withthepilot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withthepilot) wrote2009-11-16 03:03 pm
withthepilot) wrote2009-11-16 03:03 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Of All the Medical Facilities in All the Universe...
Title: Of All the Medical Facilities in All the Universe...
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McCoy/Sulu
Notes: ~1,400 word AU in which McCoy is a physician on Risa. Written for Sinfest 6 and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jlm121's prompt: "Leonard McCoy's got a pretty good gig on Risa: treat a few STDs, maybe regenerate a whipped back after a scene gets out of hand; it's easy medicine. But then Character A (Prefer Chekov or Sulu) shows up and brings a whole heap of trouble with him. Does McCoy risk his neck for his pretty patient or let the baddies have him?" Because I'm a masochist I love a challenge, I went for it.
Summary: McCoy can tell right away that his new patient is trouble and not just because he's wearing a Starfleet uniform.
The kid was trouble; that was for sure. You could tell just by the way he smiled—a smirky little thing, like he was laughing at something you said or something you would say—and the way his dark eyes kept darting about. Plus, he was a tourist; most people were, around these parts, especially these Starfleet punks who'd touch down between assignments to seek out some action, maybe some Verellian warts. Those things were a bitch to clear up. Then it was all, Please doc, I can't let my CMO find out, the captain'll have me discharged!
CMOs. McCoy could have been one of those fools, trapped inside an oversized tuna fish can, stitching up the bruised egos and battle scars of half-cocked megalomaniacs. No fucking thanks. He liked it here fine—he could rely on the usual arsenal of hypos and there was the occasional dermal or bone regeneration for horseplay gone bad. Sometimes it was as easy as catching sight of some sores around a patient's mouth as soon as they walked in the room.
But this kid didn't have any sores. His fucking pinky finger was broken.
"You got a name, flyboy?" McCoy asked gruffly, waving his tricorder around to make sure nothing else was broken, too. Like the kid's head.
"It's Sulu." He looked up at McCoy and did his smirking thing, pulling off the cockiness despite the fact that his finger was bent in the wrong damn direction. "Yours?"
"Doctor Feelgood," McCoy deadpanned. He put the tricorder down when he determined nothing else was wrong. "I swear, you Starfleet brats all need a goddamned nanny to watch over you in this place."
"Huh? Oh, wait—you mean this?" the kid asked, motioning to the Starfleet uniform he wore. He laughed and shook his head. "I borrowed it from a friend. It gets me into places I couldn't get into on my own."
"Borrowed it," McCoy repeated, on the verge of a scowl. "Isn't impersonating a Starfleet officer some kind of punishable offense?"
"Probably."
McCoy sighed, shaking his head and putting the tricorder away. He wasn't quite sure he believed the guy; maybe he was in Starfleet, or maybe he'd been dishonorably discharged. Maybe he'd slipped someone a mickey to get the damn uniform—it did look a little big on him. Either way, McCoy wasn't asking. Asking usually opened up cans of worms that ended up eating the whole damn apple.
"All right, gimme that finger," he said, taking Sulu's hand and placing the broken pinky in a splint, bandaging it up. The guy kept looking between McCoy's face and the door of the examination room as he worked, like someone was about to burst in shouting, and it was making him damn nervous. He shook his head, trying to catch Sulu's eye. "How'd you break it, anyway?"
"I was running and I fell on it," he muttered, shrugging one shoulder. McCoy couldn't help a coarse laugh at the mental image.
"Yeah? What the hell were you running from?"
"Some guy who was trying to brand me," Sulu replied blandly.
And just like that, someone burst in shouting. Well, shouting and kicking the door down in a rage, brandishing a nasty-looking weapon. A pissed-off Klingon, to be exact, screaming something like, "Get over here, you little bitch!" Screaming at...Sulu. Well, naturally. The kid was up like a shot and scrambling behind the examination table, knocking into McCoy so he dropped his regenerator. It broke. Of course.
