Fic: The More We Change [R]
John adjusted the collar of his newly donned blue Cadet’s testing tunic. The rough fabric of the uniform didn’t sit quite right - even though he had been fitted for it when he first been accepted into Starfleet Medical. It didn’t have the same worn-in comfort of his regular red’s and it was grating at his nerves slightly. With nothing else to do while waiting for his name to be called it was the only option left for him. To sit and be mildly uncomfortable.
“McCoy.”
At last, his name had been called. The doctor stood in one fluid motion; previous dressing issues easily forgotten. “Here.” He walked the few paces from his seat to the door of the testing room.
The dimmed lighting of what should have been Gamma shift was welcoming McCoy noted as he strolled into the chamber. The simulated sickbay had been designed flawlessly down to the last detail. One nurse walked purposefully from one biobed to the next, while another was taking the down time of the off-hours shift to take an inventory count.
He would not be put into a false sense of security however; this was a test after all. Oddly, he felt a little on edge as soon as the door slid to a close behind him. Even in this pristine environment, this ‘perfect’ sickbay, something was a little off center. Not that the doctor could place his finger on it just yet.
Until a call came in all he could do was maintain the area as any physician should. McCoy went over to the main station, scrolling through various PADDS sitting neatly stacked on the counter. The doctor’s virtual colleague who had been on the shift before him had left them there to be discovered. They were only routine follow-ups and McCoy, for the most part, agreed with the initial assessments. In so long as the bay stayed quiet he would check on his patients in time.
Suddenly, the realization of the program’s minor error came through to him. McCoy couldn’t understand it. He had done hundreds of simulations before in med school and even a handful in Starfleet. Why was it wrong now?
Everything was perfect except that…everyone felt wrong. They acted exactly as they should; listened to his orders but in all reality it was how they were programmed to react to him. If McCoy really wanted to, he could scan each and every one of them He knew when he did he would more than likely receive accurate statistics on each.
“Doctor,” a PADD was held in front of him by the nurse who had been walking the beds minutes ago. He took it, scanned it, then signed his approval before handing it back.
It wouldn’t change the fact that even while the tricorder said there was a healthy heart beat; he couldn’t hear it. The ‘lungs’ helped to produce sound, but the sweeps of breath he should have heard from the woman standing next to him were nowhere to be heard.
Unbeknownst to the Command staff watching McCoy, he was starting to loath the artificial ‘life’ around him. Nearly a week had passed since John had made a truce with himself. Up until this point the rest of his written and oral exams had gone off without a hitch. Despite that, right now the simulation going on around him was a little too much too soon.
When McCoy attempted to regain focus on the task at hand he found himself becoming more detached from those he was tasked to treat. He spared a passing glance at the instructors standing behind a clear barrier above him. Certainly they were real, weren’t they?
John growled inwardly at himself. The doctor would be given a body to fix shortly…he only needed to wait it out. PADDs situated, patients to observe. Steeling himself to speak with them, be began to walk the beds.
Emotion, roughly defined, was a spontaneous reaction to a stimulus.
The facsimile that sat before him winced when he rotated the stiff, previously broken, arm. Not much more they could do for her, really. A temporary work restriction was signed and she was free to go. The man in the bed next to hers was resting blissfully in sedation. If there was any residual pain from his recent pneumothorax it wasn’t evident through either his breathing or facial expressions. Scans indicated the minor surgery went well, all residual fluid had been drained; full function restored. With any luck, he would wake in the next day or so and stay for observation an extra day.
Before he had a chance to look over his next patient, a one-in-a-million-chance situation was being carried into his section by two very worried-looking red-shirted techs. A nurse who had been near the door had already started a tricorder scan.
“What happened?” McCoy barked, rushing over to view the readings himself.
“Transporter malfunction. She was beamed up then collapsed and started to spasm.” One reported, his words rushed slightly. He too was in pain. The doctor looked down at the readout. Neurological trauma. A second nurse had stopped what she was doing and had come to relieve the transporter techs of their burden. McCoy then turned his attention to the man who had spoken to him. Now that both hands were exposed, he noted that one had been covered in a blood spotted towel. As he removed the makeshift bandage he could clearly see the imprints of human teeth left there through the flowing blood.
