CLOSED

[asouthron]

Characters: Leonard McCoy asouthron and Jim Kirk jirk
Date: Backdated to late November
Location: Jim's Suite
Situation: Drunken catch up between two friends.
Warnings/Rating: Swearing? It's Jim and Bones, people.

It's only a few hours after his shift lets out, but with the days growing colder they grow shorter too. The evening is already miserably dark, and McCoy feels like he hasn't seen the sun in weeks. It's a bald-faced lie, but he's sticking with it. You can never have too much to complain about.

So, cold, dark, what else? He's tired. That can be added to his list of complaints. It's tempting to comm Jim and reschedule their little get-together when he's feeling less like a walking corpse, but the thought doesn't set his feet wavering a step down the streets toward the Fire Sector.

Their schedules are out of balance with each other, making any time they interacted kind of scarce... Unless some new magical plague hits and he needs to gather his poor Starfleet children in for mass physicals. The point is when Jim has time to actually hang out with him outside of the clinic, he can't really say no just because he doesn't feel good. That, and usually if he's initiating these little drunken rendezvous there's usually a silent understanding that he needs to talk about something besides the daily grind of this place.

Once he finally makes it to his friend's suite, wrapped in more layers than is truly dignified, McCoy raps loudly on his door so Jim can hurry the hell up and let him in before he freezes his delicate Georgian ass off.

Comments

[jirk]

Jim pulls the door open a moment later not unlike a hyperactive golden retriever that's heard its master's footprints out on the stoop. He's grinning when he pulls it open and claps Bones on the arm. He misses the Enterprise most keenly in regards to Bones, when everything was neatly slotted together in terms of times and obligations and he could actually just hang out with his best friend.

"Hey, doc. Good shift?"

[asouthron]

Ugh, that face. Jim could light this whole damn Sector on his disposition alone. It's really damn annoying, especially when he shines it this way and it's all McCoy can do to frown harder so he doesn't contract his good humor. He refuses to contract any good humor today!

"Ha, I pray that's your terrible attempt at humor!" With a blustering huff, he barrels in from the cold to start divesting himself of all his damn layers. He starts with the scarves first. "It's winter, Jim. People turn into complete idiots in the winter. One flake of snow and all common sense flies out the window like they're under a spell!" Actually, he's probably going to have to talk to Jack about all of this. Maybe he can infuse the snow with less dipshittery to keep his children from constantly skulling themselves on the pavement. "Most of it could be avoided if they just paid attention instead of watchin' slack-jawed at everythin' but the ice under their feet! Christ..."

His coat comes off next, wriggling out of the thick down jacket before placing everything on a nearby chair.

[jirk]

Jim gathers up all the layers that McCoy sheds and ducks back towards the hallway to stuff it all in a closet. He's not a neat person by nature, generally, but he treats this place like he would his ship and as a result it's tends towards spotless. Anything less would make him go stir crazy.

There's a smell of cooking food in the air, and Jim heads back into the kitchen to toss broccoli and meat together in a wok. It's nearly finished. "Careful who you sass, Bones. I can probably eat this whole pot by myself."

It bothers him, to hear the horror stories from the clinic. It never did much back home, but back home they had machines that could knit bones and mend flesh. Here, the recovery period is a lot longer, and it hurts to watch. It hurts to hear. Jim's never weathered the suffering of others very well.

[asouthron]

"That I can believe." At the mention of food, he follows Jim into the kitchen and watches over his shoulder. It's hard not turning into a backseat cook or just shoving the man entirely out of the way so he can toss the stirfry a little more evenly around the wok. But, instead, he simply gives his Captain a smart smack on the back. "Well, well, Jim Boy, I'm impressed! It actually smells edible!" Honestly, Jim can cook as well as any other farm boy from Iowa, but when you're up against a Georgian, it's McCoy's God-given right to act like the smug culinary bastard that he is.

However, there are more important issues at hand than needling Jim over his cooking. "The liquor in the usual place?" This is really what he has come over for--Not that Jim's company isn't stimulating as shit, but let's be honest...

[jirk]

"'Actually' my ass. I'm an awesome cook, thanks! How do you think I get so many dates?" Jim bats Bones out of the way and then gives the contents of the wok a final flip before he decrees it Done And Finished and pulls it off the heat. He sticks a serving spoon in it, ditto the rice, and steps back with a little tah-dah!

"Of course it's in the same spot, it's not like that crap grows legs. Just don't grab any of the marked bottles, they're Kyle's."

