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How could someone be that beautiful? Many words came to mind as good descriptors for James T. Kirk (reckless, bold, outgoing, ambitious, intelligent, determined, self-absorbed), but McCoy always returned to that one: beautiful.
Because he simply was. And not just physically.
Other people appreciated him for his physical beauty, too. Seemingly all the time. But they didn't see him quite like McCoy saw him, in the quiet moments when he spotted Kirk alone in a hallway, just admiring the view out the windows, or when he lounged on the grass in the sun, or even in the library by himself, reading, taking notes, and actually enjoying it.
Everyone assumed he didn't study, that he was just some natural genius without any effort, that he spent all his spare time partying and drinking. But McCoy knew better. The party-boy was a front. The real James T. Kirk was a huge nerd.
McCoy liked that about him. Past all the bravado he put on for everyone else, the things he was interested in, truly interested in, were also things he didn't feel like he could share with anyone else or allow anyone to know about.
Pathetic as it might have been, McCoy wished he was the person Kirk could confide in, feel safe with, be himself around. He found himself fantasizing about it. How they'd meet, how Kirk would quickly realize he could trust McCoy, how they'd spend time together away from everyone else just to be themselves.
But McCoy was a realist, a doctor, and divorced. Relationships didn't work like that, he and Kirk weren't even friends, and things were rarely ever so easy in life.
He allowed himself his little fantasy, anyway. He wasn't harming anybody with it, after all, and Kirk never need know. They'd both graduate the Academy and go their separate ways and McCoy would probably never see the kid again.
* * *
"What's on your mind?"
"Nothin'. What's on yours?"
"Bullshit, Len. You've got this dreamy look on your face."
"Shut up, Chris. I do not."
She tilted her head to the side, affected an expression somewhere between mildly spaced out and completely high, then fluttered her lashes enticingly. McCoy scowled at her.
"That's what you look like," she said cheerfully as she stole a fry from his plate.
"Like I got dosed with something?"
"No, like you're thinking about someone."
"I'm not thinkin' about anyone."
"Well, maybe you should. You're so antsy and wound up all the time. A girlfriend might help with that."
"I don't want a girlfriend."
"Fine. Boyfriend, then."
McCoy choked on a sip of his coffee. Understanding instantly passed over Christine's face.
"Ah, I see. You are thinking about someone and a guy, no less," she teased, taking another fry. "Do I know him? Is he hot?"
"Dammit, Chris. No."
She pushed her lower lip out in feigned disappointment. "He's not hot?"
"That's not what I—"
"Is he in here right now? Point him out to me," she demanded, head already on the swivel as she scanned the mess for whomever had caught McCoy's attention.
Despite himself, McCoy couldn't help automatically looking for Kirk, too. He was easy enough to find, surrounded by his friends where they were all rapturously listening to whatever story he was telling them. Every single one of them laughed during all the right pauses or grew sober in unison, while Kirk himself gesticulated wildly or got conspiratorially quiet at certain points so they had to lean in to hear him better.
He looked absolutely ridiculous, in McCoy's opinion. And gorgeous, as usual. Shaking his head with an exasperated sigh, he returned his attention to his lunch only to find Christine staring at him wide-eyed and incredulous. He groaned internally as he realized his mistake.
"You like Jim Kirk?" She hissed. "The guy everyone's obsessed with? The guy with an ego the size of a small—"
"Yes," McCoy interrupted. "Keep your damn voice down. I don't want anybody else to know."
Something that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a giggle and a snort came out of her mouth before she clapped her hand across it and leaned over the table, shoulders shaking.
McCoy vowed never to be so obvious again and cursed himself for his slip-up.
* * *
The universe must've hated him for some reason or simply found it hysterically funny to fuck with his life. Either way, two weeks later McCoy found himself in Jim Kirk's arms. Literally.
"Hey, buddy. You okay?"
He was maybe the only cadet to have ever passed out during a flight sim.
"Hey. Stay with me."
Even then, the extent of his humiliation probably wouldn't hit in its full force until later.
"Come on. Open your eyes. Focus on me."
At least he hadn't thrown up. This time.
"It's okay. I'm right here."
Slowly, McCoy came to the awareness of a warm hand on his cheek and an arm wrapped tight around his shoulders. Was he lying in someone's lap? He didn't exactly recall how or where he'd fainted.
"Okay, good. I think he's coming around."
That voice sounded familiar. The hand shifted from his cheek to the nape of his neck, still warm and comforting.
