fic: Companion
That night isn't mentioned again, but there's a new dimension added to their relationship. John trusts Jim implicitly, and in turn Jim knows that no matter what happens, Bones will be there to pull him out of whatever shit he gets himself into. As well probably rip the arms off whoever hurts him and beat them with them. The senior command staff doesn't comment on the increased casual contact between the pair, but John doesn't miss the knowing smirk Uhura occasionally sends in their direction. They don't care, though Bones supposes they should. No matter what he is or what they are, Jim is still Captain of a starship, and Leonard is his CMO. Regulations are there for a reason. But the thoughts slip from his mind when the door to the little gym whooshes open, and Spock strides in as he always does.
Without a word, both divest themselves of the Starfleet blue shirts, and Spock folds his neatly to the side while John throws his somewhere in the vicinity of the wall. Then just as suddenly a body slams into him, and John himself is hurtling towards the same wall. He doesn’t speak, just bounces to his feet and parries another attack by the Vulcan. He ducks the other man’s foot, spinning too quickly for a human possibly could, and is turned around in time to grab Spock’s ankle. With a twist he sends Spock flying to the floor, and grabs his arm and twists it behind him, pressing his face into the floor. “Say uncle Spock.” John growls. “Very good Doctor. You have managed to defeat me once more. I express surprise at this, as I logically assumed your human talents would not be enough to combat my own.” John chuckles softly, getting off of the First Officer and extending a hand. Spock takes it, and he hauls the other man to his feet. “Wanna rematch?”
Spock thinks for a moment. “Illogically, it seems as if I possess the desire to defeat you Doctor, and thus I will take you up on this rematch. I am surprised at your prowess.” A laugh escapes John, and he can’t breathe. “Oh Spock. It’s called ‘competitiveness’. You don’t like being beaten.” Spock looks surprised. It’s a priceless look, and John arches one eyebrow. “Com’on Spock, put ‘em up.” He lunges for the Vulcan, colliding with his abdomen and carrying both to the floor with a crash. Spock surprises John by flipping their positions, and he holds him as John struggles like a wildcat beneath him to get free. He scratches Spock’s face accidently, leaving a cut across the Vulcan’s right eye, but Spock doesn’t bat an eyelash as the blood flows freely.
Shoving with all his strength, John moves him enough that he’s able to get out from underneath, and he pushes himself backward, rolling to his feet. Spock is watching him serenely, which is kind of spooky considering the fact that he’s bleeding all over the place. Then the Vulcan lunges for John, and his knee catches him in the groin. Wheezing, John falls to his knees. “Uncle, uncle.” He pants. After a moment he can stand again, wincing the tiniest bit. “Didn’t know you had it in you Spock.” He looks unruffled. “It is logical to use any means necessary to win Doctor. I would think you would know this.” John blinks, and then eyes Spock suspiciously. “What do you mean by that you green-blooded bastard?”
“I meant that only as you wish to interpret it.” John sighs, sensing he’s not getting any more out of the closemouthed man. “Com’on, I’ve got a medkit in my quarters, lemme fix that cut up so you don’t go scarin’ the crew.” You pointy-eared Satanic looking bastard. He adds under his breath, and Spock doesn’t give any indication if he hears this or not.
Spock doesn’t say anything when they enter his quarters and Jim’s sleeping peacefully in McCoy’s bed. John just fixes him up with a small smile, running the dermal regenerator quietly over the Vulcan’s face. With a murmured thank you, the First Officer leaves quietly and John turns to look at the lithe body sprawled in his bed. His eyes soften. Jim is clutching John’s pillow tightly to his chest, and he’s muttering nonsense things in his sleep. Suddenly he twitches violently, and John can hear him whimpering slightly. The nightmares again. Jim would never admit it when he was awake, but occasionally nightmares of the day of his birth plagued him, or nightmares about losing his crew to various violent demises. Silent as the darkness around them, John slips into bed beside Jim, taking his head into his lap. “Shh…” He strokes Jim’s hair lightly, because usually his presence is enough to calm the other man down. It takes a few minutes, but the captain settles, and John smiles.
The next day John doesn’t mention the nightmares, and neither does Jim, but he can tell Jim appreciates it when he wakes up and breakfast is already replicated and on the table. Jim’s nowhere to be found of course, but John fights back a smile. A few hours later he’s in Sickbay, leaning back in his chair as he idly reads some of the backlog of medical journals during the slow time, when the comm buzzes and he can hear Chapel answer it. Her voice cracks suddenly, and John’s out of his chair and out of his office in a heartbeat. “Yes sir.”
“The away team’s beaming directly up to Sickbay. They have one dead and three injured, two of which are critical.” John sighed, glancing to the heavens. Please, if there is a God, not Jim. Please not Jim. It’s not, but he’s the one stretched out on the biobed with his insides spilling out his stomach, and John can’t stand hearing the gasping, wheezing attempts at breathing coming from his friend. He’s the more seriously injured of the three, and Bones goes to work without a word. Sometime during the period of where he’s placing Jim’s insides back where they belong, on the inside, and when he’s autosuturing the wound closed, M’Benga appears and begins working on the other patient, who Bones realizes for the first time is Sulu. Chekov watches anxiously from another bed, where a nurse is just finishing patching up his minor wounds.
