FIC: Good Is Better Than Perfect || PG-13
Title: Good Is Better Than Perfect
Pairing: gen, can be read as Kirk/McCoy pre-slash if you'd prefer
Word Count: ~2,500
Warnings: medical emergency, but kind of fluffy overall
Summary: Kirk and the ultimate allergy.
A/N: Originally posted here at st_xi_kink last year, thought I'd give it a permanent home now that I have a journal. Title taken from a Regina Spektor song.
*
The away team had been down on the planet for all of twelve minutes before something went wrong. It took another four before anyone noticed.
It had been just a sting, more annoying than painful, and Jim had slapped the bug away without giving it much thought. The planet they were on was beautiful; uninhabited, as far as anyone could tell, but rich in vegetation, with lush undergrowth, plenty of water, and somewhat peculiar trees that grew straight and tall, only starting to branch out near the top. They were sparsely placed, but several hundred feet above the ground the branches reached out horizontally, twining around each other in the spaces between. The leaves were almost translucent green and purple. Altogether it formed a strange but charming canopy above their heads, like some old Earth cathedral overtaken by nature.
Lost in the sort of fanciful thoughts he'd never admit to having, ever, it took Jim a while to notice anything was wrong. He wandered to where Spock was looking over the readings from the initial sweep they'd taken after beaming down to the planet surface, absently scratching his arm. He gave Spock a questioning look and nodded towards the PADD.
"Anything?"
"Certainly, Captain," Spock said. "Would you care to be more specific?"
"Funny," Jim said. Spock tilted his head ever so slightly, and Jim gave him a long look. He still hadn't figured out for sure when Spock was being serious and when he was just faking it for his own amusement. It would have been easier to assume Spock was always serious, but Jim just knew that the bastard was hiding and evil sense of humor somewhere under his calm-and-serious act. He didn't have any proof, as such, and so far he hadn't had any luck in convincing Uhura to put together a Spock-translation guide, either, but he wasn't wrong, he just knew it.
"Okay, okay," he rolled his eyes. "Anything noteworthy? Something raising the alarm flags? Pushing any buttons better left un-pushed? Shouting at --"
"Thank you, Captain. I do believe I... 'get the picture', as you might say. So far, there is nothing in the data to suggest cause for alarm, but it would, of course, be unwise to draw any conclusions based on the initial readings. The air temperature is slightly cooler than could be reasonably expected based on the planet's vegetation..." Spock trailed off and raised an eyebrow. "Captain. Are you feeling alright?"
"What? Yeah, I'm..." Jim looked down where he'd been scratching at his arm, where he'd been bitten or stung or whatever the hell purple alien bugs did when they got annoyed at you. The damn thing was really itchy. Come to think of it, he felt kind of itchy all over, and his tongue --
"Oh, crap."
"Captain, if you are in any way feeling unwell, perhaps it would be --"
"Uh-huh, way ahead of you," Jim said, heading to where he'd last seen his best friend, vaguely aware of Spock trailing after him. "Bones!"
Yeah, his tongue was definitely getting swollen. Bones would be thrilled.
Bones looked up from a small cluster of blue shirts with a frown. Upon seeing Jim, the frown deepened. He turned back to the little group and pointed out something on a PADD, tapping it twice before turning to meet Jim and Spock half way.
"What did you do?" He asked, whipping out his tricorder.
"Nothing!" Jim argued. "Can I help it if some alien bug decides I'm tasty? No! And you can't really blame the bug either, I'm irresistible, I can't help it. The bug was defenseless against my magnetism."
Bones rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. "Sure, Jim. Women, men, aliens, alien bugs, we know you don't discriminate." He slapped Jim's hand away from where he was still scratching the bite and turned to Spock. "If you would, Mr. Spock," he said, nodding toward Jim's sleeve. Spock reached out and tore off Jim's sleeve; they seemed insultingly unaffected by his affronted yelp, the both of them.
"Don't worry, princess, we'll get you a shiny new ball gown later," Bones said, poking at the bite, which really wasn't looking so good, Jim thought. Also, it had been kind of difficult to breath for a while now, and his tongue was definitely not getting any better. "Hate to tell you this, Jim, but unless your bug-friend bit you with its ass, that ain't a bite. More of an assault than a love affair, that."
Spock rather looked like he privately thought them both insane. Jim knew that look well by now.
"You're hilarious, Bones. Gonna cure me, or are we just going to chat."