"Stay away from me, asshole!" Sulu yelled back, a wild look in his eyes. "I'm a fucking member of Starfleet; I'm nobody's property!"
"You are now," the large man growled, and McCoy felt a distinct wave of You've got to be fucking kidding me pass over him. He'd already had just about enough and he stepped between them, glaring at the Klingon and pointing a finger at the now busted-down door.
"Get the hell out of here, whoever the fuck you are! This is a goddamned medical facility and I'm a goddamned doctor, not a hostage negotiator!"
In the corridor outside the room, people were mostly huddled behind their desks or chairs, hiding from the rather scary Klingon with the large, menacing gun. McCoy had a thought that security would probably be there in a few seconds, but then he realized that with that gun being toted around, the security men were probably dead. Well, wasn't that just peaches and cream. The Klingon stepped forward, giving McCoy a look that he interpreted as Don't mess with me. He'd perfected a similar look for his most incorrigible patients long ago.
"I paid for this boy and I'm here to collect him. Kindly step out of the way, doctor."
Well, McCoy's brow just shot right up into the air at that. He frowned as he silently weighed his options and finally did step out of the way, much to Sulu's obvious horror, as he went cowering under the exam table. But hell, as much as the kid was trouble on two legs, he was a patient, and McCoy wasn't about to let someone enter his facility with a broken pinky and leave with a kinky Klingon's brand burnt into his ass. The Klingon walked by him, obviously unconvinced of McCoy as a possible threat, so it was almost too easy to grab an elephant's dose of the nearest sedative and jam the hypo right into the grizzly fucker's neck. McCoy almost smiled as the intruder went down like a ton of bricks. Who needed hand-to-hand training when you had hyposprays?
Sulu peered over the edge of the table, then, a little alarmed and a lot relieved. "Holy shit," he breathed, looking up at McCoy, who just rolled his eyes, tossing the empty hypo somewhere behind him.
"You're a goddamn rent boy," he sighed, shaking his head. "Shoulda known. Did the uniform belong to this unlucky bastard, or what?"
"I'm a pleasure provider," Sulu corrected, looking put out as he stood up and dusted off the slightly baggy uniform. "And no, it belonged to someone else. I'm sure he had a spare, though."
"Maybe I should check you for STDs, then," McCoy remarked, as definitely not-dead security men finally arrived and collected the fallen Klingon, confiscating his weapon. "'Bout time, you lazy good-for-nothings," he growled at them. "Letting a physician do your dirty work. I'm a doctor, not Batman, for god's sake."
"Actually, I think you might be Batman," Sulu said, hopping back on the table. "That was pretty slick back there. How come you're not in Starfleet?"
"Probably the same reason you're not, kid. Life's crazy enough as is, without all that zipping around the stars crap."
"You got that right," Sulu replied. He was quiet as McCoy commed for a new regenerator, taking it with a curt nod from the blushing nurse who hurried it over. He let McCoy take a seat and get to work on knitting the broken finger, only speaking again when he was nearly done. "I owe you one, by the way."
"You wanna thank me?" McCoy asked, sighing. "Don't give any other whack-job Klingons a reason to come barging into my facility and scaring the bejeezus out of everyone. In fact, stop slutting around altogether."
"After that little misadventure, I think I'm officially retired."
McCoy nodded, somewhat pleased to hear that. One fewer "pleasure provider" on Risa was one fewer dose of cure-all he had to give out, and maybe even one fewer limb turning black and falling off. God, twenty-third century medicine was a ball. He finished up and turned off the regenerator, about to turn away when a hand gently caught his chin and stopped him, lips pressing against his in a warm, tender, grateful kiss. McCoy made a faint sound in the back of his throat and for some unknown reason, didn't move away. He held onto Sulu's bicep and closed his eyes, a little dizzied when the other man finally moved away. Of course, he was smirking again.
"Guess I'm out of a job," Sulu sighed, a tendril of dark hair flipping up as he tilted his head. "You need an assistant, Doctor Feelgood?"
