Chapter Text
Jim is still sitting in the captain’s chair.
Almost eighteen hours after his victory, Jim is still sitting in the captain’s chair, and Bones has yet to see him in sickbay.
He could scream. That’s usually the course of action he decides on when Jim ignores his own health. Sometimes screaming means Jim pays attention and remembers for the next time.
He could drag him out without a word, let him bitch and moan until he exhausts himself. It’d be the easiest route.
(Jocelyn’s voice echoes in his ear, yelling, “The hypocrisy is strong in this one!”)
Tiredly, he leans against the turbolift doors to address a superior officer, not his friend.
“Captain,” He calls. “Any chance you can let someone cover this shift? I can smell your broken ribs a mile away and they’re starting to stink.”
Jim, eyes dark and skin sallow, takes a moment to respond.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Mr. Spock, I’ll leave the ship in your capable hands.”
(He worries about the extreme hoarse quality of his voice. If it’s from exhaustion, that’s fine, but if it’s from that green-blooded prick’s chokehold, that might be more difficult to fix when the damage has been unattended for so long.)
Jim pries himself out of his chair, jaw clenching when he has to stand.
Bones pointedly refrains from offering an arm to lean into until the turbolift closes behind them.
“How’s Pike?” Jim asks hesitantly as he lets his head fall onto Bones’ shoulder. Bones holds all of Jim’s weight and feels inordinately thrilled that he’s heavier than he used to be. Knowing that Jim hasn’t regressed to his hoarding habits pleases him.
“Currently he’s stable but in a medicated coma. Spinal damage takes weeks to repair and it’s best he isn’t awake for it. We will need to wait until he’s awake and coherent before we know how much the damage has affected him.”
Even though he knows sugarcoating the facts would have considerably angered Jim, he hates the devastated look that passes over the usually bright face.
“So he’s definitely going to need a ton of physical therapy?”
“Jimmy, I don’t know if he’s going to walk again. It’s a fifty-fifty chance.”
“No, he’ll have to be able to walk. He’s going to captain the Enterprise.”
The surety that colors Jim’s tone worries him.
“You’re going to need to accept the possibility that he won’t be able to.” He murmurs, almost picking him up to exit the lift. An empty examination area is, thankfully, only a six or seven step journey to the left.
“No. No, he’ll be fine. Chris won’t forget how to walk.”
Bones helps him onto the biobed. Grabbing his legs and swiping them onto the table properly, he keeps his voice low. “That’s not how it works.”
“Jesus Christ Bones, he’s going to be fine, alright?” He snaps, slumping against the back of the bed. “If not for himself, then for me, because I can’t fucking deal with him not being okay when I have to get a ship full of people home without a fucking warp core!”
Bones shuts the door and leans his back against it, arms crossed as he watches Jim breathe heavily.
“I didn’t say he wouldn’t be okay. But recovery’s going to be difficult if possible at all, and you need to understand that he’s going to need support. Specifically, your support.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m your patient’s distressed wife that needs to be placated from her hysteria.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m really not.”
“Screw you.”
“Tell me what the actual problem is and I’ll think about it.”
(The quiet banter, worn and tattered by how often they’ve used it, comforts both of them to some degree. Bones has had his doubts that Jim could still be Jim after the horrors they’ve faced today.)
Jim curls his knees into his chest. “Bones, how the fuck did I go from being a stowaway to fucking acting captain?”
“By being the smartest son of bitch on this death trap.”
“Seriously, how could Chris think making me first officer was a good decision? I wasn’t even supposed to be here!”
“Because Chris knows you and wouldn’t trust his crew with anyone else.”
“Bones!”
“Only you would get more offended when I’m telling you nice truths than when I’m insulting you.”
“I’m being serious! People died, an entire planet imploded, and how could he think that I could be responsible enough to make the right choices-?”
“You stopped Nero, didn’t you?”
“That’s not the point!”
“You did the best that anyone could have in a situation that no one should have ever had to deal with.”
“Anyone could have done better-“
“That’s not true and you know it. You’re delirious from exhaustion and pain, so I’ll let you being a bitchy child slide this one time, got it?”
Bones slams a hypo against Jim’s neck before he can respond.
Jim slips into sleep before he pulls the empty container away.
(They agreed long ago that Bones, when Jim’s health declines, has full control over the situation. If he thinks it’ll be easier or better for Jim to be unconscious during the proceedings, then Jim will be unconscious during the proceedings.
He never felt as humbled as he did when Jim smiled and said, “I trust you to know what’s best for me, Bonesy.”)
Fixing Jim’s injuries, a relatively simple task compared to the in-depth surgery that he performed for Chris, takes a longer time than it should.
Partly because Jim’s ridiculous immune system rejects half of the treatments the unprepared ship carries and partly because this is the first time he has had time to make sure Jim is okay since the entire mess started.
