very tired man. His uniform shirt was piled in one corner and the corner of one smock poked out of the incinerator drawer. She pushed it the rest of the way in and pulled an extra gown to keep from touching his uniform with her hands as she gathered it up to carry it away. It left a smear of mixed biowaste against the wall and floor and she sighed as she carried it to the cycler by the lab. She turned back and Mr. Spock had Dr. McCoy in his arms, carrying him like a sleeping child. She knew of the disparity of Vulcan strength, but it was startling to see it in action; Spock looked so thin and McCoy was a man full grown.
She nodded and stepped out of his way.
Five times Bones Didn't Raise His Voice
No real pairings, no real warnings, beta by the ever-patient beadslut who snapped a whip and reminded me that a short fic was weakened by extraneous stuff. All remaining mistakes I claim as my own.
Fandom: Star Trek
1.
Bones glanced up at the swish of the door. With the ship in dock, he had time on his hands for a change and he was clearing out low priority messages and finishing files between routine upgrades and Jim bugging the hell out of him every half hour. “Still on duty, Jim.”
“Good, because I’m here for an actual medical need.”
“Boredom will not actually damage your brain, you know.”
“Actually, I was thinking of taking a nap. No, wait, hear me out. I yawned and I’ve got this click, and it’s not really worth ---“
“Get on the bed. You know, I could just sedate you for the next twenty hours.”
“I’m still on duty, too.”
“I could prop you up in the bridge chair. No one would notice the difference.”
“The clicking?”
“Stop grinding your teeth.”
“I don’t grind my teeth.”
“You do in your sleep.”
“How would you know what I do in my sleep, doctor?”
“Do shut up. And hold still.”
“Ow.”
“Wimp. Hold that. No, higher up, just under your eye.”
“What’s that?”
“Imager - I’m checking your bone structure.”
“Why you flirt. I’ve been told I have magnificent cheekbones.”
McCoy frowned at the screen. “Jim, enough, quit talking and hold still.”
Kirk immediately grew serious. “What?”
“How many times have you been hit in the jaw?”
“In numbers?” Kirk asked, then, since Bones had his jaw in one hand and the side of his face in the other, he resorted to mime, widening his eyes and shrugging.
“Bone thickens in response to miniscule fractures.”
“Oh. Um. Quite a few?”
“I’m shaving down the widened structure. That should stop the clicking. Stop getting punched.”
Kirk didn’t laugh. He might have snorted, but it wasn’t actually a laugh.
Bones rolled his eyes. “Try to quit getting punched in the face.”
Kirk emulated Spock’s eyebrow of astonishment.
“Get the hell off my biobed, Captain.“
2.
Bones hit the door at a run, the bag slamming against his hip, his left sleeve hanging free where it had ripped on ragged edge of metal. “Chapel, decon chamber-“
“Is ready.”
“They are right behind me, I need -“
“Tray behind you.”
He glanced, saw the hypos lined up neatly and closed his eyes for a moment in relief. He tugged his uniform over his head and threw it in the general direction of the bio-haz incinerator, then thrust his hands into the cleaner. “Thank you.”
She nodded and the door swished open.
3.
Kirk leaned in the doorway of the lab. “This is the quietest I’ve seen you all day.”
“I needed to come back to test the next batch of vaccine.”
“You going to shout at me a while?”
“What?”
“You’ve yelled at everyone else. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me best anymore.”
“I most certainly did not yell at ---“.
“You declaimed at top volume the idiocy of the council for their testing regime and then attacked Sulu as a representative of the Federation for our response time and then there was the thing with Spock.”
“The hobgoblin wouldn’t get out of my way.”
“My First Officer was attempting to explain - “
“It’s not a cultural issue. This is medicine.”
“It’s always a cultural issue, Bones. You know that. We cannot disregard the religious edicts of the planets we serve.”
“They’re damn fools, Jim.”
“And that’s why Uhura and Spock are still planetside, trying to convince the council that the Federation does, in fact, respect their autonomy.”
“I’m a doctor, not a diplomat.”
“And you’ve certainly established that today.”
4.
Chekov slept, the clean patches around the synth-derm on his face a contrast to the blood stains and burned edge of the remains of his uniform. McCoy set aside the shears in frustration and used his hands to rip the rest of it open so he could slide it off Chekov entirely, grimacing at the smudge of ashy char the cloth left on the bed. He saw Chapel finish with Kirk’s ribs, but he didn’t acknowledge him. Kirk walked up beside him anyway.
“Dammit, Jim, he’s just a kid,” Bones said.
“He’s a Starfleet officer, Dr. McCoy.”
Bones put his hands on the foot of the biobed, looked down, and held his tongue.
5.
Marita straightened to attention as Spock entered. He nodded casually, his arms behind his back and she hurried toward him to whisper. With the sheer number of injuries in the bay, they had the temporary cots in the lab areas and the sound dampeners didn’t reach there. “Mr. Spock,” she murmured in acknowledgement. “Are you in need or visiting?”
Spock lowered his voice as well. “I am uninjured. I have relieved the captain and am, as he puts it, ‘making the rounds.’ ”
“The injury report is as submitted and -“ she broke off and followed his line of sight. “Oh, he fell asleep. It’s okay, Nurse Chapel says to leave him be. He gets grumpy if we try to make him leave.”
“He is an officer, with properly assigned quarters.” Spock said. “He looks…disheveled.”
“Oh, I would imagine so. I mean, that first explosion was almost forty hours ago and he made all of us take a rest period, but he’s been running on nothing but stims and stubbornness since…” she trailed off, realizing too late that she just admitted their CMO had disregarded several policies designed to protect the medical health of the crew. She knew that Scotty and his team broke engineering procedures on a regular basis, but she was pretty sure that no one brought it to the attention of the Command crew.
“Forty six point eight hours, in fact.” Spock answered. She wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t noticed the rest, but she’d duck it while she could. She followed him into Dr. McCoy’s office. McCoy was hunched over his desk, his head balanced on his forearms, drooling. She couldn’t help but smile. She’d reported when the alarms went off and he’d been standing in the middle of sick bay, his arms out for Christine to wrap a surgery smock onto him and as she’d triaged and prepped, peeling burned cloth away and cleaning wounds for regen, he thundered in the background like some god of myth, a thunder-god maybe, roaring about the Klingons and the Romulans. He filled the whole area with sound until he had a patient on the table and then he went silent, as though his own focus could make the tools he used more delicate. Maybe it did; she’d seen him repair wounds that a planet-bound hospital would have trouble with and perform techniques that were taught as experimental at the Academy when she was there last year. But now, with his cheek squashed against his desk and in his black undershirt and uniform pants, he was nothing more than a very tired man. His uniform shirt was piled in one corner and the corner of one smock poked out of the incinerator drawer. She pushed it the rest of the way in and pulled an extra gown to keep from touching his uniform with her hands as she gathered it up to carry it away. It left a smear of mixed biowaste against the wall and floor and she sighed as she carried it to the cycler by the lab. She turned back and Mr. Spock had Dr. McCoy in his arms, carrying him like a sleeping child. She knew of the disparity of Vulcan strength, but it was startling to see it in action; Spock looked so thin and McCoy was a man full grown.
She nodded and stepped out of his way.