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The first time Leonard McCoy met James Tiberius Kirk he knew his life was never going to be the same. He wasn't sure at that point if it was going to be better or worse, but he knew it was going to be different. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing; after all, it was fairly obvious how his life hadn't gone according to plan already. If his life had gone according to plan he would have been happily married, maybe with a kid or two in the mix, and his practice would have been thriving. He'd have been happy instead of a pessimistic grump. And somehow, when he shared his flask with the man, he got the feeling his life was going to take a whole new direction.
Being friends with Kirk was interesting. The man was a natural born flirt, using charm and smooth talking to skate out of any problems that might occur with the opposite sex. He knew Kirk was commitment phobic, as if getting into a relationship would kill him. True, he didn't really plan to be in a relationship with anyone either, more because he had been there and done that and it had blown up in his face, but if it ever happened he wouldn't fight it. Kirk would probably run off to the farthest reaches of the galaxy to escape something as simple as admitting he was someone's boyfriend, let alone moving in with a woman or marriage. He was just waiting for the day when some woman would work her way around that and force him into being in a relationship, and he was fairly sure that woman would become his best female friend in the world.
And then there were the challenges of being his friend. Kirk could be very selfish, and he was cocky as all hell, and really really stubborn. But generally he was a good kid. Most of the time he didn't mind Kirk being his normal self. Today was not one of those days, though. He'd pulled a twelve hour shift at the clinic under a professor who was still treating him like he was fresh out of med school instead of acknowledging he'd been a doctor since some of his fellow doctors had been freshmen in high school. Hell, some of them had probably been in middle school when he'd become a doctor. He was frustrated and all he wanted to do was go to his room and crash, and it was a shambles and Kirk had eaten all his food and left him with one beer. He sighed, hoping Kirk wasn't passed out in the middle of his bed. He poked his head into the room and saw he was in luck. At least he could sleep.
The one plus of being one of the med students at Starfleet Academy was he got a room to himself. And it was larger than the other rooms, with a kitchen area. It was basically a mini apartment, and he had thought he'd be lucky like the other med students and have a sanctuary after a long shift. None of the other med students were friends with Kirk, though. He was starting to regret ever sitting next to the man on the shuttle. With a sigh he opened the door to his room all the way and that was when he took a whiff of the room. It smelled foul, like somebody had left food out and it had gone rotten. He shut the door again and hung his hand. Something had to change, and soon, or else he'd be kicked out of the Academy and be brought up on homicide charges instead.
Sleep was going to have to wait, he realized. He went to the computer he had in the room, hoping Kirk hadn't decided to use it. The man was too smart for his own good; every time he changed his password Kirk figured it out and used his computer like it was his own personal one. Luck was favoring him in at least one regard today; he put in his password and it worked. He pulled up a writing program and just began to type. If Kirk was going to become a parasitic leech that wasn't a dead parasitic leech there were going to be rules and by God, Kirk was going to follow them. It took him forty minutes, but finally they were written and printed out. Now he just had to wait for the next time he caught his friend where he could have the dorm rules handy.
–
It went on for two more weeks before he finally cornered Kirk. Oh, Kirk was crafty. He took advantage of raiding his dorm and making himself at home when he wasn't there. And every time he was there Kirk was nowhere to be seen. It was like a game of cat and mouse, where he was the cat and Kirk was this mouse with a severe case of sloppy. Finally he had enough and tossed everything Kirk had left in the dorm in the trash compactor. He left it sitting on the middle of the table, wrapped up in a bow with the new rules on top, and then he waited. He should have been sleeping, getting ready for his next graveyard shift, but this had to be done and it had to be done soon before he decided to toss Kirk in the bay with weights on his wrists and ankles. It was nearly midnight when his door opened. One of these days he would figure out just how he kept reprogramming his door sensor so he could get in too, but today was not that day.
“Hey,” Kirk said with a frown. “You're supposed to be at the clinic.”
“I called in sick,” McCoy said, crossing his arms. “We need to talk.”
“You sound like a girl about to break-up with her boyfriend,” he said, wincing slightly.
“I'm about to commit justifiable homicide if things don't change.” McCoy pointed to the cube. “Merry Christmas.”
“For me? What is it?” Kirk asked, getting closer.
“Everything of yours you left in this dorm,” McCoy replied.
Kirk gaped. “You tossed it in the trash compactor?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah. Every last thing you left here is in that wrapped up cube.” McCoy stood up. “I have rules. Effective immediately. And if you don't follow them, Jim, I'll make sure you never get to set foot in here again.”