"Symptoms?" Bones asked, frowning at the tricorder.
"I feel... kinda itchy. Swollen tongue. And, uh, it’s a bit hard to breath."
Bones nodded and handed the tricorder to Spock before feeling Jim's neck with his fingers. "How long ago did this happen? What kind of bug was it?"
"Uh, a few minutes? And I don't know, small? Kinda purple-ish."
"Purple-ish." Bones let his hands drop, delving into his med kit. "Are the symptoms getting worse?"
Jim gave it some thought. He felt uncomfortable, and having difficulty to breath was always unpleasant, but it didn't feel like he was about to drop dead any moment now. It didn't seem to be getting any worse either.
"Not really," he said, eying the hypospray Bones was preparing. He hated those fucking things.
"Good."
"I might not be dying right now, but I wouldn't call it 'good', Bones. I'm having difficulty breathing! And I really wish weird chemicals would leave my tongue alone already."
"You're having an allergic reaction, but like you said, you're not dying. Surprising but true, small miracles, et cetera."
"Ha, ha," Jim deadpanned.
Bones jabbed him with the hypospray.
Jim cursed, slapping a hand to his neck. "Fucking ow! You're worse than the bug was."
"Except my sting brings sweet relief instead of oxygen deprivation," Bones said. He held his hand out for his tricorder and put it away when Spock handed it to him.
"I take it the Captain will suffer no ill consequences, Doctor?" Spock inquired, grasping his hands behind his back.
"I'd keep an eye on him, seeing as we don't actually know anything about his purple bug-friend, but the allergic reaction was far from acute. The antihistamine should take care of it."
"Then, if you will, I shall return to my work. Captain. Doctor." Spock inclined his head at them.
Jim clapped Spock on the arm in thanks as he turned to walk away and then turned the movement into a lazy stretch. He wanted to feel better already.
Jim poked at his torn sleeve.
"You ruined my shirt," He complained.
"I told you," Bones began, and Jim rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, ball gown, shiny, got it. You're a funny, funny man, McCoy."
Bones opened his mouth, but whatever he might have said, Jim would never know. It was like a flash of negative energy rushing through his whole body. He got dizzy, and was suddenly gasping for breath. Fuck, his head hurt.
"Bones, I..." His legs gave out.
"Jim!" He heard Bones curse, there were other voices, alarmed, another hypospray, which, ouch, didn't make him feel any better than the first.
"Scotty! Beam us up, right the hell now!" Bones again. Jim tried to say something, reach for Bones, someone, anything, but he couldn't breath and he felt so heavy. He stared at the cathedral canopy above him, watching as it vanished in a glimmer of atoms, like a mirage.
He didn't remember rematerializing, but the next time he was aware, he was looking up at the sickbay ceiling, and his body was convulsing, shaking. He had no control over anything. He couldn't focus on anything. There were people around him, voices, but he could only catch fragments of what they were saying.
"Doctor --"
"-- the adrenaline is the --"
"-- hurt him!"
"Tried that --"
"-- can't take --"
"-- is he --"
"-- hold him down!"
He wanted to ask exactly what the hell was going on, and if the stupid bug had at least died after attacking him -- like a wasp or something, he vaguely thought -- and, maybe, why the hell these things always happened to him, but his teeth were grinding together too hard for him to even consider speaking.
There was a sting of a hypospray and everything went blessedly dark.
When he woke up, he felt disoriented, and sore all over. Not the good kind sore, either. It took him a while to piece everything together, and then he groaned, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.
"Captain?" Someone asked, cautious, and Jim lowered his arm to blink up at the nurse -- Chapel, he thought. "How are you feeling."
"More alive than dead," Jim said, his voice raspy, "so I'd say I'm feeling like a winner." He tried on a smile. It was a bit painful, but Jim was well acquainted with painful, and didn't let it stop him. Every woman deserved a smile, he'd always thought, and besides, Chapel was totally hot. She also looked completely unimpressed.
"Touch and go there for a while, Captain," she said, more focused on the monitor readings than him. "I'll go get Doctor McCoy, shall I? Yelling at you will help keep his blood pressure down, I'm sure. Captain."
Jim pouted at her, but she didn't even bother throwing a backward glance at him as she left. He was scowling when Bones appeared at his bedside, looking scruffy and exhausted. Jim pointed an accusing finger at him.