"It's McCoy," he answered, clearing his throat. Against all logic and reason, he found himself nodding, licking his lips. Maybe he craved a little excitement after all. "I'll see what I can do."
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McCoy/Sulu
Notes: ~1,400 word AU in which McCoy is a physician on Risa. Written for Sinfest 6 and
jlm121's prompt: "Leonard McCoy's got a pretty good gig on Risa: treat a few STDs, maybe regenerate a whipped back after a scene gets out of hand; it's easy medicine. But then Character A (Prefer Chekov or Sulu) shows up and brings a whole heap of trouble with him. Does McCoy risk his neck for his pretty patient or let the baddies have him?" Because Summary: McCoy can tell right away that his new patient is trouble and not just because he's wearing a Starfleet uniform.
The kid was trouble; that was for sure. You could tell just by the way he smiled—a smirky little thing, like he was laughing at something you said or something you would say—and the way his dark eyes kept darting about. Plus, he was a tourist; most people were, around these parts, especially these Starfleet punks who'd touch down between assignments to seek out some action, maybe some Verellian warts. Those things were a bitch to clear up. Then it was all, Please doc, I can't let my CMO find out, the captain'll have me discharged!
CMOs. McCoy could have been one of those fools, trapped inside an oversized tuna fish can, stitching up the bruised egos and battle scars of half-cocked megalomaniacs. No fucking thanks. He liked it here fine—he could rely on the usual arsenal of hypos and there was the occasional dermal or bone regeneration for horseplay gone bad. Sometimes it was as easy as catching sight of some sores around a patient's mouth as soon as they walked in the room.
But this kid didn't have any sores. His fucking pinky finger was broken.
"You got a name, flyboy?" McCoy asked gruffly, waving his tricorder around to make sure nothing else was broken, too. Like the kid's head.
"It's Sulu." He looked up at McCoy and did his smirking thing, pulling off the cockiness despite the fact that his finger was bent in the wrong damn direction. "Yours?"
"Doctor Feelgood," McCoy deadpanned. He put the tricorder down when he determined nothing else was wrong. "I swear, you Starfleet brats all need a goddamned nanny to watch over you in this place."
"Huh? Oh, wait—you mean this?" the kid asked, motioning to the Starfleet uniform he wore. He laughed and shook his head. "I borrowed it from a friend. It gets me into places I couldn't get into on my own."
"Borrowed it," McCoy repeated, on the verge of a scowl. "Isn't impersonating a Starfleet officer some kind of punishable offense?"
"Probably."
McCoy sighed, shaking his head and putting the tricorder away. He wasn't quite sure he believed the guy; maybe he was in Starfleet, or maybe he'd been dishonorably discharged. Maybe he'd slipped someone a mickey to get the damn uniform—it did look a little big on him. Either way, McCoy wasn't asking. Asking usually opened up cans of worms that ended up eating the whole damn apple.
"All right, gimme that finger," he said, taking Sulu's hand and placing the broken pinky in a splint, bandaging it up. The guy kept looking between McCoy's face and the door of the examination room as he worked, like someone was about to burst in shouting, and it was making him damn nervous. He shook his head, trying to catch Sulu's eye. "How'd you break it, anyway?"
"I was running and I fell on it," he muttered, shrugging one shoulder. McCoy couldn't help a coarse laugh at the mental image.
"Yeah? What the hell were you running from?"
"Some guy who was trying to brand me," Sulu replied blandly.
And just like that, someone burst in shouting. Well, shouting and kicking the door down in a rage, brandishing a nasty-looking weapon. A pissed-off Klingon, to be exact, screaming something like, "Get over here, you little bitch!" Screaming at...Sulu. Well, naturally. The kid was up like a shot and scrambling behind the examination table, knocking into McCoy so he dropped his regenerator. It broke. Of course.
"Stay away from me, asshole!" Sulu yelled back, a wild look in his eyes. "I'm a fucking member of Starfleet; I'm nobody's property!"