Kirk paled. “But sharing a room sucks,” he said.
“Well, get used to it if you don't start following the new rules.” McCoy moved over to the cube and lifted off the sheet of paper. He set it on the table, set a pen next to it and then moved over to an inert Kirk, roughly moving him to the table and sitting him down in front of the list. “Read them, sign them, follow them.”
Kirk remained motionless for a moment, then picked up the list. “Dorm rules. This means you, Jim Kirk.” Kirk looked up at McCoy. “Who else are these rules supposed to be for?”
“The phantom roommate you keep scaring away,” McCoy said sarcastically. “You're the one that insists on treating this room like it's yours, so these rules apply to you and you alone.” He pointed to the list. “Start with rule one and read them all. Out loud, too, so I can make sure you understand them.”
“Really?”
“Really,” McCoy said with a nod. “Start. Now.” Kirk sighed and turned back to the paper, picking up the pen and writing seriously with three question marks next to it at the top of the page. Then he underlined it. “Hey! No commentary on the rules.”
“I should be able to voice my objections,” Kirk said.
“Voice them. Don't write them on the rules,” McCoy said. “You can start any time now.”
Kirk picked the paper up slightly. “Rule one: replace the coffee you drink, jackass.” He looked up at McCoy. “Did you have to call me a jackass?”
“Well, you are one,” he said, crossing his arms. “You're an inconsiderate jackass who I'm not sure why I tolerate.”
“You love me.”
“No, I tolerate you, probably because I hope one day you'll grow out of this and I can have a best friend who I don't want to strangle half the time,” McCoy said in a huff.
“Best friend?” Kirk asked with a grin. “I'm growing on you.”
“And you also annoy the hell out of me.” He reached over and physically turned Kirk's head back to the list. “Keep reading.”
“Finish rule one or move onto rule two?” Kirk asked.
“Finish rule one.”
“I shouldn't have to say that,” Kirk finished reading. Then he looked back up at McCoy. “You didn't say it. You wrote it out.”
“If you're going to be a literal jackass I'm taking you and your cube and kicking your ass out,” McCoy said, glaring. “You drink all my coffee all the time and I end up replacing it. If you use the last scoop, bring me more coffee. My fellow students hate dealing with me when I don't have my coffee.”
“Yeah, you do get pretty grumpy,” Kirk said with a slight grin.
“Anyway, that rule is ironclad. All of these rules are, really, but that's an absolute. That's why it's rule number one. So do it.”
“Yes, Mom,” Kirk said.
McCoy resisted the urge to slap the back of his head. “Keep going.”
Kirk sighed. “Rule two: there is no 'your side' of the bed. You do not have a side. This is not your dorm. No, we cannot share the single bed, as you take up more space than should be humanly possible. Enjoy the couch.” He looked back up at McCoy. “I am not a bed hog.”
“On a queen size mattress, maybe. On a single you are. Not that I want to share a bed with you anyway. My dorm, my bed. The couch is all yours.”
“The couch is lumpy,” Kirk said, pouting just a bit.
“It's the couch or you spend the night in your own dorm,” McCoy replied. “And you just said sharing a room sucks.”
“Well, that's what we do. You're just usually never home,” Kirk said.
“And I'm not supposed to be sharing this dorm. It's supposed to be just for me. The fact I'm even still considering letting you stay here should be remembered.” He watched as Kirk looked back down at the list. “Keep that in mind.” Kirk set the list back down on the table before picking up the pen and writing the word harsh next to rule number two. “It is not harsh.”
“Yes it is,” Kirk said with a shrug.
“Are you going to take the couch or not?” McCoy asked as Kirk started tapping the pen on the table.
“Fine,” Kirk said with a sigh. “Taking the couch is better than sharing a room with Jacobson.”
“Okay then. Go on to rule number three.”
“Rule three: if you don't like it when I throw your clothes in the trash compactor, don't leave them lying around.” Kirk glanced over at the cube in front of him. “I still can't believe you did that. Now I have to replace everything.”
“It's your own damn fault,” McCoy said. “I got tired of my dorm looking like a pigsty, and it was all your mess.”
“Yeah, but couldn't you have just thrown it in a bag or something?” Kirk asked, looking up at him. “I mean, why the trash compactor?”
“Because it proved my point better,” McCoy said, crossing his arms. “Those clothes have been on the floor for at least two weeks. In the exact same spot you left them, too. And I know for a fact you've been in and out of this dorm room almost every night I haven't been here. So that's two weeks you walked around them without picking the damn things up.”