[asouthron]

Too bad Jim doesn't preface that as a rhetorical question. "You get 'em drunk first, right?" It only makes sense since it's about to happen to McCoy and he certainly isn't here for the kid's good looks. Obviously booze is the constant in this hypothesis.

Back at the cabinets, he decides to be a bit more adventurous tonight and goes for something close to a scotch rather than a bourbon. It's pretty smooth, though with a strange nutty note that McCoy isn't sure if he likes yet or not. The only way to figure it out is to drink more of it until he can come to a proper conclusion. That'll require glasses. He moves around Jim so as not to disturb his little circus performance with wok and spoon before pouring them both a drink in the tumblers.

"Here." McCoy slides one over to his friend.

[jirk]

Wow, Bones, are you mistaking him for someone utterly lacking in charm? Because that's what this sounds like. Jim wrinkles his nose in incredulity. "First of all, I don't have to get anyone drunk, and second of all, don't think this," he takes the glass and lifts it, keeping his index finger of that hand pointed at Bones, "Absolves you of that accusation."

[asouthron]

"I'll suffer the burden, kid." Before his friend can bring the glass to his mouth, however, McCoy taps the lip of his own tumbler against Jim's in a silent cheer.

"So, are we just gonna look at this magnificent feast or are we gonna eat it?" Jim's the host here! By the rules of proper etiquette, he shouldn't have even poured them their drinks, but McCoy's a gentleman through and through. Serving himself dinner, though, is another matter. Get the bowls, Captain! Chip-chop-chip!

[jirk]

Jim rolls his eyes and goes for the plates and silverware. He's not exactly on ceremony, nor does he care to be. He dishes up without preamble and drops the whole mess in front of his doctor with a little flourish.

"So. Pike, huh?"

[asouthron]

"Yeah, Pike." He takes the bowl gratefully, idly stirring through the stirfry as he decides how to approach all of this. "Gotta say, I didn't see that one comin'." Maybe a joke isn't the best way to open into this, but Jim getting too grave on him isn't going to help any more.

[jirk]

Jim snorts, but it's wry and bitter and without the faintest trace of amusement. Didn't see that one coming about sums up his entire time in Keeliai, Pike's just... one more thing that's fallen from the sky. And Jim has no idea what to do with it. On the surface, everything is fine. Everything's always fine, but Bones knows him better than that. Better, probably, than anyone. There's no way he can't see the cracks.

And he's pretty sure that either Pike or Spock (or Spock via Pike) have tasked Bones with giving him a subtle mental review, so he doesn't even know if he can talk to his own friend without the chain of command hanging like the sword of Damocles above his head. Jim's fingers flex and he looks down at his food, which has all the appeal of-- no, he's not going there tonight.

Finally,

"I don't know what to do, Bones."

It's quiet. His voice doesn't break, and he sounds sure enough, but in that moment he's less a captain and more the kid that used to hack into Bones' bunk to sleep off hangovers.

[asouthron]

It would be easy to stall, to overthink until Jim closed up and told him to drop it, that it was nothing to begin with. He can't allow that even as his mind is still in the process of evaluating.

The first thing that comes to mind is: "Well, for starters, come take a seat." McCoy has already made a point to sit at the table with his bowl. He says nothing more until his friend does the same, keeping his face neutral, impartial, and open to the man.

"It's not like they make manuals for this shit, you know. Hell, we're the ones writin' the damn thing in real-time." And hell if that's not a scary revelation! They sit at the front lines of the unknown, clinging to nothing more than faith in a system that can do very little for them in the long run, especially in this kind of situation. A situation that seems to be a common occurrence in the life of an Enterprise crew member. Whether they are a part of the Federation, they are essentially on their own, loyal to the family they create from the trauma, terror, and sadness that naturally knits strangers together.

"And what're you lookin' to do, Jim? As a Captain? As a man? Lookin' to relieve regret?" The bowl is set aside for now as he studies his friend. It's obvious the problem is all of the above. A man like Jim tries to be so many things under one skin, and sometimes those personas get stretched in the opposite direction.

It doesn't help that Jim knows he's being assessed. McCoy needs to put his cards on the table if he expect the kid to show him his. "You're my Commanding Officer, and I'm your CMO." And that includes all his duties that come with the job, including relieving any officer under his care of duty if he feels he or she is compromised. "But I'm your friend too. We've been lookin' out for each other before yer smart ass got promoted to Captaincy, and like hell that's gonna change."