“Get her prepped then clean and treat this man’s wounds.” The human mouth was a very bacteria-infested part of the body. “Be sure he gets an antibiotic. I’ll be in momentarily for surgery.”
It was a fairly obvious choice, that transporter accident victim. His Commander wanted to see if the Doctor could be shaken; McCoy had a reputation for not liking any mode of transportation that involved his feet leaving the ground…or being carried half way across the world in a blink of an eye. It was somewhat understandable. John would have gladly taken the kicked-in-the-balls sensation and unlikely loss of limb that came from traveling the Ark over any of the (even less likely) possible side effects that came with transporter travel.
He surely wasn’t afraid of death…hell; he had deluded himself at one point of his extended life that he was Death. McCoy scrubbed his arms with increasing vigor; removing any microscopic traces of grime from under his fingernails moments before a med tech fitted him with his surgical gown and gloves. A clear facemask fitted over his head to avoid blood splatter. He was ready.
His patient on the other hand was only now finishing up. The anesthesiologist finalized the sedation level of the woman in question as curly chocolate strands were being shorn from her scalp. All that was left was to open her up and get a real look at the damage that had been done. If nothing else, at least her involuntary systems hadn’t been shut down or otherwise rewired. He started the delicate process of pulling back the skin before removing a portion of the brain’s protective outer shell.
There was irony in John’s chosen profession. The sharp instrument in his hand could be used to injure as well as it has been fashioned to heal. Either way, he was still cutting into someone. His actions would determine whether or not the woman under his knife (scalpel) would live to see another day. Then again, whether or not she lived (or died) here meant nothing to the next surgeon ready to make a name for himself in Starfleet. This nameless simulant would come into this room again with one of several treatable ailments.
She wasn’t real. None of them were.
McCoy worked in stone-faced determination, reconnecting the loose wires of a mind as his own toiled away in debate.
What was the average Human life span these days? About one-hundred twenty…or somewhere close to that. Yeah, that sounded about right. Appearances could be deceiving but she looked around forty, give or take. Merely a quarter into her possible lifespan…and here she was. Was this as far as she had meant to go?
If she were to pull through after the surgery, would she have a normal un-life? Would she require the help of a family member to do every day tasks? If she were real, would she become depressed about the lack of mobility he very well may leave her with?
In the years preceding the War this woman would have been a vegetable on life support until her family gave the okay to pull the plug. To think that he had made it far…That she could wake up with some semblance of a life. It was a gift he could give her.
He took a moment to relax his jaw, having realized not only was he scowling heavily but also that the bone should have fractured slightly with all the pressure he has set on it.
What wonders lay in store in the next two-hundred years?
Nearly complete. All that was required now was to attach the skull crown, rejuv the pieces, and mend the broken scalp.
This ‘woman’ would pull through. John smiled inwardly. He was sure of it. Having over two-hundred years of experience had to count for something after all. McCoy gave a few orders for his techs to set his patient up for observation in the sick bay. Stepping out of the surgical suite he threw his dirtied garments into the recycler just before the scenery changed.
Without warning the room around him disappeared to be replaced by the familiar grid of an inactive holodeck. What? What? John took his first glance at the control room on the wall above. A few were gawking at him while others were reviewing the information gathered before relaying it throughout the room. Or so he assumed. They didn’t have a chance to speak with him until after he had practically stormed out of the chamber.
John pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood outside the doorway. The sounds of life renewed had all flooded in; making it difficult to concentrate at first. He flipped through his mental library as he sorted through the entire encounter. Leonard McCoy had done everything by the book. Okay, so he stretched theory gleaned from the more recent journals. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t have been proven in time. More than likely, he had proven it.
Rubbing his face, he groaned. He knew now where the problem lay. The familiar footfalls of his Commander approached. Straightening himself a little more, he silently dared the other man to say anything at all.
“Doctor McCoy,” the man addressed him in a short tone. “What was that in there?”
It would more than likely be best to go on the offensive. “The patient, would she have lived?”
“Yes. That’s the thing of it, you-“
“Good. You’ll have a report on your desk the first thing tomorrow morning of my procedure with citing.” He signed, glancing to the chrono. “If you’ll excuse me. That was fairly taxing and I have another exam to prepare for.” Yes, McCoy was interrupting his superior officer. Damn it all though, he didn’t want to deal with this at the moment.