“You know, I should be really pissed. Now I'm just worried,” he said, looking back at the cube.
“You should be worried. You treat my room like your own personal laundry basket again and I'll keep doing it. Don't think I won't.”
“At least my leather jacket wasn't in there,” Kirk said with a sigh. “Okay. Rule four: absolutely no bringing people here to have sex.” Kirk looked up at McCoy. “Wait, what?”
“Do you know how long it takes for the smell to leave? And I know for a fact you aren't using the couch. You're using my bed and you aren't even changing the sheets. How many women have you brought here, Jim?” Kirk was quiet and McCoy could tell he was counting in his head. The longer he was quiet the more McCoy didn't want to hear the answer. He uncrossed his arms and put his head in his hands. “Forget it. If it's taking you a full minute to count I don't want to know.”
“More than ten, less than twenty?” Kirk said.
McCoy dropped his hand and stared at Kirk, open-mouthed. “In my bed?”
“Not always!”
“I have to disinfect the entire room,” McCoy said with a groan. “No, scratch that. You're going to disinfect the entire room. This place is going to be so sterile I can perform surgery in here.” He pointed to the list. “There's more to rule four.”
Kirk turned back to the list. “I'm serious,” he read. “I will neuter you. I don't want to have this conversation again.” Kirk swallowed thickly and looked up at McCoy. “You're serious.”
“As a heart attack,” McCoy said with a nod. “I can slip you an anesthetic pill and cut it all off, deprive you of your social life.” Kirk winced and McCoy grinned. That probably should have been rule number one, judging from his friend's reaction. He nodded back to the list. “Keep going.”
Kirk stared at McCoy for a moment with a look of panic in his eyes, then turned back to the list. “Rule five: when I come home from a twelve-hour graveyard shift at the clinic, it is not okay to make noise before 10:30 AM. Not a single noise, Jim. I don't even want to hear you breathing. Do it outside.” He shook his head. “I am not loud.”
“You're like a freight train blaring it's horn,” McCoy said. “Like standing next to a space shuttle when it takes off. Like a tsunami crashing on the shore. Like the echo of dynamite in a cave. Like--”
“I get it, I get it,” Kirk said, lifting his hand up. He picked up the pen and wrote rude next to the rule, underlining it.
“I am not rude. You're pretty damn loud when you're rummaging through my refrigerator. I mean, you're louder than my wife was when she was screaming at me, and I didn't think any human being in the universe could do that. So if you're here and I'm sleeping you better be as quiet as a mouse or I will murder you next time you sleep.”
“You wouldn't kill me, would you?” Kirk asked, looking up at him again.
“Trust me, I would,” McCoy said with a nod. “Follow these rules and you may live long enough to become a Starfleet captain in your lifetime.”
“Two and a half years.”
“What?”
Kirk looked at him intently. “I'm going to become a Captain in two and a half years.”
McCoy shook his head. “It would have to take a perfect storm of events for you to become captain in three years. Face it, Jim. It's not going to happen.”
“It will, Bones,” Kirk said stubbornly.
McCoy sighed and lowered his head slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is not the conversation we need to be having right now. Just realize that if I kill you in your sleep you'll never become a Starfleet captain and let's move on to rule six.”
“Fine, fine,” Kirk grumbled. Then he sighed. “Rule six: just as it is not okay to sleep in my bed, it is doubly not okay to eat there. Especially since whenever you eat, your motor skills regress to those of a drunk toddler.” Kirk grinned slightly at that as he picked up the pen and drew a grin next to the end of that rule.
“You are not supposed to find that amusing,” McCoy said tersely.
“I don't know. How much did the toddler drink? One beer? Shot of whiskey? An Adios Motherfucker? Just how much did the toddler drink? There's multiple levels of drunk.” McCoy didn't resist the urge to slap the back of his head this time. Kirk looked up sharply, glaring at McCoy. “Damn, that hurt.”
“You're such a smartass, you know that?” McCoy shook his head. “One day you being a smartass is going to get you into trouble you can't charm your way out of. You're going to meet someone who's just going to beat the everloving crap out of you and I'm going to end up patching you up as I say I told you so every time you open your mouth to complain.”
“You wouldn't.”
“I would,” McCoy said with a nod.
“I can charm my way out of anything,” Kirk said defensively.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Kirk said with a nod. “My charm hasn't failed me yet.”