McCoy's eyes blinked open and closed a few times before he finally managed to focus on the figure holding him.
Oh, fuck.
Kirk was looking down with a mix of polite concern and gentle encouragement. McCoy belatedly realized it was his lap he was lying in and felt his face flush in what was probably a very deep red.
"You feeling alright?"
"Yep. Just fine," McCoy gritted out. He tried to sit up (awkwardly, since there was very little floor space near him not occupied by Kirk to brace his hand against), then was promptly hit with another wave of dizziness and sank back into Kirk's arms with a groan.
"Cadet, do you require assistance?" Someone standing nearby asked, likely an instructor, but McCoy absolutely did not feel like looking up to check. Other cadets milled around, talking in hushed tones, but stayed away a respectful distance.
Before McCoy could even open his mouth to answer, Kirk said, "Yes, he does. I can take him down to Medical."
"Alone?"
"Won't be a problem."
After a brief pause, the instructor said, "Very well. You are both excused for the remainder of class."
"Thanks."
With no further discussion, McCoy felt Kirk remove his hand from his nape to snake his arm under McCoy's knees while the one around his shoulders lowered to his back. It hit a second later what he intended to do.
"Oh, no, seriously, you don't need to—"
But Kirk was already well on his way, maneuvering into standing with what appeared to be little or almost no effort whatsoever, then striding towards the exit past the many staring eyes of other cadets. McCoy was pressed to Kirk's chest, helpless.
"I can walk," McCoy said, hardly able to disguise his embarrassment.
"You still look like you don't feel too good."
"Dammit, kid, I'm a doctor. I know my own limits."
Instead of the expected response of irritation thrown his way, Kirk just laughed lightly. "Oh, come on. You almost fainted again back there."
McCoy felt himself blushing even more furiously.
Then remembered with horror that it was Christine's shift that afternoon.
* * *
"So," Kirk began conversationally after all was said and done, McCoy having essentially been diagnosed with what he'd already known he had: aviophobia. "You don't like flying much, huh?"
McCoy shot him a glare as they walked.
"What tipped you off, genius?"
"Eh, one or two things. Nothing major."
Christine, shockingly, had made no comments and barely even reacted when Kirk came in carrying McCoy and set him down dramatically on the nearest biobed. Behind Kirk's back, however, she had given him several significant eyebrow raises and a thumbs up. He'd barely restrained himself from flipping her off, even as she administered a hypo to help with the dizziness.
He would no doubt be getting a number of messages later, all in caps, with a thousand exclamation points.
"You don't have to walk me back to my dorm, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Just wanna be there to catch you in case you pass out again."
"Uh-huh. How the hell did you even catch me the first time? You weren't anywhere near me."
Kirk shrugged nonchalantly, but it seemed a little forced. "I happened to notice you didn't look so good. Just got there in time, I guess."
McCoy narrowed his eyes at the man and hunched his shoulders against the chill as the temperature dropped with the setting sun.
"Right," he replied flatly.
"So I heard the nurse call you Len back there?" Kirk evaded. Or at least, it felt like he was evading.
"Yeah. Len, Leonard. McCoy is what I usually go by."
Kirk scrunched his nose up. "I don't think I'm gonna call you that."
"Which one?"
"Either. I'm Jim, by the way. Kirk."
"I know."
Jim gave him a look full of genuine, almost hopeful, surprise. "Really? You know me?"
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Who doesn't, kid?"
"Oh," Jim said faintly. "Yeah, 'cause of my dad."
"What do you mean?"
"Uh, nothing. Which building's yours, again?"
McCoy sighed. "Just follow me."
* * *
Jim didn't seem too eager to leave once they finally arrived at McCoy's dorm. It was a single, a fact which McCoy was infinitely grateful for, and something the kid commented on almost right away. Instead of sounding envious or wistful, Jim almost came off... disappointed about it. Just ever so faintly. McCoy couldn't tell why.
But it was quickly forgotten not five minutes after making it through the door. Jim had already kicked off his shoes, unzipped his jacket, located the last two beers in McCoy's cooler, and flopped onto the couch like he owned it. McCoy found he didn't even mind and actually liked the sight of Jim so comfortable and relaxed in his space, like it was his, too.
The beers went quickly and so did the time, as they talked or simply sat together in silence intermittently. McCoy learned Jim had grown up in Iowa with an older brother and a shitty stepfather. Jim tended to say a lot of self-deprecating things about himself, then follow it up with the most insanely cocky thing he could probably think of at the time. He fidgeted uncomfortably when the subject of his mother was briefly brought up (apparently, he rarely saw her and when he did, it never went well) and flat out avoided any further mention of his birth father. He skimmed his teenage years with a blanket explanation of, "The cops loved me," which McCoy wasn't sure if he should laugh at, so he didn't.