"Your staff loves you more than they love me. I'm their Captain, and also, amazing, but do they have any respect for me? I blame you."
"I've trained them well," Bones said, collapsing into the chair beside the biobed. "I should arrange them a raise one of these days."
"If you're planning a mutiny, I gotta tell you, you'd make a terrible captain."
Bones gave him a wane smile and leaned his elbows on his knees. "Dammit, Jim," he said; whispered, really.
After a few moments of silence, Jim shifted on the bed. "I was sort of lead to believe there'd be more yelling," he said. "You're not yelling. It's making me nervous. Am I still dying or something?"
"No, you're not dying," Bones said, gruff. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Not dying, just impossible. Dammit, Jim!"
"There you go. Let it out, I feel better already."
Bones glared at him. He shrugged, scratching at his neck, but dropped that line of joking.
"So what happened? The bug almost killed me after all?"
"I wish," Bones said, looking annoyed. "It really would be easier if that were the case, Jim. But nothing's ever easy with you, is it, no, you have to be so special -- I could just choke you to death and be done with it!"
Jim thought maybe Chapel had been wrong about the blood pressure thing. That vein throbbing under the skin of Bones' forehead didn't look healthy at all.
"Start making sense or I'll figure out a way to proof the existence of your mutiny plot, true or not."
"You had an allergic reaction to whatever venom the bug was carrying," Bones huffed. "Not a big problem as such, which, it bares repeat, is a minor miracle, since it's you were talking about. The antihistamine I administered as a countermeasure, however," he shook his head, looking baffled.
Jim blinked. "I'm... allergic to the anti-allergy stuff?"
"That about sums it up, yes," Bones said, his tone dry as a drained glass of bourbon. "Only you, Jim."
After a few moments of contemplative silence, Bones shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"
"Aw... I'm fine. I mean," he kept going after glancing at Bones' expression, "a bit sore. A little shaky, but really I'm fine. Totally fine."
"You're not fine until I say you're are, and I'm not saying so. You're staying here until I'm satisfied, no trying to sneak out or so help me, you'll never see that hypo coming."
"Bones..." Jim tried, adding a little whine to his voice. It was a fine line to walk, but it was worth a try. One of these days, it would work. Jim was reasonably sure.
Today was not that day.
"You suffered severe respiratory distress," Bones said, face stony. "Your blood pressure plummeted. You almost died, period. I'm your CMO, and you're staying put until I say otherwise, understood?"
"Loud and clear," Jim said with a flippant salute. He didn't doubt it had been bad; his body felt like it had gone through more than enough for one day, and since there was no emergency requiring him to push on regardless, it was dragging him back into the dreamland. Not that he remembered dreaming, though he did have a vague memory of a surreal play of different hues of light that he couldn't quite place. Anyway. Bones had gotten him out of the woods, again, and in the end that was all that mattered. Sometimes Bones just needed to be reminded.
"One word for you if you think I'm not serious," Bones growled.
Jim winced. "I know, I know, I'll stay put. You keep your needles away from me, you sadistic old man."
Bones leaned back in the chair, smirking. He still looked tired, but more relaxed now, content, almost. "Watch your mouth, kid."
"Sir, yes, sir," Jim muttered, feeling sleep creep up on him. He thought of the planet, the team of eight that had beamed down into the unknown. He thought of Spock, on the bridge, doing what needed to be done, or with Uhura, allowed to be something more; he had no idea what time it was, what shift was on. He thought of the Enterprise, of her shiny walls and glow-y display screens and sleek lines, and he thought of his crew, her crew, keeping her going, keeping her breathing. Bones would've told him if anything was wrong. He would know by now. Still. Maybe he needed to hear it. "Everything okay with the ship? Everything... okay?"
"Yes, Captain. Everything's fine," Bones said, and there was something in his voice Jim wasn't sure would be allowed there if he was fully awake. Bones was the best friend he'd ever had, but he had some strange ideas about what Jim needed, and boosting his ego wasn't on the list. It made any sort of direct positive feedback an endangered species in their friendship, but Jim didn't mind. He might not have his first officer all figured out yet, but he sure as hell wrote the manual on one Leonard McCoy.
"Go to sleep, Jim."
His crew was safe, his Lady Enterprise was running smooth, and once again he'd lived to see what death's next challenge for him would be. He could follow doctor's orders, just this once.
"Brat," Bones grumbled, and Jim thought, oops, said that out loud. But that was fine, too. He could hear the affection in Bones' voice clear and true.