“Then I'm going to enjoy that day a hell of a lot more as I point out the numerous ways it did fail you,” McCoy said, crossing his arms again. “You should know better than anyone else what kind of threats are out there and what it can cost you.” The minute the words came out of his mouth he saw Kirk's face take on a hard set. Up until now he hadn't said a single thing he regretted. That last remark? That he might regret. “Look, Jim. I'm--”
Kirk looked back at the rules. “Rule seven,” he said tensely, cutting his friend off. “Do not reprogram my door sensor to yell obscenities at passerby. Do not reprogram my door sensor to hit on me. Do not reprogram my door sensor to address you as 'Jim Kirk, destroyer of hearts, rocker of worlds, and general awesome badass genius everyone loves especially Bones. Plus he's hot.' Do not reprogram my door sensor.” He looked up at McCoy again. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why can't I reprogram your door sensor to call me that?”
“Because it annoys the everloving crap out of me,” McCoy said with a sigh. “You have your own door sensor, to your own dorm room. If you want to reprogram something, reprogram that one. I don't want to get any more strange looks from my fellow residents in the dorm here.”
“They give you strange looks?” Kirk asked.
“Every time they hear it. Some of the other people here think you're some weird psycho stalker. If they didn't know you'd have sex with any female in the vicinity that smiled at you they'd assume you were infatuated with me.”
Kirk made a face, looking down at the paper and drawing three frowns at the end of that rule. “I don't like you like that.”
“Yeah, well, they wonder.” McCoy looked at him. “Look, about the other comment...”
“I don't want to talk about it,” Kirk said, glaring.
“I'm just saying...I worry,” McCoy said quietly. Kirk's glare softened. “I mean, your dad is legend here. He was probably just as charming as you were, just as well liked. And then he came up upon that spaceship and he died. I don't want to see that happen to you, okay?”
“It's not going to happen to me,” Kirk said quietly. “But fine. Okay. I'll try and dial down the propensity for getting into trouble.”
McCoy looked at him. “I'll believe that when I see it.”
“I can do it!” Kirk said. “I am not a trouble magnet.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Kirk sighed. “Look. There's one more stupid rule and then I'll sign this and I can get some food and I'll be out of your hair.”
“It's not exactly a rule,” McCoy said, looking over Kirk's shoulder. “Rule eight: this list may be modified at the first signer's discretion and for any reason. The second signer will abide by every single rule if he wants to keep pretending he lives here.”
“So basically you can change any rule or add any rule and I have to be okay with it?” Kirk asked, shifting slightly to look turn his whole body towards McCoy.
“Basically? Yes, that's exactly what that means. These are my rules. I'm 100% sure these rules won't change, but I'm pretty sure I'm just going to keep tacking on new rules because you're going to find new ways to make my life hell.”
“If I make your life hell then why are you still letting me stay here?” Kirk asked, crossing his arms.
“Because I can tolerate you most of the time, unless you push me to my breaking point again. And you're my friend. Plus this way I don't have to hear you bitch all the time about Jacobson.”
“Well, he's a conceited arrogant asshole who only thinks about himself.”
“Look who's talking,” McCoy countered. “The only difference is you at least tone your arrogance down to socially acceptable levels ninety percent of the time, which makes you tolerable. If you'd been rooming with anyone other than Jacobson I wouldn't even be entertaining the idea of you staying here. I'd kick your ass to the curb and tell you to suck it up. As it stands, I think Jacobson's a massive prick and I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy, let alone you. That's why I'm letting you stay.”
“Well, good to know you think so highly of me,” Kirk said. He picked up the pen and signed his name on the second line. “I agree that I will follow all these rules, arbitrary and pointless as I think they are.” He handed the pen to McCoy and pushed the paper towards him. McCoy moved from behind Kirk and signed it as well. “So now what?”
“I'm going to frame this and hang it up somewhere where you will see it every time you come in,” McCoy said. Then he paused. He moved the list up slightly and wrote a number nine on the paper, along with the rule. “I forgot one.” He pushed the list back towards Kirk.
Kirk read it. “Rule nine: stop parading around naked.” Kirk looked at the rule, then at McCoy, then he grabbed the pen from McCoy and wrote something under the rule. “There.”
“You don't mean that,” McCoy murmured, reading Kirk's objection. He stared at Kirk, who was looking up at him with a look of horror on his face. Then he snatched the pen back and wrote under the objection. “Read it,” he said, moving the list back towards Kirk.
“Yes I do,” Kirk read as soon as he looked back. “You expect me to wear clothes when I'm trying to be comfortable?” he said upon finishing.
