Beta: Completely unbeta’d; all mistakes and glaring errors are my own
Fandom/Genre:: STXI, Kirk/Bones, 5+1 fic, hurt/comfort
Rating: R (tending towards NC-17, but not quite there)
Word Count: 1,000
Disclaimer: Not mine; written for fun, not profit
A/N: Written for one of the final exams at eliteofthefleet. (You should check out the community!). This fic took first place in its category, and I’m a little bit in love with it, so now that exam grading’s done I thought I’d post it around.
Summary: The title kind of says it all…
“Jim, can you come to sickbay,” Bones asked through the comm to his and the Captain’s shared quarters.
There was a rustling sound on the other end.
It was halfway through gamma shift, so Jim was probably sleeping. Bones hadn’t meant to wake him up. Then again, maybe a groggy Jim with slower reflexes was exactly what Bones needed. Okay, maybe that was verging on unethical, but he was just trying to keep Jim from killing himself, which was itself a full-time job.
“Bones,” Jim’s voice was a perky singsong that sounded way too alert for someone who’d just worked a double shift and was slated to beam down and lead diplomatic negotiations at the start of alpha shift. “Are you actually asking me to come down and see you at work? I thought you said I got in your way? Or is this…” More rustling, a curse, and the sound of PADDs clattering to the floor. “I’m not overdue for my physical,” he finished warily.
“I’m calling as your partner not your CMO,” Bones replied. It was partly the truth. Not a total lie.
“Alright then! I’ll be there in five. Kirk out.”
Five-and-a-half minutes later, Bones and Jim were engaged in a far-too-typical argument.
“No, Bones.” Jim held his hands out, warding Bones off. “I’m up to date on my inoculations, I’m not letting you jab me with some stupid hypo.”
Bones was already beyond exasperated. “It’s not a ‘stupid hypo,’ Jim, it’s a specifically targeted histamine blocker. The Firaxans’ diet is almost exclusively seafood based. Largely derived from shellfish. Federation research teams have already confirmed the protein structure is near identical to that of Terran shellfish, to which you are deathly allergic.”
“So I just won’t eat any fish,” Jim pouted.
“It’s not that simple. It could be in anything—even sweets. Just let me give you the damn hypo.” Bones advanced on him again.
“I said NO!”
“Don’t make me chase you.”
“You come near me, and I’ll defend myself. You lured me here under false pretenses!” Jim balled his hands into fists and backed away.
There was the distinctive hiss of a hypospray followed by Jim’s yelp.
Bones and Jim turned to see Christine Chapel wielding the hypo. “Captain, suck it up and listen to your boyfriend.”
Jim left, pouting, a minute later.
Eight hours after that, Bones was sleeping when the chirp of his communicator woke him. “McCoy here,” he mumbled.
“Dr. McCoy.” Spock’s voice, tight and with more of an edge than usual. “Meet us in sickbay at once. The Captain had a severe allergic reaction and has gone into anaphylactic shock. Mr. Scott is beaming him aboard as we speak.”
Bones was up and struggling into his uniform before Spock had finished. How the hell? “Was he allergic to the histamine blocker? Did it wear off?”
“It appears the Firaxans attempted to show hospitality by incorporating ingredients from Federation worlds into their menu. There were peanuts in one of the dishes.”
“Shit!” Bones cursed. “I’m on my way.” So much for that plan.
“What’s that?” Jim asked skeptically.
Bones looked up from slipping an innocuous white tube into Jim’s pack. “It’s a topical ointment. Not as effective as a hypo, but it’s a powerful anti-inflammatory with broad-spectrum applications.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s for you, in case you find any plants—or bugs—that don’t agree with your delicate constitution. Slap some of that on, and if you’re lucky, it’ll do the trick. If not, it should hold you until they beam you back here.” Bones met Jim’s eyes. “I thought you’d like it better than a hypo.”
Jim sagged with relief as he smiled. “Thanks Bones!” He collected his pack and left, squeezing Bones’s shoulder affectionately on his way out.
“Dr. McCoy, report to the transporter room. Your assistance is required on the planet’s surface. It’s the Captain.”
“There was a rock slide.”
Well, no hypo or ointment in the universe could have prevented that.
“Did you say he has hyperthermia?” Bones asked, stunned. Jim had beamed down to Delta Vega four hours before. Bones had made sure Jim had extra thermal blankets, protective gloves and socks, chemical heat packs, everything to avoid hypothermia. How Jim had managed to get heatstroke instead…
“Apparently he was excessively bundled up and standing in direct sunlight for two hours,” the bewildered ensign replied.
Bones equipped the away team with every drug Jim wasn’t allergic to and all the portable medical equipment they could carry. It was probably overkill, but maybe it would work.
When Jim was evacuated two hours later with acute appendicitis, Bones threw up his hands.
“Jim! I prescribed massage therapy to treat your tension headaches without hypos,” Bones sighed. “Can you explain how you managed to come back with a torn hamstring?”
“She said it would improve my flexibility, and I wanted to test it out.” Jim whimpered in pain. “Think I might have gone a little too far.”
Jim had been on an away mission and managed to meet both hostile natives and disagreeable plants, resulting in another episode of anaphylaxis and three projectile wounds, one that threatened to paralyze him. A month later, Bones was finally releasing him to their quarters. Only he knew after a month ‘cooped up,’ Jim would be horny and needy.
“Bones, can we? I need you,” Jim whispered anxious and hopeful when they’d reached their quarters.
Luckily Bones was prepared. He laid Jim carefully on the bed and showed what he’d gathered. “Latex-free condoms, lube synthesized on Enterprise and free from any allergens, and…” he patted the bed next to Jim, “a support cushion for your hips. Just lay back, and I’ll do all the work.”
Jim looked up with surprise and caressed Bones’s cheek. “You’re not saying no?”
“No, I’m saying yes,” Bones whispered against Jim’s lips, confident in his plans. “I’ve got you, Jim. You’ll be alright.”
And for once, he was. or here on AO3.