The older man wet his lips, debating the ethics of what he's trying to say, where he's trying to go with this. He has a duty to the Admiral and to Starfleet to make an objective observation and a record of what he's seen or heard. But damnit does he owe Jim more than a clinical hand after what they've been through. "You know Pike wants a review of every crew member's physical and mental state..." It's no secret. A record from the Chief Medical Officer is simply standard procedure, but McCoy wants to test the waters with Jim, to let him know this is something to be discussed between the both of them.

[jirk]

Jim sits, and leans forward on the table, his head in his hands and everything aching. He doesn't want to have this conversation, but he needs to. He knows he's clinging to so many things he shouldn't, and he knows too well what Bones' duty comes down to.

He rubs a hand across the back of his head, and then lets it drop down against the taut muscles of his trapezius.

"Look, it's not like it's some great big secret that I'm dealing with a lot of shit," he says finally. "Survivor's guilt is just the half of it. But you know damn well if I didn't think I was fit for duty, I would have given up my command already. I respect Admiral Pike, but this isn't his call. I'm dealing, Bones. I dealt for months without any of you. You want 'unfit'? How about the fact that Starfleet made me a captain without any experience? On sheer blind luck? Christ, why'd they--" do that? He can't say the rest, he knows his voice would crack on the question, so he just bites it off and presses his lips together in frustrated misery.

[asouthron]

Well, technically speaking they both know why they did it. Their whole fleet was decimated in seconds, leaving Jim as one of the few with any kind of combat and tactical experience. It happened to them all really, even McCoy. But then it became too good a stunt to take away. It wasn't until Jim's luck ran out that they realized the error of their way... And yet, here he is back in charge after mistakes and revenge have leveled the Enterprise. It's a goddamn mess, but that's Starfleet's mistake, not Jim's. Or, well, future Jim, not this Jim exactly--Goddamn quantum physics!

"Because you look good in that chair, Jim..." Everyone sees that, especially Starfleet PR. When you strive to do no wrong and consistently prove that, you've only set yourself up to fail or go eventually break under the strain. Jim is something superhuman, but every man has their limits. Frankly, McCoy doesn't want to find them in a man at twenty-six.

"But you're right, it's not the Admiral's call. It's mine." The way the man's talking, he wants to make sure Jim doesn't grow too defensive against the Admiral, who has no more control over this decision than Jim. "As much as I hate to bend to heartless logic--" God, if Spock can hear him now, he would be so embarrassed. "It's in everyone's best interests to be led by a commander with the most experience in the current setting. Pike might have plenty of experience as Captain of a starship, but this isn't a damn starship. This is a whole different scenario that Starfleet didn't exactly cover in their classes.

"Like you said, Jim, you're the only one who's been here the longest..." And alone, but this conversation is hard enough without bringing in the regret and guilt he feels over his best friend being stuck here by himself. The good doctor needs to be in any damn parallel universe or rip in time and space where Jim gets stuck. That's his goddamn job! Like the kid can survive without him.

[jirk]

His expression sours even further. Sometimes he wonders how much of it was aesthetic. Blonde haired, blue-eyed? Even without the Eugenics looming in Earth's history he's still the posterchild for the All-American dream. He's young, charismatic, cocksure, and he knows enlistment skyrocketed after all that bullshit with Nero, when he and his crew were dragged into the spotlight. He doesn't begrudge the 'Fleet. They needed to hit their quotas after what amounted to almost his entire graduating class was wiped off the map in that engagement.

And after losing Vulcan.

But he didn't realize (or more likely, knowing himself) didn't care. He thought he was good enough, thought he deserved it, and fell short when the puck dropped.

Bones continues, and Jim listens, flexing his hands, trying to pretend as if he's not listening, as if those words don't mean the world, but they do and his expression flickers, skirts the borderlines of being so entrenched in gratitude he can't even speak.

There's a hot, sudden pressure somewhere in behind his sinuses and he looks away, reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose as his mouth contorts into something that's almost a grimace. There are few men Jim respects as much, whose opinions he values so highly. Is this what having a best friend is like? He never has been able to figure it out, whatever it is they fell into. Jim never had a friend before Bones, not a real one. He had that lone wolf bullshit down to an art in his teenage years.

He focuses on something - one of Kyle's paintings in the corner - as he waits for the storm to pass, and then he ducks his head and looks back at Bones. "You're right. Sorry, man, I'm being an ass. This place is fucking with my head, Bones."

[asouthron]

"You're not bein' an ass, Jim. You're bein' too critical," he points out with his own glass tipped toward his friend. He's willfully ignoring the stir fry beside him since each glance seems to make his stomach tie into knots right now. This should be a professional assessment between two officers, but it's not. Not completely.