Pairing: gen, can be read as Kirk/McCoy pre-slash if you'd prefer
Word Count: ~2,500
Warnings: medical emergency, but kind of fluffy overall
Summary: Kirk and the ultimate allergy.
A/N: Originally posted here at st_xi_kink last year, thought I'd give it a permanent home now that I have a journal. Title taken from a Regina Spektor song.
*
The away team had been down on the planet for all of twelve minutes before something went wrong. It took another four before anyone noticed.
It had been just a sting, more annoying than painful, and Jim had slapped the bug away without giving it much thought. The planet they were on was beautiful; uninhabited, as far as anyone could tell, but rich in vegetation, with lush undergrowth, plenty of water, and somewhat peculiar trees that grew straight and tall, only starting to branch out near the top. They were sparsely placed, but several hundred feet above the ground the branches reached out horizontally, twining around each other in the spaces between. The leaves were almost translucent green and purple. Altogether it formed a strange but charming canopy above their heads, like some old Earth cathedral overtaken by nature.
Lost in the sort of fanciful thoughts he'd never admit to having, ever, it took Jim a while to notice anything was wrong. He wandered to where Spock was looking over the readings from the initial sweep they'd taken after beaming down to the planet surface, absently scratching his arm. He gave Spock a questioning look and nodded towards the PADD.
"Anything?"
"Certainly, Captain," Spock said. "Would you care to be more specific?"
"Funny," Jim said. Spock tilted his head ever so slightly, and Jim gave him a long look. He still hadn't figured out for sure when Spock was being serious and when he was just faking it for his own amusement. It would have been easier to assume Spock was always serious, but Jim just knew that the bastard was hiding and evil sense of humor somewhere under his calm-and-serious act. He didn't have any proof, as such, and so far he hadn't had any luck in convincing Uhura to put together a Spock-translation guide, either, but he wasn't wrong, he just knew it.
"Okay, okay," he rolled his eyes. "Anything noteworthy? Something raising the alarm flags? Pushing any buttons better left un-pushed? Shouting at --"
"Thank you, Captain. I do believe I... 'get the picture', as you might say. So far, there is nothing in the data to suggest cause for alarm, but it would, of course, be unwise to draw any conclusions based on the initial readings. The air temperature is slightly cooler than could be reasonably expected based on the planet's vegetation..." Spock trailed off and raised an eyebrow. "Captain. Are you feeling alright?"
"What? Yeah, I'm..." Jim looked down where he'd been scratching at his arm, where he'd been bitten or stung or whatever the hell purple alien bugs did when they got annoyed at you. The damn thing was really itchy. Come to think of it, he felt kind of itchy all over, and his tongue --
"Oh, crap."
"Captain, if you are in any way feeling unwell, perhaps it would be --"
"Uh-huh, way ahead of you," Jim said, heading to where he'd last seen his best friend, vaguely aware of Spock trailing after him. "Bones!"
Yeah, his tongue was definitely getting swollen. Bones would be thrilled.
Bones looked up from a small cluster of blue shirts with a frown. Upon seeing Jim, the frown deepened. He turned back to the little group and pointed out something on a PADD, tapping it twice before turning to meet Jim and Spock half way.
"What did you do?" He asked, whipping out his tricorder.
"Nothing!" Jim argued. "Can I help it if some alien bug decides I'm tasty? No! And you can't really blame the bug either, I'm irresistible, I can't help it. The bug was defenseless against my magnetism."
Bones rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. "Sure, Jim. Women, men, aliens, alien bugs, we know you don't discriminate." He slapped Jim's hand away from where he was still scratching the bite and turned to Spock. "If you would, Mr. Spock," he said, nodding toward Jim's sleeve. Spock reached out and tore off Jim's sleeve; they seemed insultingly unaffected by his affronted yelp, the both of them.
"Don't worry, princess, we'll get you a shiny new ball gown later," Bones said, poking at the bite, which really wasn't looking so good, Jim thought. Also, it had been kind of difficult to breath for a while now, and his tongue was definitely not getting any better. "Hate to tell you this, Jim, but unless your bug-friend bit you with its ass, that ain't a bite. More of an assault than a love affair, that."
Spock rather looked like he privately thought them both insane. Jim knew that look well by now.
"You're hilarious, Bones. Gonna cure me, or are we just going to chat."
