"You've got Soranik Natu to thank for that. She's amazing, Bones." There was genuine admiration in Jim's tone, more than the usual 'and I want to sleep with her' (although that was there too, in varying degrees). "You'll either hate each other or spend thirty six hours straight talking about surgical techniques. Me and Spock can get popcorn, it'll be great. Best entertainment I've had in weeks." He pulled some of that old arrogance up out of the depths to put the shine on those statements, but it didn't stick as well as it used to. It felt like mimicry rather than reality, and he coughed to clear his throat, glanced briefly away.

It wasn't often that Jim could be cowed by anger, he'd grown out of that years ago. And especially not McCoy's anger, the man barked like a bloodhound but Jim knew better. Knew him better. There wasn't any real bite to speak of in any bone of his body. Oh, he wasn't a pushover, but there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his friends.

(Do you even know what friendship is? He'd asked Kyle that question, and he realized now he'd never really known either until he'd met Bones on that shuttlecraft.)

Jim reached out, dropped his hand against McCoy's shoulder and gave him a smile. "Hey. You're here now, right? It's not like you haven't patched up worse. Come on, Bones. Whatever doesn't kill me."