(no subject)
Title:When we were young (5/7)
Author: K_E_Wilson
Rating: PG (see warnings)
Word Count: ~2000 (still really constant, here.)
Disclaimer: Alas, I can't even claim to own the idea for this one- Characters from the great mind of Mr. Roddenberry, copyright to the big-shots, and idea off a prompt.
Warnings: drinking, some cursing, and the boys being uncomfortable together.
Summary: He doesn't feel normal, and that's pretty okay-- maybe.
A/N: Pretty much no warnings for this- the story segments become longer after this. Dedicated to my lovely shingo_the_pest for being the best online-buddy ever and pimping me out for a simple beta-job, and then turning me co-author. Made my world.
CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, Chapter 4
They weren't roomed together, which was only a slightly unexpected development. As the last two recruits, there had been a chance of it; but the Med and Command Tracks were so different it would be laughable if they were together.
The first few weeks, though, they don't really gravitate away from one another like Jim thought they would. McCoy seems like a skittish, angry man, but despite the anger and cursing and general air of disrepair in the soul around him, Jim couldn't help being drawn to him. He saw why- Jamie saw it as someone else to rough and tumble, Sam thought McCoy was a puzzle, and Jimmy saw someone who wasn't looking at what was wrong with them.
So they go out; the only first year cadets who can legally buy booze, and they're outnumbered. They leave campus the second night on, searching out the lowest dive they can find and Jim thanks whatever-the-fuck is making Jamie and the others docile enough not to attempt to struggle out in McCoy's presence. He doesn't drink as much as he normally would on that night, staying aware of the others as McCoy steadily helps him work through a few beers.
They're in only one class together- a hand-to-hand combat course, required for all first-years. It's every Tuesday and Thursday, just after lunch; and they soon find themselves eating lunch together more times then they do apart.
He gets cocky, thinks he can handle the others, and soon he's back up to his normal drinking around McCoy. He goes two months without waking up anywhere but his own bunk.
But Jim's bunking with two other guys, almost all of whom snore and act like they don't know what a shower looks like, so it's little surprise that the first time he comes back from what, judging by the sore throbbing in his stomach, was undoubtedly one of Jamie's more violent parties, he found himself sprawled out somewhere that's not the command dorm near the edge of campus. That is not to say, however, he is not shocked to near panic when he looks up and finds the scruffy man from the shuttle- Leonard McCoy- propped up against the wall on the bed, head nodding at an odd angle and a deep frown marring his brow, even in sleep. It wasn't so much off that he'd ended up here, but the fact that there was a distinctive thrumming in his veins that he connected with sedatives and the cotton-covered texture to his throat that told him the sedative was one he was allergic to- an assessment that was verified with a glance at his angry, red hands.. Slowly, he connected the dots and as he took in the somewhat defensive positioning of the other man, he silently cursed Jamie to the depths of hell- a reaction that merely earned him a dark laugh from the corners of his mind.
He tried- truly tried- to sit up and leave quietly, but when his damaged hands came into contact with the crappy poly-fiber of the 'fleet issue rug, they screamed with pain and he had to hold in a cry with a gasp. He'd thought he'd been quiet about it, but Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy shot up from the bed, and god only knew where the hypospray in his hand came from, but judging by the fully alert shine to his eyes, he could have grabbed it in a flash from across the room and Jim wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
Not that Jim really cared to tell the difference, just then, as he was rolling onto his ass with a hard thump and trying to lift his hands as quickly away from the unforgiving ground as humanly possible. The action drew the good doctor's gaze and if Jim had been in any condition to look and see, he'd have noticed the shift to the fully defensive an instant before McCoy realized that Jim was on his ass on the floor and his hands were bright fucking red with welts.
"Jesus Christ, Kid!" THAT drew Kirk's attention, and as he looked up at the other man, he smiled sardonically.
"Don't worry, Bones- not the worst reaction I've ever had, but if you've got any chlorpheniramine I'd be pretty fucking happy with you." Jim's easy pronunciation of the only goddamn antihistamine he isn't allergic to gets no respect from the doctor, who's crouching beside him and has suddenly got his hands at Jim's throat, feeling his lymph nodes and spewing out questions.
"Do you feel dizzy? Are there welts anywhere else? Does it itch? Can you see? Got a funny taste in your--" McCoy stopped mid-spew of questions, eyebrow climbing to impressive heights in his hairline as his lips pursed into a frown. "How the fuck do you know what chlorpheniramine is-- or how to pronounce it for that matter? You got any idea how hard that shit is on your kidneys?"
Jim sighed, trying to decide how to answer the questions that were still hopping about in his head, causing havoc to his equilibrium. "Bones- shut the hell up unless you've got the hypospray. I'm nauseated- not dizzy, there's gonna be welts on my shoulders and probably feet, because it feels like those are on fire as much as my hands are which means that no there's no itching, yes I can see- you should really be careful with how high you raise that eyebrow of yours, one day it'll get lost in your hair and never come back- I don't have a funny taste in my mouth but my throat feels like cotton- which means you fucking sedated me, something I WILL be having words with you about when I can see straight- and chlorpheniramine might be hard on my kidneys, but at least it's not going to swell my throat shut like any of the other antihistamines you've got will." Jim drew in a deep breath, catching up to himself as McCoy's eyes bulged before he continued, frowning at the deeply disturbing feeling of his throat protesting to air, "Now. Gimme the chlorpheniramine."