Jim is his best friend and, God help him, he's only human. It's hard to remain impartial, but as one of the few who can knock sense into the kid when need be, it's his duty to shake this self-pity off. It's not healthy for him or anyone under his command.

"This place is fuckin' with everyone's head. Remember that grand adventure when I turned into a woman--A woman, Jim!" It's hard to fathom, but that was the least of his worries he found out. "And then when I disappeared--" McCoy cuts himself off with a swallow of his drink. "Don't think you're the only one with a crisis of faith here."

With a dry glass, he slides it over by his meal, wiping the perspiration from his hands off on his pants. "But the bitch of it is, we don't have time for that." Jim doesn't have time for it. It isn't fair the pressure they put on officers as young as him, but he knew what he was getting into when he entered the command track. This is what they are molded to do, to stand up against the dark as a bright, unwavering light for the rest of them. His Captain knew that, he just needed a reminder.

"Jim. I'm not tryin' to undermine you here, but I have to ask... Do you believe we can leave?" It's cruel to ask, but the question is important between them as friends and as officers. It's important to know where he stands, even if it's a false hope. Even if he doesn't truly believe, he had to show it to his officers that his confidence is unwavering in the face of complete uncertainty. McCoy does not envy him, but he is here to support him.

[jirk]

"I know we can leave. I just don't know how to make it happen." Jim fiddles with his cutlery, and smooths a napkin out against the hardwood table. Then he bunches it up, and repeats the process a little less angrily. "It's not just being trapped. I feel ordinary here, Bones. I've never felt ordinary. Anywhere. Even back home." And it's hard not to think about Khan, and the Eugenics war. Even if the ones he's met have been nothing but decent people - mostly - he knows there's still an innate, instinctive cultural bias he needs to get over.

Being open-minded isn't hard. Jim wasn't raised with a lot of prejudice towards others, and being a Starfleet captain has exposed him to more than any Iowa farmboy could have ever imagined. But it's so easy to look at people who can punch through plate steel and think about the kinds of damage that could do to innocent civilian bystanders, especially given that Malicant can apparently possess people. Wouldn't it make sense to go with the most powerful?

Christ, it's a mess. He sighs, digs into his stirfry. He knows he needs to consider all the angles, all the possibilities. Threat assessment is part and parcel of the job. He doesn't like thinking about the people around him in terms of how much damage they could do if they lost control, it makes him feel dishonest. But he knows he needs to.

[asouthron]

"Alright," McCoy accepts, shrugging his shoulders. He's a skeptical man by nature--Anyone who works in science should be!--but after the shit he's seen the kid pull out of his ass at the most dire of moments, he's inclined to throw more than a little trust his friend's way. If he knows they can, then that's good enough for McCoy right now. Ah hell, who's he kidding? He'd follow that smart ass chronically until they are all old and crotchety and he has a beard that befits the madness in his eyes.

But Jim's next issue is not something cured with a pill or a few apt words. There are some things in the man's life that he understands, but being exceptional is not one of them. Yeah, McCoy's intelligent, he gets that, but he's simply doing his job. If everyone else in his field would just pull their heads out of their ass for more than a day, he might actually have competition for his position as Chief Medical Officer. That isn't in the same vein as Jim. Hell, he never believed in fate--As if this world has ever done anything for him!--but after meeting his best friend, he sure does believe in destiny. No one can do what their Captain does, McCoy would put credits down on that. He's young, but there's a heady mix of brilliance, talent, and luck brewing within him that would make any Admiral weak in the knees.

"Can't say I've ever felt any less ordinary, but I sure do know what useless feels like," he admits after a held breath. If he expects Jim to come to him about his deepest insecurities, then it's only fair he can talk to his friend about his. "Somethin' plaguin' the Enterprise, you give me some time and I can fix it. Alien pollen, gas, bacteria, viral infection, I could go on, but I sure as hell can't put magic down on my list of accomplishments. And that's all that ever happens around here! Jesus, it's enough to drive a man to drink." Which it certainly has.

[jirk]

Jim's mouth quirks upwards. It's something of a smile, but Bones will probably recognize it as being just just this side of grateful. He knows that Bones doesn't have to share things with him, the role of a ship's psychologist should technically be a one-way intake. The fact that Bones makes concessions for their friendship, which still has the alarming distinction of being the first one Jim ever really had, makes him cough and look away almost pointedly.

"It's not all magic. Some of it's just science that looks like magic." It's a lighter statement. Not exactly meant to change the subject, but enough that it can... recalibrate where they're going, conversation-wise.