Patching Up Plans

[madimpossibledreamer]

I was trying last chapter to avoid the Augment on guard actually making a mistake, but then remembered that Khan wasn’t the only Augment to have an ego that was a problem and that it’d be a parallel to the poor Starfleet guard on duty in “Space Seed”.

Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse) Cambion AU (New Genesis)
Summary: At some point, McCoy will get used to the whiplash that comes from Kirk's effects on his optimism and pessimism, but this isn't that point.
Word Count: 1490
Rating: Teen
Minor McCoy/Kirk (McKirk)

        McCoy’s careful optimism evaporates completely on actually hearing Kirk’s plan. Actually voicing it out loud seems like tempting fate, even if their friendly guard appears not to be paying attention. McCoy’s not entirely convinced that’s genuine and not just a trap designed to see what they will try to scheme, even if the attitude is largely that they are superior to anything weak mortal humans can get up to, particularly after Khan’s magnanimous gesture. Occasionally, the guard glances at their cell, but doesn’t seem to find anything wrong with a bunch of prisoners whispering, even if they are healing the wounded as a cover, Kirk posing as a lovely assistant. He plays the part well, like he’s been born for the role and not simply that he’d charmed the casting director into helping out, actually relatively aware of more primitive medical tools even if he doesn’t know every use, and unlike their captors he doesn’t see himself as above the kind of role where he’s the one taking orders as the Captain. 
        But just because he’s discussing it doesn’t mean he needs to announce it to the world. Kirk had actually tried to stay a little subtle with his tone, and between that and irritation McCoy is finding his reply to be a low growl. And his response to the plan is pretty easy to put into words. “Absolutely not.” He turns to address the patient, who’s shivering slightly. On a check, her temperature’s fine. “What did they do to you, sweetheart? François, correct?” Not like they actually have an actual patient record, but someone found a pad of paper and they’re taking handwritten notes. (The pad has, on occasion, been taken from them by scowling Augments, which is another sign that this little rebellion is doomed at the start, in McCoy’s humble opinion.) Handwritten notes themselves are a terrible idea, given the handwriting of most in the medical profession, but it’s better than nothing, helping them keep track to try to avoid overdoses even if they’ve barely been given enough resources to even worry about that.
        She manages a smile. She’s at least still coherent, though from their hand-scratched notes, Chapel had made sure she’d gotten one of the carefully rationed painkillers. “Um, I got shoved into some hot equipment when they boarded. No electricity, no chemicals.” 
        At least someone had cut away the shirt from the shoulder. They probably would have given her a different choice, like a tank top, if they’d had better circumstances. The burn isn’t too serious, mostly first-degree with a touch of second-degree in a single spot on her shoulder, but as with all burns it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch. “We’re going to apply antibiotic, wrap the shoulder, and put it in a makeshift sling. Try not to use it, it’s dislocated, and the second we have the chance, get this re-treated.” If he had his usual tools, treating the burn itself would be easy enough, but as they don’t he’s not taking the chance of infection.
        “Thank you,” she tells them both, and then, probably trying to take her mind off the pain, prompts him, “...so I’m hearing there’s a plan to get us out of here.”
        Seeing him grumble might be an Olympic sport, with how they all seem to want to watch. “There are about a dozen different flaws in Kirk’s plan, and I’m going to tell you why. Assuming they don’t just see through that fake flirtation of his—”
        Kirk is actually pouting. He is still listening, still taking McCoy’s objections into account and actually relaxing a little from the nervous tension of plotting an escape by having Leonard gripe at him, which is probably most convincing evidence he’s given yet about time travel, since otherwise he wouldn’t be so happy to have someone tear his plans apart in the middle of a crisis. And he’s not reacting like Leonard would have predicted before he set foot on board, all angry affront and frat boy pride at his ability to charm the pants off anyone within the nearest star system. No, his wounded pride translates as hurt, which matches the glimpses of the man off-duty McCoy had gotten. But for all that, he’s still concentrating on his job as assigned, wrapping the makeshift gauze loosely after McCoy’s applied the antibiotic, suggesting he actually remembers that part. It’s unfortunate that other than the metal walls and floors which probably hold ten different kinds of diseases, seeing as nobody’s jumping at the chance to clean areas that aren’t even used all that often, they don’t really have anything to cool down the area. “I’m pretty sure you heard my rep before you stepped on board.”