“Yes. I expect you to at least be in boxers while you're here. I do not need to see you naked, and since you will no longer be bringing women here no one else will be here to see you naked, either. Stay clothed or go back to your own dorm room and try that crap around Jacobson and see how he reacts.”
“I already had that argument with him,” Kirk said with a sigh. “You both hate me.”
“I don't hate you, Jim. I just want to have kept my sanity by the time we graduate. Trust me, if I hated you there would be no list of rules. There would be my foot on your ass, and I'd kick you out of the room and then toss your compacted clothes out after you.” McCoy looked at him. “Can you follow these rules?”
“I have to?” Kirk asked.
“You have to if you want to stay here.”
“Fine, fine,” Kirk said. “I'll follow the rules.”
“Good.” McCoy took the list back. “So. You can stay here until you piss me off and I try and decapitate you with a bone saw in your sleep.”
“Has anyone told you you have an unwholesome preoccupation with the act of homicide?” Kirk asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Trust me, I haven't even gotten into the fantasies I used to have about my ex-wife when we were going through our divorce,” McCoy said.
“I'm not really sure I want to know them,” Kirk replied with a grimace. He pushed the chair back. “Since you're playing hooky from clinic duty tonight, why don't we go out and get a drink? Or several. I think we could use them.”
“No coming back here and throwing up all over the bathroom,” McCoy said. “Or the couch. I'm not cleaning it up ever again.”
“I can hold my liquor,” Kirk said defensively. “I can hold my liquor better than you.”
McCoy scoffed. “I highly doubt that, kid.”
“Kid? Did you just call me kid?” Kirk looked at him. “You are not that much older than me.”
“I'm more experienced,” McCoy said. “And I can call you kid if I want to. That's now rule number ten. I can call you whatever I damn well please.”
“One of these days I'm going to have a set of rules for you,” Kirk said, standing up.
“Like I'll follow them,” McCoy said, scoffing slightly. “My dorm, my rules, remember? That was rule number eight.”
“One day I'll be in charge of a ship and you'll have to do whatever I say,” Kirk said, watching McCoy grab his jacket.
“When I'm old and gray?” McCoy asked as he slipped it on.
“Two and a half years,” Kirk said with a glare.
“You'll be lucky if you get it in ten,” McCoy said.
“I told Pike I'd do it in three years and I've only been here six months.” Kirk looked at him. “He's the one who challenged me. I just upped the challenge.”
McCoy looked at him intently for a moment. “You really think you can do it, don't you?”
“I don't think I can do it. I know I can,” Kirk said confidently.
“Your arrogant streak is showing,” McCoy said as he moved towards the door.
“That isn't arrogance. That's confidence,” Kirk objected as he followed his friend.
McCoy reached for the door handle. “Same difference.”
“No. Arrogance is boasting about something I can do. Confidence is just knowing I can do it.” McCoy opened the door and they both stepped out into the hall. “Just you wait. I'm going to be a Starfleet captain in two and a half years if it's the last thing I do.”
McCoy shook his head. “Fine. But even when you become a captain I'm still going to tell you when you're being a jackass.”
“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Kirk said with a grin, moving over and clapping McCoy on the shoulder. “After all, what are best friends for?”
McCoy shook his head. “These drinks we're going to have. You are going to be the one who pays for them, right?”
“Maybe,” Kirk said.
“Yes, you are,” McCoy said, stopping in his tracks. “You owe me.”
Kirk sighed. “Fine, fine. I'll pay. Can we just go drink now? There's drinks to drink and women to flirt with.”
“Don't you dare leave me at the bar to go home with some woman,” McCoy grumbled as he started walking again. “Especially since you can't bring them here.”
“You are just going to take all the fun out of the evening, aren't you?” Kirk said with a sigh.
“No, but I don't want to be left while you get some tail,” McCoy said. “We go in together, we leave together. Besides, I want to see which of us can hold our booze better.”
“Loser has to buy coffee for the next month?” Kirk asked hopefully.
McCoy thought it over for a moment. “Fine. Loser has to buy coffee for the next month.”
“Yes!” Kirk said. “Okay. I will so kick your ass.”
“You wish, kid.” Kirk grinned at him, and reluctantly McCoy found himself grinning back. And then Kirk was off, talking about the bars they'd hit and the drinks they'd order and McCoy remembered that being one of Jim Kirk's friends wasn't really a bad thing, to be honest. Most of the time, at any rate. When he was a normal human being and not a parasitic leech it could be downright fun. He just hoped Kirk actually followed the rules, or he'd probably lose the best friend he'd had in a long time.