Chapter Text
McCoy emerged from the restroom and glanced around the lobby of the distribution office. Another new cadet sat in one of the chairs, seemingly waiting for McCoy. The kid didn't look too good, to be honest. McCoy himself wasn't exactly fresh-faced at the moment, but throwing up, washing up, brushing his teeth, and changing his shirt had done him some good. Which couldn't be said for his new acquaintance.
"Jim? Right?" McCoy squatted beside him, examining the young man.
"Right, Bones," Kirk's voice sounded unsure.
"You can just call me Leonard."
"You're starting to look much better," Kirk attempted a joke but only managed to grip the chair, eager to steady himself.
"And you're getting worse. Want to visit the local infirmary or whatever they have here?"
"Absolutely not! So where are we going now?" Kirk stubbornly got up and looked around somewhat disoriented.
"Well... considering the package I received, I've got a communicator, a tablet, codes, the address of the apartment, and a bunch of tasks to attend to. I know a quartermaster around here. Looks like we'll be wearing those idiotic red uniforms."
"Ah... right," Kirk began examining the package in his hands as if he just noticed it for the first time.
McCoy shook his head disapprovingly, took the package from Kirk's hands, quickly stashed everything into his bag, checked something on the tablet, and grabbed Kirk's elbow.
"Come on, let's go."
"Yeah," Kirk was slightly disoriented but confidently got to his feet and started walking. "So, where are we going, Bones?"
"Firstly, stop calling me that—my name is Leonard or Dr. McCoy. Secondly, since you don't want to go to the local doctors, we'll use what we have. The accommodation assigned to us is nearby. I have a first aid kit."
"I'm fine. Just give me my stuff, and I'll be on my way. Okay?"
"Calm down. We're still together for the uniform and the commanders. Kirk somehow sighed a little doomed and allowed McCoy to guide their direction.
In about ten minutes, they found themselves in front of one of the typical dormitories.
"So... How does this all open?"
"Here. We're going there, that's the entrance. 5th floor, apartment 52. And here's the code," Jim easily entered the data, and the doors of the entrance opened, inviting them inside.
"I see the concussion is doing wonders for you," McCoy remarked.
"I'm fine; I don't have any concussion."
"Sure, I can see that. Sit here. Don't pretend you're okay," McCoy quickly surveyed the small room and directed Jim to the couch.
McCoy immediately unpacked his bag, laid out Jim's things, and placed them on the table in front of him. He took out the first aid kit and started taking out scanners.
"I'd bet my license that you spent several rounds at the bar last night. I hope the other guy looks worse."
"Maybe it was me who started it?"
"Maybe it was, but for some reason, I like you."
"Suspicious. There were four of them, and we were flying with them in the shuttle. Ow..." Kirk flinched away from the scanner.
"Easy, I'm just scanning. You have a moderate concussion, a cracked cheekbone, and your nose isn't properly set. I can fix the last two right here. It'll be unpleasant, but I have a numbing agent and a sedative."
"No! No injections!" Jim quickly got to his feet, and from the sudden change of position, he almost ended up on the floor.
"Hush! Calm down! I was just suggesting! We can do without it," McCoy pushed Jim back down and demonstratively withdrew his hands, giving him some space. There was something off about this reaction, but McCoy didn't give himself time to dwell on it.
"Just don't like doctors and meds," Jim explained.
"I've noticed. Look, I need you to lie down—I have a regenerator, and it'll fix the cheekbone and nose in 15 minutes. But I need to set your nose and disinfect your face first. It's better if you lie down."
"Oh, even without dinner. Why did I agree?"
"Because you're not okay. And believe me, starting a new life will be much easier if your head isn't hurting."
Thinking about the headache, McCoy thought about it and injected himself with one of his hyposprays in the neck. Jim looked at him with a mix of fear and surprise.
"Are you some kind of addict?"
"No. Hangover. Want some?" Jim just shook his head in refusal and lay down with a light groan.
"Let's begin, Bones. But no meds."
Jim forced himself to relax and found that closing his eyes and lying down was quite pleasant. He felt the gentle touch of cleansing wipes, their light scent.
"It might be a little unpleasant. I'm resetting your nose. Have you done it before?"
"Yeah."
"Not the first time."
"Not the first time, Bones. Ow!"
"Stop calling me that, Jim."
"But it suits you," Jim wanted to rub his nose, but McCoy took his hands away.
"Don't touch it. Try to nap; it might sting a bit, but I promise it won't be painful."
"I know. Thanks, Bones."
"Lord, why did I bring you here."
"Because I'm cute."
"Shut up, Jim. I'll take a shower and check out the apartment. And don't touch the regenerator."
At lunchtime, Captain Pike, on his way to his office, noticed McCoy and Kirk approaching the quartermaster's office and couldn't help but suppress a light smile. These two had spent less than four hours at the academy, yet they already bore little resemblance to the stray dogs who had boarded the shuttle in the morning. Kirk had shed some of his bruises and seemed to be wearing McCoy's T-shirt and shirt, while McCoy appeared to have someone else to take care of again.