By the end of it, McCoy really wanted to kiss him. As it turned out, not only did he like the nerd in Jim, he was deeply attracted to the rebel, too, and probably for the same reason he was always attracted to the rebel: the caretaker in him wanted to do what it did best. He squashed the urge just in time to hear Jim's next question before he'd been caught wandering in thought.
"So, what about you?"
Taken aback, McCoy just blinked at him.
"What about me?"
Jim shifted on the couch, resting an elbow against the back of it and propping his chin up with his hand, legs stretched haphazardly in front of him. His hair fell over his forehead, blue eyes bright and searching.
"I mean, where'd you grow up? What was your childhood like? How'd you decide to become a doctor? Stuff like that."
"Ah." McCoy considered for a moment, then went with, "Georgia. Childhood was fine. My dad was a doctor, so. You know. Followed in his footsteps."
Jim snorted. "What, that's it? That's all you got for me?"
"My life's not that interesting, kid," McCoy protested. "Especially compared to yours."
"Everyone's life is interesting," Jim countered. "Just in different ways."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, really. So, what else? What are your parents like?"
"My dad's dead and my mom's crazy," McCoy replied bluntly.
Now it was Jim's turn to look taken aback. McCoy crossed his arms in what he knew was a defensive position, though it wasn't due to Jim.
"I'm sorry, Bones. I didn't know."
"Not your fault."
"Yeah. Still. That sucks."
They lapsed into silence for another minute or two until McCoy looked over at him. Jim met his gaze in askance.
"Bones?"
"Oh, right." Jim smiled knowingly at him. "I forgot. We met on a shuttle, like, a year and a half ago. You said something about bones. I think you were drunk."
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah, I remembered just before we got back to your dorm. The nickname kinda fits, though, huh?"
"Oh, god." It was coming back to McCoy now. Some irritating woman had refused to let him stay in the perfectly windowless bathroom, so he'd been forced to sit next to... Jim, apparently. And had completely forgotten. "I told you about my divorce, didn't I?"
"Yep," Jim said with a laugh. "You did."
"Shit. What else?"
"I think that was it." Jim shifted again, turning onto his back and sinking deep into the cushions. "Honestly, the only reason I didn't remember you back at the flight sims was 'cause you looked so different. You really clean up, you know."
"Gee, thanks. What a compliment."
"No, I mean it. You look... good. Really good."
When McCoy glanced at him again, Jim's gaze was trained on him, something earnest in it.
"It's stupid, but I was almost hoping they were gonna room us together," he said softly.
McCoy felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, just a little. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I guess they decided you'd be better off alone."
McCoy heard the unspoken sentiment. That Jim assumed McCoy himself had requested it. That Jim was almost hurt by the thought. That somehow, somewhere in between meeting on the shuttle and forgetting about it, Jim had maybe... wanted something.
"And why were you hoping they were gonna put us together?" McCoy asked, just as quietly.
Jim shrugged. "I thought the odds were pretty good that we'd get along."
"You still think they're pretty good now?"
"Good enough."
And then he gave McCoy this little lopsided smile he'd never seen on Jim's face from far away before, one he'd never seen on anyone's face before. It was achingly vulnerable and sad and sweet all at the same time. It begged for attention, McCoy's attention, without words. It melted him and broke him all at the same time.
So he blurted, "I wanna kiss you."
* * *
McCoy should've known better than to mix fantasy with reality. Jim had left after that. Horrified by what he'd said, McCoy couldn't even muster a proper goodbye before the man was out the door, the look on his face completely unreadable.
The next few days were miserable and not just in his own thoughts. Sleet poured down in unavoidable sheets of freezing torture and none of their classes were canceled, though at least those taking place outdoors were moved indoors. Everyone hated it and the bitching and moaning was endless.
McCoy didn't see Kirk in a single one of them (not that they'd shared very many classes to begin with). He didn't see him in the hallways or in the mess or even joking with his friends. It was like he'd completely disappeared off the face of the planet.
It worried him, though it probably had no right to. McCoy had driven Jim away, freaked him out, come on way too strong for someone who was clearly traumatized by past experiences. He ruminated relentlessly on what he should've said differently, how he wished to hell and back the idiot hadn't caught him when he'd passed out. He hated the thought of hurting Jim, scaring him, and that was the very thing he'd done.