(He tries not to think of how not-okay they all would have been if he hadn’t dragged Jim on-board illegally. He tries not to think of how one personal decision decided the fate of galaxies and he tries not to think how he now has tangible proof that their codependence is a good thing and fuck Gaila for thinking they needed other people and fuck Gary Mitchell for almost ruining Jim’s faith in him-)
He has to sit down for a couple of minutes after he finishes to stare at Jim’s lax face before he can make his legs move to go back to work.
Before going to deal with another disaster, he grabs Chapel’s arm and hisses, “Keep an eye on Jim. I don’t have half of the non-allergenic supplies I need to fix some of his breaks and I don’t want him moving and puncturing any organs.”
She nods. “Understood. And Doctor McCoy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t touch me.”
He releases her quickly. “Sorry.”
“It’s been a stressful day. No harm no foul.”
“I’ll keep that in mind from now on. Excuse me.”
(Chapel, supposedly, is the best nurse in Starfleet. In any other situation, he’d be pretty excited to be working with her. For Jim, though, he puts aside the borderline hero-worship he has for her rumored intelligence and reassures himself that Jim has the best care when he’s not available.)
* * * * *
The trek back to Earth takes two weeks. The Enterprise requires multiple pit stops to get supplies for repairs. They transport patients with the worst injuries to bases and other ships for better treatment.
Bones fights to get Jim to beam down to a base for his own treatment.
“You’re in pain and allergic to every painkiller on the vessel,” He ticked off the points on each finger. “You have bruises on organs that I could fix with the right hypo but again, you’re fucking allergic to everything with your special snowflake DNA, you’re in extreme pain, and, oh yeah, I can’t use an osteoregenerator on half of your body without being brought up on charges of medical abuse because again, you’re allergic to every goddamn painkiller I have with me!”
“It’s fine,” Jim tried to soothe. “It’s not that bad Bones. You’re exaggerating. People centuries ago survived this shit without hypos and I can do it too. I can’t leave the ship now, not when we’re in the home stretch.”
The arguments remain ongoing, pausing when one of them gets a comm calling them to their various duties.
In those two weeks, Bones learns a few things.
The first being that he actually loves the excitement and responsibility that comes with being on a starship.
Knowing that a ship can take as huge of a beating as the Enterprise did helps quell his lingering unease about space. It feels like some wire in his brain untangled itself and now he can look at the stars, seemingly inches away from his face, and feel awe instead of terror.
Constantly running around gives him purpose that the hospital on Earth didn’t. On Earth, there were fifty-some other doctors that could cover for him. He wasn’t necessary there.
On the Enterprise, the variety of life and injuries and illnesses means that not only does he have the challenge of his life on his hands, but that at least three-quarters of the doctors on Earth wouldn’t be able to handle the sheer diversity he deals with every day.
It’s a rush that Bones never wants to give up.
The second being that if the crew gossips this much in two weeks, he shudders at the drama that would occur over the course of a five year tour.
“I hear that Kirk’s bridge crew is having issues,” An engineer with a broken wrist grins to his buddies on the beds closet to his. Bones sets up the osteoregenerator quickly, setting it aside as he gives the engineer a hypo for mild pain relief. “Apparently Lieutenant Uhura doesn’t take kindly to him ‘emotionally compromising’ her boyfriend. She’s been giving him hell, and the ensigns there follow her lead.”
“Oh shut up,” A blonde yeoman groans on the bed to his right. “Kirk’s doing fine. I’ve gone up there to get some PADDs signed and they’re all working together smoothly. Kirk and Uhura have always been tense. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen them around campus, bitching at each other. Instead of repeating shit you hear from idiots, why don’t you pay attention, Trevor? Or is that beyond your higher level thinking?”
The collective, “Ooooh” from their buddies makes Trevor flush red.
“You’re cold, Rand.”
“You know me, brutally honest and cute to boot.”
Bones makes a note to tell Jim about Rand. He could use a yeoman that doesn’t mince words.
The third thing Bones learns becomes apparent three days before the science department predicted the Enterprise would reach Earth.
He might not mind being up in space anymore, but his newfound acceptance of non-solid ground would be easier to keep if the bridge crew wasn’t a group of wet-behind-the-ears kids.
For God’s sake, the navigator is seventeen, Spock, in Vulcan years, is essentially a moody teenager, Uhura has a petty streak that could rival any preteen, Sulu’s self-preservation instincts shut off the second he can do anything remotely dangerous, and even Scotty gets distracted by the nearest shiny object.
Bones slides onto the bridge at least once every shift. For the most part, they tend to get along.
Until Jim has to correct one of them.
(Bless the kid’s heart, he tries to do it gently, but Jim has never been the best at gentle. He can either say nothing or everything with very little deviation.)
Had Pike been the one in the chair explaining that the math was wrong, please fix it before we crash, Sulu would have fixed it without question.
Had Pike been the one in the chair saying that the frequency Uhura usually uses for bases won’t get through to the old star base they’re approaching, Uhura would have found a way to fix it before she even tried.
Needless to say, having a captain who’s the same age as his bridge crew with less experience than at least a couple of them causes some tension.
