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There was no coffee.
He was going to kill Jim.
He looked around and took in the trash in the waste bin. Then he leaned over and really looked at it. Yeah, they had replicators for pretty much everything, but he knew Jim had a weak spot for the kind of stuff you could still get that you’d trade credits for, the kind of stuff that didn’t taste right from the replicator. That was why they had a coffeemaker and real coffee, after all. And he was seeing a metric ton of those small plastic bags that held those fruit snack that he knew Jim was addicted to. They had to be some of the unhealthiest things in the world.
And there were at least thirty bags in the trash. No…more like forty.
And Jim had only been in his dorm three days cramming for the test since Jacobson had basically run him out of his own dorm, saying now that McCoy had officially offered up his couch Jim didn’t need a dorm. One day Jacobson was going to “mysteriously” come down with…he didn’t know, Andorian shingles or something, and McCoy might just let him bleed out from the eyeballs, Hippocratic oath be damned.
Okay, so he wouldn’t be that bad, but Jim really needed to go back to his own damn dorm at least every once in a while. At least he needed to sleep on a bed every once in a while, and not just when he was at the clinic. And when was the last time he had slept, anyway?
He glanced over to the living room area of his dorm and saw Jim’s notes spread out all over the place. As much of a slacker as Jim appeared to be he actually gave a damn about school. He wasn’t all about flirting with all the women or charming the professors. He did actually give a damn about learning the material. But there were times he actually gave too much of a damn. It had to have been at least three days of coffee and the fruit snacks, he reckoned. He just needed to figure out where Jim was so he could tie him down to the bed, shoot him with a sedative and force him to get some sleep. Maybe hook up a drip to get something in him more nourishing than those damn little snacks, too. An IV of chicken broth directly to his stomach, maybe?
The dorm room door opened and Kirk staggered in. Damn, he looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a few days, he was shaking…damn idiot had been pushing himself too hard. What the hell kind of project had he been doing? “You. Sleep. Now,” McCoy growled as soon as the dorm room shut behind him.
“Can’t. Have to get a working scale model of a Bradbury class ship done for Professor Garrett. I kind of bet her I could build one by the end of the week for extra credit on the exam. I mean, it’s not going to work the same way one actually would, but I can get the damn thing to fly by remote, at least.”
McCoy raised an eyebrow. “And just why would you make an idiotic bet like that?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“Because she knew my dad,” he said quietly. “He did it in two weeks.”
McCoy shut his eyes and shook his head. They’d been at the Academy for nearly eight months now, and every time his father got brought up by a professor and some accomplishment he had done was brought to light Jim wanted to beat it. Even if it was a pointless thing to beat, Jim wanted to. After a moment McCoy opened his eyes and then nodded to the package tucked under his arm. “And I take it that’s more supplies?”
“Coffee and fruit snacks,” he said. “Plus parts.”
“Jim, you need real food. Can’t fault you on the coffee, no med school student could survive without it, but the fruit snacks? They aren’t that much better than the crap they used to be made with. Yeah, maybe they have more fruit now, if you’re lucky, but they’re still crap. Sit at the table, clear off a space and tinker with your toy while I make you an actual meal.”
Kirk snorted slightly, then handed him the bag. “Fine, Mom.”
“Call me mom and your ass is back in your own dorm,” he said, nearly snatching the bag from Kirk. He set it on the counter in the kitchenette. “The one good thing about you living off caffeine and crap is that I actually have food for a change, which is nice. And a lot of it, for once.” He went to the fridge and opened it up and began rummaging around, pulling things out and setting things on the counter next to the fridge, and then he moved to the cabinets and got stuff.
And then he realized Kirk was being awfully quiet.
He turned, and saw that Kirk was at the table, his arms on the table crossed in front of him on his schematics, his head resting on them, snoring softly. Damn kid had finally crashed. He shook his head, and then put away the food that didn’t interest him. He wasn’t all that hungry, to be honest; unlike Jim, he was a fully functional adult who had been taking good care of himself. But a cup of coffee sounded good. He looked at the coffee Kirk had gotten, saw it was the good stuff, and grinned as he made up a pot. He’d let him rest, maybe try and move him to the bed in a little bit so he didn’t wake up sore and stiff later. He might even take a look at the schematics, see if there was anything he could do to help while Kirk caught up on some of that sleep he’d been putting off for days. For now, though, Jim could just sleep at the table, get some well-deserved shut eye, and McCoy would just watch over him and have some coffee and enjoy the quiet.