Taken aback, the man nodded at him. “You’re excused.” The doctor-cadet turned away the moment he was given leave. “But…why aren’t you teaching this for the Academy?”
Because, John thought as he stalked away in silence, that had never been part of the plan.
Originally Leonard McCoy had signed up with very few aspirations of greatness; Starfleet had simply been a way to get into outer space. And competent doctors were hardly (if ever) turned down. Nothing more. So when in the hell had he decided to stick his neck out to confirm medical theory? That was certainly not part of the plan. A quick change into his normal uniform and he was back out on the campus.
John scowled in the direction of anyone who would dare look at him. The weather was doing nothing for his mood either. Shouldn’t it be raining or some such? The morning haze had moved off from the bay, replaced by the glorious sunshine that was normally absent this time of year. He grumbled at nearly anything that happened to irritate him even faintly; allowing himself to become lost in the sea of red that coursed around him. Most kept their distance, even the regular Academy students knew not to approach the doctor when his glower was set this high.
“I swear I can almost see the cloud that’s following you about,” came a teasing voice just before the ever-familiar clap on the shoulder. Between conflicting testing schedules, odd hours at the infirmary, and Jim’s occasional love for late-night parties, he hadn’t had much time to converse with his roommate. It didn’t stop John’s looks of pure annoyance.
“Bad day today, huh?”
John softened a little with the concern. He wasn’t entirely sure why either. It was blatantly obvious that the younger man had been avoiding him since the other night. That didn’t stop him from coming back to the dorms late, rinsing off the smell of whatever he had been doing, then crawling into bed with John like there wasn’t a giant fucking elephant in the room…sleeping in the other bed no less.
Problem with everything being, John was allowing it to happen. Okay, so it wasn’t so much a ‘problem’ pre se. He knew Jim had an insecurity streak about the size of the planet they were currently standing on. In the classic fight or flight response, Jim had chosen ‘flight’ after the minor revelation of the other evening. And still, every evening the younger man would come back to his pillar to lean against. Just as John could feel himself being moored every evening on the man’s return.
John sighed, heavy from the weight of it all.
“Yeah, think I fucked up pretty good.”
Jim made a weak attempt to stifle a laugh; the thin smile didn’t quite make it to his eyes, “Me too. Tell you what, how about we talk about how much our lives suck over lunch?”
Oh, the entendres that could be associated with their double-speak.
“I can’t. I’ve got a report to write up before my next oral in forty-five.”
“You? Put off an essay ‘til the last minute?” Jim raised an eyebrow, “Don’t believe it.” The older man was willingly being strong-armed in the direction of the dining hall. His stomach gurgled in anticipation of a meal. Never should have gone on a regular eating schedule.
--
His apple had a strange sort of metallic tang, and the entire constancy of his chicken rice soup was completely off…but otherwise everything else was edible for twenty-third century standards. If nothing else hunger was sated for the next few hours. As not to prolong the experience he ate first; letting Jim babble on about everything except what they needed to talk about.
“I read too much,” John said simply.
“You’re right, I don’t know a day when your PADD isn’t in your hands,” Jim chuckled, “But I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.”
“Without thinking about it I merged J’mar’s hypothesis with that of Unbego’s in two different journals I had read recently. Those two aren’t on speaking terms any more because of their approaches…and now Starfleet wants to know how a high-average scoring cadet managed to prove advanced medical theory.” John added extra punctuation to that the last few words. “The worst part is that anyone with half a brain probably could have figured it out. Except that everyone around here wants to be lead blindly, no one wants to take initiative or think outside of the box.”
“Someone’s been a bad influence on you,” Jim’s smirk had practically stretched to either side of his face by the time John had finished his minor rant. “That’s all right though, when I’m the Captain I don’t want any mediocre crewmembers aboard my ship.”
John raised a brow. He knew the mask well. That egotistical, narcissistic, bold-as-anything side of Jim Kirk that normally reared its head out in public places. He could see through it as easily as the blonde could see through John’s own. It was thoroughly trying him, this whole show of things. Up until this point, they were in what could have been considered an ‘open’ relationship. Jim had taken more than several opportunities to let his hedonistic side out. John didn’t want to tie the young man down, especially since he had been the only one doing the taking thus far.
Right now he was frustrated in so many ways that he could have taken Jim this second, consequences be damned. Let everyone else in this dining area know that Jim was his, and there was no use in denying the fact any longer.