It takes a long time, but John is finally finished repairing Jim, and the only thing left to do is wait. His own natural body regenerative functions have to do the rest, because there’s nothing more he can do. Jim’s filled to the gills with sedatives and painkillers, and John can only hope it’s enough. A nurse strips him of the protective outer layers, bloody enough to look as if he just walked out of an abattoir and not surgery. John sighs, running on hand through his short-cropped hair. He sits down on the chair next to the bed where Chekov is still sitting. “What happened?” He asks softly. “Ve vere taking ze samples Mizter Spock asked us to vhen ve were attacked by two wery large creatures. Zhey looked like ze jaguars of Earth, wery large cats. Hikaru pushed me out of ze vay when ze cat got him first. Ze Keptin, he pulled Hikaru out of ze vay and threw us both in ze bushes, yelling for us to climb a tree. He shot ze cat seweral times but missed hitting anyt’ing wital. Ze cat clawed him across ze stomach before I managed to shot it betveen the eyes.” Big, innocent eyes stared at the doctor.
“You did good kid, you probably saved Jim’s life.” John says gruffly, not sure how to console the teenager who has the look of one who thinks it’s all his fault. “It’s not your fault Pavel.” John adds gruffly. Leonard McCoy may be an expert in psychology and have a very good idea of the human mind, but he doesn’t know how to handle guilt. It’s been a long time since he’s felt any guilt for his actions, not since he watched his commanding officer shoot an innocent kid in the throat. Chekov makes a small sound of distress, and John is forcibly dragged back to the present. He looks up into those wide eyes, which now have a modicum of fear in them. John groans softly. The last thing he needs is the crew being frightened of him. “Bad memories.” He grunts in response, and the fear dims slightly in the teen’s eyes. “The Keptin, he vill be all right, yes?” John smiles. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.” John lies. In truth, he places Jim’s condition at extremely guarded. If he makes it through the night, he’ll have a better shot, but John’s worried about infection setting in. Chekov sighs in relief, and goes back to staring at a sleeping Sulu.
John doesn’t leave the Sickbay that night, choosing instead to catch his normal two or three hours of sleep on the cot in his office, with the door propped open so he can hear any change in the Captain’s state. He sleeps fitfully, more so then usual, plagued by nightmares of Olduvai, something he thought he was past. When he wakes up in a cold sweat for the third time, John calls it quits and gets up to work on some of the paperwork that has piled up. A soft groan from the main Sickbay causes him to head there, immediately to Jim’s bed. “Dammit Jim. The sedative wasn’t supposed to wear off for three more hours. You and your stupid body chemistry.” Bones rolls his eyes as he checks the life sign readings. “How do you feel?” He says softly. “Like shit.” Jim says bluntly. “Take a deep breath.” Jim complies, and John watches his chest rise and fall, for the most part as normal. His pulse is normal, he seems to be breathing fine, and there aren’t any problems with his heart, though he’s far paler then he should be. John sighs gently in relief. “We almost lost you. If you weren’t in such good shape, we might have.”
Jim grins weakly. “Is that your way of saying you like m’body Bones?” John chuckles. “You need to rest more. You’re not out of danger yet.” Jim’s eyes widen slightly. “No more hyposprays!” It’s too late of course; only Bones is a little more gentle about it, choosing to inject him with the sedative in the upper arm instead of his neck. Jim’s eyes roll up in his head, and John lowers him gently back to the bed. “Get well kid.” He says gruffly, before going back into his office to work on the paperwork. Jim doesn’t wake up again, and when Sulu wakes up the next morning, John is glad to see he’s going to make it. “I’m going to release you later today, provided bed rest for at least three days Mr. Sulu. Can you handle that?” The helmsman nods empathically. “Yes Doctor McCoy.” He says feverishly. John’s not quite sure where his reputation as a tyrant came from, but he’s pretty sure it’s Jim fault. Most things are.
Chekov has appeared again, and John can’t help but shake his head as he watches the pair go, the smaller man supporting his hobbling best friend. Jim’s waking up again, this time only about half an hour before he’s supposed to, and Bones heads over to check on him. He’s more stable then he was when he woke up last night, and his color isn’t quite as pale as it was. He doesn’t speak for a moment. “Don’t yell at me Bones. I was only protecting my crew.” The blond says, meeting the taller man’s eyes defiantly. “I had to keep them safe.” He dares John to make a comment. “I wasn’t goin’ to. I was only thinkin’ how sorry I am Chekov killed the damn thing.” Confusion dances across Jim’s face. “I wanted to go down and rip the thing limb from limb myself.” John growls. Jim looks delighted. “Is it wrong of me to say this dominant and kind of bloodthirsty thing turns me on?” John looks startled for a moment. “It is when you can’t even sit up by yourself. And when you’re not allowed to have solid food for at least another day.” The younger man’s face falls, and he pouts. “Aww… Bones!”
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