There was a pause as they eyed one another, and Jim couldn't help but feel a bit exposed, not knowing how or why he'd ended up like this but knowing that Jamie had been involved, which in no way made him feel any more in the light or secure. Bones suddenly rose away from him, crossing the small room to his desk and rooting about, back turned to Jim as he did something- Jim hoped it was getting the damn antihistamine, because if not he'd rather be finding his way to the medical area for--
The hiss and plunge of the hypospray in his neck shocked him and bit so hard that he couldn't help but snap a "OUCH!" out at the other man, who was suddenly before him, a now-empty hypo in his hand and the god-forsaken eyebrow climbing his face again. Rubbing his neck (an action that immediately had him withdrawing his sore and damaged hand), Jim Kirk did not pout up at his friend- he was glaring, he was sure. At least- he would be sure, when he could feel fine motor functions once again.
"Stop being such an infant, Kirk."
The doctor's terse tone and the use of his last name in place of the more common tag "Kid" made Jim silent for a moment, eying the doctor somewhat apprehensively. McCoy, for his part, muttered and grouched like any other day, but there was something in the way he kept throwing glances at Jim that set the younger man on alert.
Jim remained silent for an instant, eying the way Bones would turn away from him, but not show his back full-on; always defensive.
Yeah, shit had to hit the fan just as he's trying to get it together, right? The soothing little voice in the back of his mind that was Jimmy wasn't really helping this time, though. Sam's presence was attempting to push forward, and Jim was half tempted to let him- let Sam deal with all the fine-pointers bullshit of apologies, human interaction and figuring out what happened. But, he knew, he'd be fucked over if he stopped trying.
Slowly, he rubbed his not-quite-sore fingers together, not meeting McCoy's eyes as he held Sam back and opened his mouth. "So-- What happened again?"
He'd tried for the casual, cocky I-was-too-drunk-to-remember voice but even he couldn't delude himself into not catching the hitch in his voice. Bones sat ramrod straight on the bed, hypo still in hand and eyes pinning into Jim, as though too paranoid to look away.
Judging from the way Sam was now desperately bidding for control, he had a right to be paranoid. As the silence stretched, McCoy only staring at him, he found himself winding up, an excuse or perhaps even the truth on the tip of his tongue. He managed to fight his own mouth for another minute before he couldn't take the older man looking at him like that anymore.
"I should go, shouldn't I?" His voice echoed in his own mind, sounded strangled and tense in the air, and he felt Sam pull back slightly before slamming into Jim again and he had to draw a deep breath to keep him back. McCoy wasn't moving, wasn't even blinking, and Jim sighed, raising to his feet slowly, trying to look anywhere but McCoy, yet unable to tear his eyes away from the man as he made his way toward the door.
They said nothing, and Jim left slowly, trying to ignore the pain in his body, the dull throbbing of his hands, and the searing pain of having that mistrusting stare lain on him from the only man he'd considered a friend in far too long.
It was weeks before they saw one another again. Sam took over twice, and Jim let him; not fighting or trying to come forward when Sam wanted to leave again. He felt like a snobby child, pouting as he tried to work out what Jamie had done to McCoy with no help from Sam. Jimmy tried to console him- tried to distract him with little mind games that never really worked because anything Jimmy knew about he'd learned from Jim's own childhood.
It took more than six days for Jim to finally let go- Jamie wasn't talking, Sam was holding back, and Jamie was far too taken with the fact that this was Star Fleet Academy they were in to stop and explain. When they ate, it was absently and in passing- a few apples and toast grabbed from the mess hall, a bowl of noodles one night.
Twelve days into his semi-catatonic life without his new friend, his Comm pinged. For a moment, his heart leaped and he thought maybe I didn't fuck up that badly, but just as soon as he thought it, he pegged himself the fool he was- he was desperate to hear from a man who wasn't meant to be that big of a part of his life.
When he opened the message, though, he could only stare.
[Official Transmission]
To: Cadet Kirk, James T.
From: Cadet, McCoy, Leonard H. M.D.
11.13.2255 09:23FST
Cadet Kirk, you are to report to Medical Exam Building G tomorrow (11.14.2255) at 1600 hours for a routine physical and an allergen chart update. Your attending physician, Leonard McCoy, MD, will be performing all required physicals and tests at that time. Failure to appear will be marked with demerits.
[End Transmission]
Jim was left gaping at the screen. There was no telling from the business-only tone of the transmission if Bones was still angry with him for... whatever had happened....
Silently, he prayed that an allergen chart update was McCoy's semi-twisted way of accepting his sorry ass back.