Urges that bordered on primal burbled up from deep within. A low growl was emitted as he practically stared hungrily at the blonde.
“I failed the Kobayashi Maru today.”
The world came rushing back into focus. John groaned; wishing so very much to hide the shame of how he had managed to cross one hell of a bridge in the span of a simple conversation between friends. Hopefully Jim knew how to read the older man like an open book, he hated to think he had been broadcasting desire to a heavily populated room of his fellow classmates. Neither John Grimm nor Leonard McCoy would dare slouch in their seat…but he did feel a few inches shorter as he sat.
Jim had probably reserved that bombshell for emergency circumstances. Most likely if John had attempted to broach the subject of their relationship status.
“I thought I had it all planned out Bones. I mean the situation varies slightly year to year…but that doesn’t change the overall outcome too much.” He sighed dejectedly, “I had to order an evacuation of our crew so in the end the Klingons not only had control of the Kobayashi Maru but my crew as well.”
He hummed thoughtfully, he vaguely remembered something about how ‘failing’ grades on the test in question had never reflected poorly on the students grade in general. Only how the cadet reacted to the circumstances presented. Knowing Jim, the man had probably analyzed and counter-analyzed the situation as it occurred as well as (if not better than) any other student who had sat in the Captain’s chair.
No one could win every fight, the expectation for loss should always be present…
Not that they shouldn’t claw and scratch for every life…
“Bones?”
The kid’s eyes again alight with concern for his friend.
John rubbed his face, sighing. “Sorry.”
He knew far too well that he internalized far too much; it was an old habit from all the times he had spent roaming alone. His mind easily snapping from one concept to the next until the original thought that had spawned the decent became a distant memory. Honestly, the two men differed greatly in opinion on certain subjects. Jim absolutely hated the very concept of the no-win scenario. John had seen it far too many times on the faces of civilians struggling to live with famine and disease so many years ago.
Originally it has seared him like a righteous inner fire until he became sick of it all.
Checking up on the chrono revealed that his next exam would start shortly. Dammit. “I gotta run Jim, else I’ll be late.”
Chalk this up with everything else they didn’t talk about.
--
A/N: Sorry if the whole medical jargon-y bit seemed a little out of whack. I try to sound smart but I know little about medical science circa 2200.
Part Fourteen: Playing With Fire | Part Sixteen: TBA
“McCoy.”
At last, his name had been called. The doctor stood in one fluid motion; previous dressing issues easily forgotten. “Here.” He walked the few paces from his seat to the door of the testing room.
The dimmed lighting of what should have been Gamma shift was welcoming McCoy noted as he strolled into the chamber. The simulated sickbay had been designed flawlessly down to the last detail. One nurse walked purposefully from one biobed to the next, while another was taking the down time of the off-hours shift to take an inventory count.
He would not be put into a false sense of security however; this was a test after all. Oddly, he felt a little on edge as soon as the door slid to a close behind him. Even in this pristine environment, this ‘perfect’ sickbay, something was a little off center. Not that the doctor could place his finger on it just yet.
Until a call came in all he could do was maintain the area as any physician should. McCoy went over to the main station, scrolling through various PADDS sitting neatly stacked on the counter. The doctor’s virtual colleague who had been on the shift before him had left them there to be discovered. They were only routine follow-ups and McCoy, for the most part, agreed with the initial assessments. In so long as the bay stayed quiet he would check on his patients in time.
Suddenly, the realization of the program’s minor error came through to him. McCoy couldn’t understand it. He had done hundreds of simulations before in med school and even a handful in Starfleet. Why was it wrong now?
Everything was perfect except that…everyone felt wrong. They acted exactly as they should; listened to his orders but in all reality it was how they were programmed to react to him. If McCoy really wanted to, he could scan each and every one of them He knew when he did he would more than likely receive accurate statistics on each.
“Doctor,” a PADD was held in front of him by the nurse who had been walking the beds minutes ago. He took it, scanned it, then signed his approval before handing it back.
It wouldn’t change the fact that even while the tricorder said there was a healthy heart beat; he couldn’t hear it. The ‘lungs’ helped to produce sound, but the sweeps of breath he should have heard from the woman standing next to him were nowhere to be heard.