"Symptoms?" Bones asked, frowning at the tricorder.
"I feel... kinda itchy. Swollen tongue. And, uh, it’s a bit hard to breath."
Bones nodded and handed the tricorder to Spock before feeling Jim's neck with his fingers. "How long ago did this happen? What kind of bug was it?"
"Uh, a few minutes? And I don't know, small? Kinda purple-ish."
"Purple-ish." Bones let his hands drop, delving into his med kit. "Are the symptoms getting worse?"
Jim gave it some thought. He felt uncomfortable, and having difficulty to breath was always unpleasant, but it didn't feel like he was about to drop dead any moment now. It didn't seem to be getting any worse either.
"Not really," he said, eying the hypospray Bones was preparing. He hated those fucking things.
"Good."
"I might not be dying right now, but I wouldn't call it 'good', Bones. I'm having difficulty breathing! And I really wish weird chemicals would leave my tongue alone already."
"You're having an allergic reaction, but like you said, you're not dying. Surprising but true, small miracles, et cetera."
"Ha, ha," Jim deadpanned.
Bones jabbed him with the hypospray.
Jim cursed, slapping a hand to his neck. "Fucking ow! You're worse than the bug was."
"Except my sting brings sweet relief instead of oxygen deprivation," Bones said. He held his hand out for his tricorder and put it away when Spock handed it to him.
"I take it the Captain will suffer no ill consequences, Doctor?" Spock inquired, grasping his hands behind his back.
"I'd keep an eye on him, seeing as we don't actually know anything about his purple bug-friend, but the allergic reaction was far from acute. The antihistamine should take care of it."
"Then, if you will, I shall return to my work. Captain. Doctor." Spock inclined his head at them.
Jim clapped Spock on the arm in thanks as he turned to walk away and then turned the movement into a lazy stretch. He wanted to feel better already.
Jim poked at his torn sleeve.
"You ruined my shirt," He complained.
"I told you," Bones began, and Jim rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, ball gown, shiny, got it. You're a funny, funny man, McCoy."
Bones opened his mouth, but whatever he might have said, Jim would never know. It was like a flash of negative energy rushing through his whole body. He got dizzy, and was suddenly gasping for breath. Fuck, his head hurt.
"Bones, I..." His legs gave out.
"Jim!" He heard Bones curse, there were other voices, alarmed, another hypospray, which, ouch, didn't make him feel any better than the first.
"Scotty! Beam us up, right the hell now!" Bones again. Jim tried to say something, reach for Bones, someone, anything, but he couldn't breath and he felt so heavy. He stared at the cathedral canopy above him, watching as it vanished in a glimmer of atoms, like a mirage.
He didn't remember rematerializing, but the next time he was aware, he was looking up at the sickbay ceiling, and his body was convulsing, shaking. He had no control over anything. He couldn't focus on anything. There were people around him, voices, but he could only catch fragments of what they were saying.
"Doctor --"
"-- the adrenaline is the --"
"-- hurt him!"
"Tried that --"
"-- can't take --"
"-- is he --"
"-- hold him down!"
He wanted to ask exactly what the hell was going on, and if the stupid bug had at least died after attacking him -- like a wasp or something, he vaguely thought -- and, maybe, why the hell these things always happened to him, but his teeth were grinding together too hard for him to even consider speaking.
There was a sting of a hypospray and everything went blessedly dark.
When he woke up, he felt disoriented, and sore all over. Not the good kind sore, either. It took him a while to piece everything together, and then he groaned, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.
"Captain?" Someone asked, cautious, and Jim lowered his arm to blink up at the nurse -- Chapel, he thought. "How are you feeling."
"More alive than dead," Jim said, his voice raspy, "so I'd say I'm feeling like a winner." He tried on a smile. It was a bit painful, but Jim was well acquainted with painful, and didn't let it stop him. Every woman deserved a smile, he'd always thought, and besides, Chapel was totally hot. She also looked completely unimpressed.
"Touch and go there for a while, Captain," she said, more focused on the monitor readings than him. "I'll go get Doctor McCoy, shall I? Yelling at you will help keep his blood pressure down, I'm sure. Captain."
Jim pouted at her, but she didn't even bother throwing a backward glance at him as she left. He was scowling when Bones appeared at his bedside, looking scruffy and exhausted. Jim pointed an accusing finger at him.
"Your staff loves you more than they love me. I'm their Captain, and also, amazing, but do they have any respect for me? I blame you."