And they barely even knew each other, to top it all off. It was probably the worst first impression McCoy could've made.
But it was too late to go back.
* * *
"Ow. Ow!"
McCoy glanced up from his PADD to see a cadet, new to the medical track, totally botching the minor procedure he was attempting to perform. With a scowl, McCoy set the PADD down, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped around the front desk to walk over to the biobed.
He'd seen the very same cadet two days earlier trying to operate a dermal regen with shaking hands. Clearly, someone needed to intervene.
"What's goin' on over here?" McCoy asked, not unkindly. Apparently, it was still enough to make the young man yelp and the woman on the biobed hiss in pain as the small device placed over the wound on her stomach was jostled.
"Sorry, sorry!"
Before he could reach out to readjust it, McCoy caught his wrist.
"Here, let me show you a better way to set these things. They tend to be finicky if it's not just right. That's probably why she's uncomfortable right now."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," the cadet said dutifully.
"Don't call me that. See," McCoy began, pulling on a set of gloves from the nearby tray, "The key to this thing is remembering its function. It's not designed to close the wound, just disinfect it. Your regen will do the rest." He carefully removed the device, then replaced it at a slightly different angle.
The woman visibly relaxed. For a moment, it reminded him so much of Jim sprawled on his couch that he just stared.
"Uh, Doctor? Doctor McCoy?" The cadet asked nervously.
McCoy shook his head to clear it. "Right. If you've got any other questions, just call one of the attendings. You're doing fine."
He was striding away before the cadet had a chance to respond, pulling the gloves off and discarding them in the waste disposal as if they'd personally offended him. Maybe they had. Or not.
He just couldn't stop thinking about Jim.
At the front desk, Christine held up his PADD with a near-maniacal grin on her face. A sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach as he got closer and she called out, "Looks like somebody got somebody's comm number, huh?"
"What are you talking about?" He reached out to snatch the PADD from her, which she allowed.
"Oh, come on, Len. I take back what I said the other day. He actually seems sweet."
McCoy's brows furrowed in confusion as he turned it on, eyes immediately drawn to the new messages in the corner.
JTK: Hey
JTK: Could we see each other again sometime?
JTK: Or could I call you?
JTK: Just let me know
As McCoy read and re-read them again, several more popped up.
JTK: I hacked your comm to put my information on it
JTK: Sorry if you're pissed about it
JTK: I just didn't think to ask while I was at your place
JTK: Okay, I'll stop messaging now
JTK: I'm spamming you
JTK: Sorry
JTK: Now I'm embarrassed
JTK: Just call me
JTK: Or something
JTK: Whenever works for you
The wave of relief McCoy experienced seeing Kirk's name on the screen arrived at the exact same time as the irritation he felt at Kirk's methods for getting in touch with him. He was already closing the PADD, fumbling with the comm in his pocket, and speed-walking past a still-grinning Christine to call Jim all at the same time before he even stopped to think about it.
Kirk answered right as the door of the empty exam room closed behind McCoy.
"Hello?"
"Hey. It's me. Uh, McCoy."
"Bones! Hey. Man, am I glad to hear from you." Jim's tone really did sound glad. McCoy ignored the butterflies in his stomach that were prompted at the sound of his voice.
"Um. Are you okay? Is everything alright?" He leaned back against the door, wrapping his free arm around himself.
Something that sounded like a muffled sneeze came across the connection. McCoy frowned.
"Jim."
"Uh, yeah, sorry. I'm a little sick."
Suddenly, McCoy realized just how stuffy Jim sounded. "You're sick? How long? Why didn't you call me sooner?"
Jim laughed weakly, then started coughing. McCoy felt his frown deepen further.
"Well, that's not why I asked you to call me. I'll be alright. It's only been a couple days."
"What? Jim, I'm a doctor. Let me come over."
"If you want to, I guess. I'm not exactly a party right now."
"Dammit, kid. Send me your dorm number. I'll be there in ten minutes."
* * *
Christine was more than happy both to get someone to cover his shift for the remainder of the day and to make several inappropriate jokes about McCoy going over to visit Jim.
But McCoy was fine enduring it (albeit, with exasperation), especially when he got a good look at Jim for the first time in days. He immediately urged him back to his bed, reproved him for even getting up to greet McCoy at the door in the first place, and was already scanning him with his tricorder the moment Jim collapsed back onto the blankets. He obviously felt terrible, his face pale and washed out, his eyes bloodshot and tired, and was surrounded by an alarmingly large pile of used tissues.