Unbeknownst to the Command staff watching McCoy, he was starting to loath the artificial ‘life’ around him. Nearly a week had passed since John had made a truce with himself. Up until this point the rest of his written and oral exams had gone off without a hitch. Despite that, right now the simulation going on around him was a little too much too soon.
When McCoy attempted to regain focus on the task at hand he found himself becoming more detached from those he was tasked to treat. He spared a passing glance at the instructors standing behind a clear barrier above him. Certainly they were real, weren’t they?
John growled inwardly at himself. The doctor would be given a body to fix shortly…he only needed to wait it out. PADDs situated, patients to observe. Steeling himself to speak with them, be began to walk the beds.
Emotion, roughly defined, was a spontaneous reaction to a stimulus.
The facsimile that sat before him winced when he rotated the stiff, previously broken, arm. Not much more they could do for her, really. A temporary work restriction was signed and she was free to go. The man in the bed next to hers was resting blissfully in sedation. If there was any residual pain from his recent pneumothorax it wasn’t evident through either his breathing or facial expressions. Scans indicated the minor surgery went well, all residual fluid had been drained; full function restored. With any luck, he would wake in the next day or so and stay for observation an extra day.
Before he had a chance to look over his next patient, a one-in-a-million-chance situation was being carried into his section by two very worried-looking red-shirted techs. A nurse who had been near the door had already started a tricorder scan.
“What happened?” McCoy barked, rushing over to view the readings himself.
“Transporter malfunction. She was beamed up then collapsed and started to spasm.” One reported, his words rushed slightly. He too was in pain. The doctor looked down at the readout. Neurological trauma. A second nurse had stopped what she was doing and had come to relieve the transporter techs of their burden. McCoy then turned his attention to the man who had spoken to him. Now that both hands were exposed, he noted that one had been covered in a blood spotted towel. As he removed the makeshift bandage he could clearly see the imprints of human teeth left there through the flowing blood.
“Get her prepped then clean and treat this man’s wounds.” The human mouth was a very bacteria-infested part of the body. “Be sure he gets an antibiotic. I’ll be in momentarily for surgery.”
It was a fairly obvious choice, that transporter accident victim. His Commander wanted to see if the Doctor could be shaken; McCoy had a reputation for not liking any mode of transportation that involved his feet leaving the ground…or being carried half way across the world in a blink of an eye. It was somewhat understandable. John would have gladly taken the kicked-in-the-balls sensation and unlikely loss of limb that came from traveling the Ark over any of the (even less likely) possible side effects that came with transporter travel.
He surely wasn’t afraid of death…hell; he had deluded himself at one point of his extended life that he was Death. McCoy scrubbed his arms with increasing vigor; removing any microscopic traces of grime from under his fingernails moments before a med tech fitted him with his surgical gown and gloves. A clear facemask fitted over his head to avoid blood splatter. He was ready.
His patient on the other hand was only now finishing up. The anesthesiologist finalized the sedation level of the woman in question as curly chocolate strands were being shorn from her scalp. All that was left was to open her up and get a real look at the damage that had been done. If nothing else, at least her involuntary systems hadn’t been shut down or otherwise rewired. He started the delicate process of pulling back the skin before removing a portion of the brain’s protective outer shell.
There was irony in John’s chosen profession. The sharp instrument in his hand could be used to injure as well as it has been fashioned to heal. Either way, he was still cutting into someone. His actions would determine whether or not the woman under his knife (scalpel) would live to see another day. Then again, whether or not she lived (or died) here meant nothing to the next surgeon ready to make a name for himself in Starfleet. This nameless simulant would come into this room again with one of several treatable ailments.
She wasn’t real. None of them were.
McCoy worked in stone-faced determination, reconnecting the loose wires of a mind as his own toiled away in debate.
What was the average Human life span these days? About one-hundred twenty…or somewhere close to that. Yeah, that sounded about right. Appearances could be deceiving but she looked around forty, give or take. Merely a quarter into her possible lifespan…and here she was. Was this as far as she had meant to go?
If she were to pull through after the surgery, would she have a normal un-life? Would she require the help of a family member to do every day tasks? If she were real, would she become depressed about the lack of mobility he very well may leave her with?
In the years preceding the War this woman would have been a vegetable on life support until her family gave the okay to pull the plug. To think that he had made it far…That she could wake up with some semblance of a life. It was a gift he could give her.