"I've trained them well," Bones said, collapsing into the chair beside the biobed. "I should arrange them a raise one of these days."
"If you're planning a mutiny, I gotta tell you, you'd make a terrible captain."
Bones gave him a wane smile and leaned his elbows on his knees. "Dammit, Jim," he said; whispered, really.
After a few moments of silence, Jim shifted on the bed. "I was sort of lead to believe there'd be more yelling," he said. "You're not yelling. It's making me nervous. Am I still dying or something?"
"No, you're not dying," Bones said, gruff. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Not dying, just impossible. Dammit, Jim!"
"There you go. Let it out, I feel better already."
Bones glared at him. He shrugged, scratching at his neck, but dropped that line of joking.
"So what happened? The bug almost killed me after all?"
"I wish," Bones said, looking annoyed. "It really would be easier if that were the case, Jim. But nothing's ever easy with you, is it, no, you have to be so special -- I could just choke you to death and be done with it!"
Jim thought maybe Chapel had been wrong about the blood pressure thing. That vein throbbing under the skin of Bones' forehead didn't look healthy at all.
"Start making sense or I'll figure out a way to proof the existence of your mutiny plot, true or not."
"You had an allergic reaction to whatever venom the bug was carrying," Bones huffed. "Not a big problem as such, which, it bares repeat, is a minor miracle, since it's you were talking about. The antihistamine I administered as a countermeasure, however," he shook his head, looking baffled.
Jim blinked. "I'm... allergic to the anti-allergy stuff?"
"That about sums it up, yes," Bones said, his tone dry as a drained glass of bourbon. "Only you, Jim."
After a few moments of contemplative silence, Bones shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"
"Aw... I'm fine. I mean," he kept going after glancing at Bones' expression, "a bit sore. A little shaky, but really I'm fine. Totally fine."
"You're not fine until I say you're are, and I'm not saying so. You're staying here until I'm satisfied, no trying to sneak out or so help me, you'll never see that hypo coming."
"Bones..." Jim tried, adding a little whine to his voice. It was a fine line to walk, but it was worth a try. One of these days, it would work. Jim was reasonably sure.
Today was not that day.
"You suffered severe respiratory distress," Bones said, face stony. "Your blood pressure plummeted. You almost died, period. I'm your CMO, and you're staying put until I say otherwise, understood?"
"Loud and clear," Jim said with a flippant salute. He didn't doubt it had been bad; his body felt like it had gone through more than enough for one day, and since there was no emergency requiring him to push on regardless, it was dragging him back into the dreamland. Not that he remembered dreaming, though he did have a vague memory of a surreal play of different hues of light that he couldn't quite place. Anyway. Bones had gotten him out of the woods, again, and in the end that was all that mattered. Sometimes Bones just needed to be reminded.
"One word for you if you think I'm not serious," Bones growled.
Jim winced. "I know, I know, I'll stay put. You keep your needles away from me, you sadistic old man."
Bones leaned back in the chair, smirking. He still looked tired, but more relaxed now, content, almost. "Watch your mouth, kid."
"Sir, yes, sir," Jim muttered, feeling sleep creep up on him. He thought of the planet, the team of eight that had beamed down into the unknown. He thought of Spock, on the bridge, doing what needed to be done, or with Uhura, allowed to be something more; he had no idea what time it was, what shift was on. He thought of the Enterprise, of her shiny walls and glow-y display screens and sleek lines, and he thought of his crew, her crew, keeping her going, keeping her breathing. Bones would've told him if anything was wrong. He would know by now. Still. Maybe he needed to hear it. "Everything okay with the ship? Everything... okay?"
"Yes, Captain. Everything's fine," Bones said, and there was something in his voice Jim wasn't sure would be allowed there if he was fully awake. Bones was the best friend he'd ever had, but he had some strange ideas about what Jim needed, and boosting his ego wasn't on the list. It made any sort of direct positive feedback an endangered species in their friendship, but Jim didn't mind. He might not have his first officer all figured out yet, but he sure as hell wrote the manual on one Leonard McCoy.
"Go to sleep, Jim."
His crew was safe, his Lady Enterprise was running smooth, and once again he'd lived to see what death's next challenge for him would be. He could follow doctor's orders, just this once.
"Brat," Bones grumbled, and Jim thought, oops, said that out loud. But that was fine, too. He could hear the affection in Bones' voice clear and true.