(“We’ve been out this way before, Captain. I have calculated the route three times. It’s fine.”
“Have you taken the fact that we don’t have a warp core into consideration?”
“Of course I have. We’re running on impulse, it’s not that big of a change.”
“How much lighter is the ship then, Mr. Sulu? And how does that affect our velocity? I’m assuming just enough to make sure we clip the top of Jupiter on the way home.”
“That… would probably be right.”
“That’s what I thought. Fix it.”)
(“They won’t hear you, Lieutenant.”
“Captain, I’ve used this frequency for every base between Earth and Andromeda. There is no reason why it shouldn’t work.”
“You can try all you want, but you won’t get a response. The base is the oldest one in this sector. It will not work. Their technology is incapable of picking it up.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Hm, yes, how long ago did you send that? And how many answers have we received? Please, enlighten me, Lieutenant Uhura.”
“None, sir.”
“Try a different frequency.”)
The worst part might be that Jim doesn’t blame them.
“If I had a snot-nosed brat trying to tell me what to do, I’d be pissed too. Especially over just dumb small mistakes that they beat themselves up about later,” He tells Bones over their shared dessert. They fight for the last bit of piecrust, forks clanging. Their table sits by itself in a corner, away from the general populace of the ship. “I haven’t proven myself. No credibility, you know? How are they supposed to know that I didn’t just slide by? They can’t know that I have an idea of what I’m doing. As far as they know, I’m a sneaky kid that got lucky.”
“Wouldn’t kill ‘em to trust Pike not to put an idiot in as first officer,” Bones mutters, ceding defeat as Jim pops the last bite into his mouth.
“He called from starbase 52, by the way. Says they still won’t let him try to get out of bed and he regrets saying that you were a mother hen when there are people like Zenan nurses.”
He smirks. “It’ll be good for him. Zenan nurses invented character building.”
“Yes, because Christopher Pike most definitely needs a crash course in character.” Jim rolls his eyes. “I better head down to engineering before Scotty blows us up. Well-intentioned as an explosion may be, I’d like us to be in one piece when we arrive.”
He scampers away before Bones can shove their plates and trash into his arms.
(Most of the time Bones feels more like a married couple when he’s with Jim than he ever did with Jocelyn.
Stupid brat didn’t even buy him a ring.)
* * * * *
He knows, rationally, that Jim can handle himself. In less than ten hours, the Enterprise will be back on Earth and they’ll have to deal with reporters galore, and he knows that the bridge crew’s respect issues won’t be a problem until they have a new captain on their actual tour of duty.
That doesn’t stop him from staging a minor wake up call.
“Jim! Just the kid I’m looking for. We’re having some technical malfunctions with the biobeds, and engineering’s busy keeping us moving.”
Jim blinks at the vid screen. “Uh, I can’t really leave the bridge right now Bones. We’re too close to the border for me to feel comfortable not being here.”
“Then walk me through fixing them. It’ll just take a couple minutes. Unless you’d rather have all my patients filing complaints about the constant alarms going off…?”
“You drive a tough bargain, Bonesy. Show me your broken toys and we’ll see what I can do.”
Bones grins.
For the next half hour, Jim groans and corrects Bones’ abysmal “fixes”. Bones, in return, goads Jim into a show for the bridge.
“You can’t put those wires together- Just stop, god, this is as disastrous as trying to help Gaila pass Golding’s math final-“
“The hell does your math tutoring have to do with this? I’m a doctor, not an engineer!”
“Yes, I can tell.”
“Screw you-“
“If you let that hypo empty into that chamber we’re all getting blown up so PLEASE move that tray away before you knock it over-“
“Quit whining, it’s fine-“
“No it’s not, it’ll react with the biobed’s liquid fuel cell- BONES I SWEAR TO GOD MOVE IT NOW-“
“Fine! It’s moved Jim, happy?”
“Extremely so! Your gangly elbows nearly killed us all!”
“At least I’m not the one that… What was it Jim? What was the thing in our bathtub that nearly gave us both radiation poisoning?”
“We agreed not to talk about that.”
“That’s right! It was an oven powered by a mini warp core. Almost completely functional except for the one minor detail-“
“It was revolutionary, Bones!”
“Yeah, revolutionary in the fact that hey, if you cook food near a warp core, you may get cancer because there’s no seal between the separate areas!”
“You’re just mad because it was fried chicken night.”
“Damn straight I was. Instead of eating dinner I had to take your skinny ass to the ER, where the only real problem was that you had enough pot-”
“Stop hammering at the bed like that, you’re going to ruin the casing.”
“Don’t change the subject, kid.”
He hangs up later, satisfied with the impressed, shocked gazes from everyone watching the spectacle.
Jim doesn’t need Bones’ help managing his crew, but it doesn’t hurt for him to ease the kid’s stress a bit.
It’s a doctor’s prerogative to ensure his/her patients’ health. Jim’s too young to be getting gray hairs from insubordinates acting out of line anyway. Any doctor would be concerned.