He took a moment to relax his jaw, having realized not only was he scowling heavily but also that the bone should have fractured slightly with all the pressure he has set on it.
What wonders lay in store in the next two-hundred years?
Nearly complete. All that was required now was to attach the skull crown, rejuv the pieces, and mend the broken scalp.
This ‘woman’ would pull through. John smiled inwardly. He was sure of it. Having over two-hundred years of experience had to count for something after all. McCoy gave a few orders for his techs to set his patient up for observation in the sick bay. Stepping out of the surgical suite he threw his dirtied garments into the recycler just before the scenery changed.
Without warning the room around him disappeared to be replaced by the familiar grid of an inactive holodeck. What? What? John took his first glance at the control room on the wall above. A few were gawking at him while others were reviewing the information gathered before relaying it throughout the room. Or so he assumed. They didn’t have a chance to speak with him until after he had practically stormed out of the chamber.
John pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood outside the doorway. The sounds of life renewed had all flooded in; making it difficult to concentrate at first. He flipped through his mental library as he sorted through the entire encounter. Leonard McCoy had done everything by the book. Okay, so he stretched theory gleaned from the more recent journals. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t have been proven in time. More than likely, he had proven it.
Rubbing his face, he groaned. He knew now where the problem lay. The familiar footfalls of his Commander approached. Straightening himself a little more, he silently dared the other man to say anything at all.
“Doctor McCoy,” the man addressed him in a short tone. “What was that in there?”
It would more than likely be best to go on the offensive. “The patient, would she have lived?”
“Yes. That’s the thing of it, you-“
“Good. You’ll have a report on your desk the first thing tomorrow morning of my procedure with citing.” He signed, glancing to the chrono. “If you’ll excuse me. That was fairly taxing and I have another exam to prepare for.” Yes, McCoy was interrupting his superior officer. Damn it all though, he didn’t want to deal with this at the moment.
Taken aback, the man nodded at him. “You’re excused.” The doctor-cadet turned away the moment he was given leave. “But…why aren’t you teaching this for the Academy?”
Because, John thought as he stalked away in silence, that had never been part of the plan.
Originally Leonard McCoy had signed up with very few aspirations of greatness; Starfleet had simply been a way to get into outer space. And competent doctors were hardly (if ever) turned down. Nothing more. So when in the hell had he decided to stick his neck out to confirm medical theory? That was certainly not part of the plan. A quick change into his normal uniform and he was back out on the campus.
John scowled in the direction of anyone who would dare look at him. The weather was doing nothing for his mood either. Shouldn’t it be raining or some such? The morning haze had moved off from the bay, replaced by the glorious sunshine that was normally absent this time of year. He grumbled at nearly anything that happened to irritate him even faintly; allowing himself to become lost in the sea of red that coursed around him. Most kept their distance, even the regular Academy students knew not to approach the doctor when his glower was set this high.
“I swear I can almost see the cloud that’s following you about,” came a teasing voice just before the ever-familiar clap on the shoulder. Between conflicting testing schedules, odd hours at the infirmary, and Jim’s occasional love for late-night parties, he hadn’t had much time to converse with his roommate. It didn’t stop John’s looks of pure annoyance.
“Bad day today, huh?”
John softened a little with the concern. He wasn’t entirely sure why either. It was blatantly obvious that the younger man had been avoiding him since the other night. That didn’t stop him from coming back to the dorms late, rinsing off the smell of whatever he had been doing, then crawling into bed with John like there wasn’t a giant fucking elephant in the room…sleeping in the other bed no less.
Problem with everything being, John was allowing it to happen. Okay, so it wasn’t so much a ‘problem’ pre se. He knew Jim had an insecurity streak about the size of the planet they were currently standing on. In the classic fight or flight response, Jim had chosen ‘flight’ after the minor revelation of the other evening. And still, every evening the younger man would come back to his pillar to lean against. Just as John could feel himself being moored every evening on the man’s return.
John sighed, heavy from the weight of it all.
“Yeah, think I fucked up pretty good.”
Jim made a weak attempt to stifle a laugh; the thin smile didn’t quite make it to his eyes, “Me too. Tell you what, how about we talk about how much our lives suck over lunch?”
Oh, the entendres that could be associated with their double-speak.
“I can’t. I’ve got a report to write up before my next oral in forty-five.”