"You are now," the large man growled, and McCoy felt a distinct wave of You've got to be fucking kidding me pass over him. He'd already had just about enough and he stepped between them, glaring at the Klingon and pointing a finger at the now busted-down door.
"Get the hell out of here, whoever the fuck you are! This is a goddamned medical facility and I'm a goddamned doctor, not a hostage negotiator!"
In the corridor outside the room, people were mostly huddled behind their desks or chairs, hiding from the rather scary Klingon with the large, menacing gun. McCoy had a thought that security would probably be there in a few seconds, but then he realized that with that gun being toted around, the security men were probably dead. Well, wasn't that just peaches and cream. The Klingon stepped forward, giving McCoy a look that he interpreted as Don't mess with me. He'd perfected a similar look for his most incorrigible patients long ago.
"I paid for this boy and I'm here to collect him. Kindly step out of the way, doctor."
Well, McCoy's brow just shot right up into the air at that. He frowned as he silently weighed his options and finally did step out of the way, much to Sulu's obvious horror, as he went cowering under the exam table. But hell, as much as the kid was trouble on two legs, he was a patient, and McCoy wasn't about to let someone enter his facility with a broken pinky and leave with a kinky Klingon's brand burnt into his ass. The Klingon walked by him, obviously unconvinced of McCoy as a possible threat, so it was almost too easy to grab an elephant's dose of the nearest sedative and jam the hypo right into the grizzly fucker's neck. McCoy almost smiled as the intruder went down like a ton of bricks. Who needed hand-to-hand training when you had hyposprays?
Sulu peered over the edge of the table, then, a little alarmed and a lot relieved. "Holy shit," he breathed, looking up at McCoy, who just rolled his eyes, tossing the empty hypo somewhere behind him.
"You're a goddamn rent boy," he sighed, shaking his head. "Shoulda known. Did the uniform belong to this unlucky bastard, or what?"
"I'm a pleasure provider," Sulu corrected, looking put out as he stood up and dusted off the slightly baggy uniform. "And no, it belonged to someone else. I'm sure he had a spare, though."
"Maybe I should check you for STDs, then," McCoy remarked, as definitely not-dead security men finally arrived and collected the fallen Klingon, confiscating his weapon. "'Bout time, you lazy good-for-nothings," he growled at them. "Letting a physician do your dirty work. I'm a doctor, not Batman, for god's sake."
"Actually, I think you might be Batman," Sulu said, hopping back on the table. "That was pretty slick back there. How come you're not in Starfleet?"
"Probably the same reason you're not, kid. Life's crazy enough as is, without all that zipping around the stars crap."
"You got that right," Sulu replied. He was quiet as McCoy commed for a new regenerator, taking it with a curt nod from the blushing nurse who hurried it over. He let McCoy take a seat and get to work on knitting the broken finger, only speaking again when he was nearly done. "I owe you one, by the way."
"You wanna thank me?" McCoy asked, sighing. "Don't give any other whack-job Klingons a reason to come barging into my facility and scaring the bejeezus out of everyone. In fact, stop slutting around altogether."
"After that little misadventure, I think I'm officially retired."
McCoy nodded, somewhat pleased to hear that. One fewer "pleasure provider" on Risa was one fewer dose of cure-all he had to give out, and maybe even one fewer limb turning black and falling off. God, twenty-third century medicine was a ball. He finished up and turned off the regenerator, about to turn away when a hand gently caught his chin and stopped him, lips pressing against his in a warm, tender, grateful kiss. McCoy made a faint sound in the back of his throat and for some unknown reason, didn't move away. He held onto Sulu's bicep and closed his eyes, a little dizzied when the other man finally moved away. Of course, he was smirking again.
"Guess I'm out of a job," Sulu sighed, a tendril of dark hair flipping up as he tilted his head. "You need an assistant, Doctor Feelgood?"
"It's McCoy," he answered, clearing his throat. Against all logic and reason, he found himself nodding, licking his lips. Maybe he craved a little excitement after all. "I'll see what I can do."