        “What are you even planning when you get their attention? Go all biblical on them and ask them to ‘let my people go’? What makes you think they’ll find your overconfident ass attractive? If it doesn’t work, you’re in a boatload more shit than before.” Attraction is a complicated matter already, and just because he happens to have two people who resemble that remark right in this very room means jack shit. Kirk is attractive and charismatic, but that’s no guarantee.
        Rather than answer immediately, Kirk pats the woman on her uninjured shoulder. “Hang in there, François.” He’s looking vulnerable and is uncharacteristically quiet as they approach the next, a man with a dislocated finger that they, fortunately, can set and ‘buddy tape’, and then, seemingly apropos of nothing, mentions under his breath, “You, uh. You might not want to be touching me so much.”
        McCoy glances at where their shoulders are touching and snorts. “If you’re trying to keep this a secret, I’m pretty sure that the cat’s out of the bag already.”
        “It’s not—it’s not that.” He’s actually serious and a little worried, even if he’s playing it cool.
        “So? You wanna explain?” That’s not all that helpful, being all vague like that.
        Kirk’s darted look isn’t at Carol, or his fellow Starfleet officers, but toward the viewing window. So presumably it’s something he can’t just come out and say with possibly listening ears. “I...can’t. Not now.”
        Leonard analyzes that and his own feelings before he speaks up, which is apparently enough time for Jim to get all bashful caught up in his own head. He settles on a single question. Leonard’s first guess is a mild psi rating, maybe, or something similar, something that maybe popped up around Tarsus IV. He hasn’t seen the man’s medical charts, but then he’d suspect it wouldn’t be in there, anyway, not if it’d been considered classified for some godforsaken reason. “Is it helping you?”
        That catches Jim by surprise. “What?” he asks. He’d obviously heard, but he doesn’t understand the question.
        “Is it helping you?” Leonard repeats. It’s his reason for getting up in the morning, really. It’s why he became a doctor. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he values being useful so highly, especially not after his complaint earlier. In any case, the question is rhetorical. Now that Jim’s drawn attention to his own state, it’s obvious he’s in better condition, steadier, than after the gentle attentions of their captors.
        “...Yeah.” It’s a little wistful. A little wary. Like he can’t trust that he has this. At least he doesn’t try to lie about it.
        “Then it’s fine.” He means it to be final, but annoyingly, Kirk actually tries to second-guess him.
        “But—” Like he hasn’t been a grown adult capable of making up his own damn mind for over a decade now.
        “It’s fine.” His glare is enough to shut the young brat of a Captain up, for once. “As long as those answers are coming sometime.”
        “Gotta get us out of this mess first,” Jim says, solemn enough it’s meant as a promise. Leonard will hold him to that. “He wasn’t wrong. I’ll do anything I can to keep my crew and anyone else under my protection safe.” Even if it means seducing the enemy like the female protagonist of a lurid fantasy novel, he means, but at least he’s avoiding saying it out loud, showing some common sense. He had to have some of it under there.
        And then, as if summoned by McCoy’s own fears, the door opens, and it’s all Leonard can do not to jump like the most guilty man in the universe. Kirk at his side gets all tense, ready to fight if necessary. “Doctor McCoy? You’re needed.”
        “Why? He doesn’t know anything. He’s not even assigned to this ship,” Kirk argues, getting shoved aside for his troubles.
        “He has other patients,” the Augment announces ominously, and Leonard meets Jim’s furious eyes and shakes his head.
        “Can’t say no to treating someone. Unlike some people,” he states with dignity, transferring his gaze meaningfully to the Augments manhandling him out of the room, “I take my oaths seriously.” Stay safe, Jim.