“You? Put off an essay ‘til the last minute?” Jim raised an eyebrow, “Don’t believe it.” The older man was willingly being strong-armed in the direction of the dining hall. His stomach gurgled in anticipation of a meal. Never should have gone on a regular eating schedule.
--
His apple had a strange sort of metallic tang, and the entire constancy of his chicken rice soup was completely off…but otherwise everything else was edible for twenty-third century standards. If nothing else hunger was sated for the next few hours. As not to prolong the experience he ate first; letting Jim babble on about everything except what they needed to talk about.
“I read too much,” John said simply.
“You’re right, I don’t know a day when your PADD isn’t in your hands,” Jim chuckled, “But I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.”
“Without thinking about it I merged J’mar’s hypothesis with that of Unbego’s in two different journals I had read recently. Those two aren’t on speaking terms any more because of their approaches…and now Starfleet wants to know how a high-average scoring cadet managed to prove advanced medical theory.” John added extra punctuation to that the last few words. “The worst part is that anyone with half a brain probably could have figured it out. Except that everyone around here wants to be lead blindly, no one wants to take initiative or think outside of the box.”
“Someone’s been a bad influence on you,” Jim’s smirk had practically stretched to either side of his face by the time John had finished his minor rant. “That’s all right though, when I’m the Captain I don’t want any mediocre crewmembers aboard my ship.”
John raised a brow. He knew the mask well. That egotistical, narcissistic, bold-as-anything side of Jim Kirk that normally reared its head out in public places. He could see through it as easily as the blonde could see through John’s own. It was thoroughly trying him, this whole show of things. Up until this point, they were in what could have been considered an ‘open’ relationship. Jim had taken more than several opportunities to let his hedonistic side out. John didn’t want to tie the young man down, especially since he had been the only one doing the taking thus far.
Right now he was frustrated in so many ways that he could have taken Jim this second, consequences be damned. Let everyone else in this dining area know that Jim was his, and there was no use in denying the fact any longer.
Urges that bordered on primal burbled up from deep within. A low growl was emitted as he practically stared hungrily at the blonde.
“I failed the Kobayashi Maru today.”
The world came rushing back into focus. John groaned; wishing so very much to hide the shame of how he had managed to cross one hell of a bridge in the span of a simple conversation between friends. Hopefully Jim knew how to read the older man like an open book, he hated to think he had been broadcasting desire to a heavily populated room of his fellow classmates. Neither John Grimm nor Leonard McCoy would dare slouch in their seat…but he did feel a few inches shorter as he sat.
Jim had probably reserved that bombshell for emergency circumstances. Most likely if John had attempted to broach the subject of their relationship status.
“I thought I had it all planned out Bones. I mean the situation varies slightly year to year…but that doesn’t change the overall outcome too much.” He sighed dejectedly, “I had to order an evacuation of our crew so in the end the Klingons not only had control of the Kobayashi Maru but my crew as well.”
He hummed thoughtfully, he vaguely remembered something about how ‘failing’ grades on the test in question had never reflected poorly on the students grade in general. Only how the cadet reacted to the circumstances presented. Knowing Jim, the man had probably analyzed and counter-analyzed the situation as it occurred as well as (if not better than) any other student who had sat in the Captain’s chair.
No one could win every fight, the expectation for loss should always be present…
Not that they shouldn’t claw and scratch for every life…
“Bones?”
The kid’s eyes again alight with concern for his friend.
John rubbed his face, sighing. “Sorry.”
He knew far too well that he internalized far too much; it was an old habit from all the times he had spent roaming alone. His mind easily snapping from one concept to the next until the original thought that had spawned the decent became a distant memory. Honestly, the two men differed greatly in opinion on certain subjects. Jim absolutely hated the very concept of the no-win scenario. John had seen it far too many times on the faces of civilians struggling to live with famine and disease so many years ago.
Originally it has seared him like a righteous inner fire until he became sick of it all.
Checking up on the chrono revealed that his next exam would start shortly. Dammit. “I gotta run Jim, else I’ll be late.”
Chalk this up with everything else they didn’t talk about.
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A/N: Sorry if the whole medical jargon-y bit seemed a little out of whack. I try to sound smart but I know little about medical science circa 2200.
Part Fourteen: Playing With Fire | Part Sixteen: TBA