"Well, thankfully, it's just a cold. My scanner's not picking up anything else."
Jim sniffled and let his head fall back against the pillows. "Cool."
"Just stay hydrated and get lots of sleep. You should be over it pretty quick."
"Yeah, I figured."
McCoy replaced his tricorder in his medkit and stood there awkwardly, conflicted on what to say next. Jim was acting like this was just a normal thing they did. Like they knew each other. Like nothing had happened to make things weird.
"Look, about the other ni—"
"Bet you still wanna kiss me now, huh?" Jim interrupted, expression lit up with amusement despite his current state.
McCoy's mouth opened and closed several times while he tried to formulate a response. For once in his life, absolutely nothing came to mind, not even something as eloquent as "um."
"For the record, I wanted to kiss you, too. I just chickened out."
"Oh."
"You sound disappointed."
"No, no," McCoy said hurriedly. "I'm not. I just... well, I thought... I mean..." He groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his hair. "Look, the thing is, I've liked you for a while now. But we hadn't met, or so I assumed, and we didn't know each other, and I just figured it would go away at some point."
Jim chuckled. "A crush? On me? Those don't go away."
Despite himself, McCoy smiled at the stupid joke. "Shut up. If I hadn't, y'know, fucking fainted into your arms, I definitely would've gotten over you."
Jim's amusement slowly faded as he looked at McCoy. A second later, he glanced away and sat up in the bed. "I have a confession to make," he said quietly.
"What, you've killed before?"
"No," he said seriously, than seemed to think better of it. "Well, yes, but that's not it. I've liked you for a long time, too. Longer than you've liked me, I think."
"But I haven't even told you how long I've liked you, Jim."
"Yeah... I wasn't lying when I said I forgot we met on the shuttle. But the truth is, I've been trying to get your attention for over a year."
McCoy crossed his arms and stared down at Jim where he sat, still looking at the floor. "You're shitting me. You didn't even know I existed after I got a shave and a haircut."
"Well, yeah, I didn't exactly put two and two together that you were the same person, but..." Jim brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck and glanced at McCoy again, something different in his gaze now. "God, Bones, I've wanted you forever. And when you said you wanted to kiss me, I freaked out 'cause I've been fantasizing about how we would meet for ages and when we actually did and I found out you wanted me back, I just... didn't know what to do. And it was really shitty of me to run out on you like that and not tell you why, but then I got sick and I wasn't sure you wanted to hear from me and today I finally broke down and—"
McCoy grabbed Jim's face in both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth.
When he let him go, Jim had the dumbest smile on his face. McCoy tried to step back, but Jim grabbed both his arms and bodily pulled him down on top of him so that they were lying chest to chest on the bed.
"Has it occurred to you that I don't wanna get sick?" McCoy grumbled, trying only very half-heartedly to escape Jim's hold and failing.
"Bullshit. You kissed me first. You don't care about getting sick," Jim whispered, then started attacking McCoy's face with kisses of his own.
"Hey! Fucking hell, Jim, I'm a person, not a cat," he complained, again trying in vain to get away, only for Jim to suddenly flip them both over without warning so he was on top and McCoy was beneath him.
"If you wanted to get away, you shouldn't have come over in the first place. Now you're mine," Jim said triumphantly and returned to his previous task, moving down McCoy's jaw to his neck.
McCoy froze, hands tangled with Jim's above his head.
Jim paused and peered down at him with a look of concern.
"Bones? You okay? Do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do. I can stop."
"No, I'm fine," McCoy said faintly, stunned. Jim's eyes were so big and blue and worried, but all McCoy could think about was what he'd just said: that he was Jim's. "You really mean that?"
"Mean what?"
"That I'm yours?"
Jim blinked, then relief flooded his expression and a smile took over his features again. "'Course I do. If you'll let me have you."
"Are you kidding? I've been pining over you for months, jackass. For fuck's sake. Obviously, I'm fine with it."
Jim laughed and kissed him again. "That's the Bones I like so much."
"We need to have a discussion about that nickname."
"No, we don't. It's special and I'm keeping it."
"Why can't you just call me Len?"
"I absolutely refuse to call you that, Bones. It's not happening. Besides, your pretty lady friend calls you that."
"What, Christine? You're offended about that?"
"I'm not offended. I just don't wanna use something that somebody else uses. I want something that's mine." Jim's smile softened and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against McCoy's. "All mine."
McCoy tilted his head up just a little to kiss him on the mouth again.
"All yours."