The Face in the Mirror (ain't you)

[madimpossibledreamer]

We lost internet for a while and it's Scotty-level jury-rigged right now.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse)/Constantine crossover
Summary: Dr McCoy and Jim Kirk have a talk.
Word Count: 803
Rating: Teen
Warnings: McCoy was drunk (or drugged).

          First, of course, he’s cleaning the blood off.  He sterilizes the cloth as best he can, but it’s not perfect.  The vinegar’s better.  At least he’s planning to throw Kirk into the hospital at dawn, no matter what the persuasive kid might say.  It’s awkward carefully cleaning around a gaping wound that isn’t bleeding, just hanging, frozen, in midair like it’s natural for the flesh to be parted like that, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen awful things dealing with coming back to life, either.
          “First of all, yes, I knew about the whole sorta-maybe-immortal thing.  It’s why I sought you out.  Though you’re an intelligent man, what with medical school, and all that, so you figured that out already.”  He hadn’t quite been expecting that honesty, so he’s a little off-kilter.
          “I did, yeah.  What’d you put in my drink, kid?”  Because he hasn’t quite forgiven that.
          “Nothing went in your body, I swear,” he responds with a grin.  “The Ring of Solomon is a little more impressive than advertised.  I needed to make sure you were a friendly immortal and not, you know, one of those going around killing people or wearing human or Vulcan or various being skins or plotting the end of the world.”  He glances up, and McCoy can’t break the gaze.  “I need you to know that I didn’t abuse it, or anything.  I avoided asking you anything that wasn’t pertinent, and when you were going off topic I steered you back on course.  Not—” he insists, smiling flirtatiously, “…that I wasn’t tempted to get a few truthful responses about things, but, well.  I know it might not look like it, but I do take my job seriously.”
          “What the hell kind of job involves looking up immortals and practically being in a war and summoning—” he mutters, taking some small pleasure at the wince as he threads the sterilized needle into skin and begins the stitching.
          “Roman goddesses,” Kirk finishes helpfully, nodding once at the questioning eyebrow that appears at that little tidbit.  “She’s mostly pissy because of the whole end of the Roman empire.”  At the blank look, he explains further.  “…They got all caught up in excess.  Conquering, creature comforts, entertainment.  My kind of party.”
          “Whatever, kid,” he mutters, pulling harder and getting another wince.
          “I’m a Magician, in a long line.  The line about the curse?  Kind of literal, in my case.  Dad didn’t believe, I don’t think, or at least tried to avoid the family powers, which could definitely have contributed to his being dead when I was born.  Related to the mad king Konstantin,” and, oddly enough, the kid pronounces it so it rhymes with ‘twine’, “…if that means anything to you.  Which, honestly, it probably shouldn’t, not if you’re not involved in the weird edges of life.  I’m the wild card in life.  I can mess up anyone’s plans, even my own, like that.”  He clicks his fingers, and suddenly his hand is covered in fire, which makes the doctor flinch just as he pierces the skin for another stitch.
          “Dammit, Jim,” he swears.
          “Sorry.”  Just like that, the fire’s gone.  “I messed up, tangling with a demon today.  I can still banish it, but I needed someplace safe to catch my breath, and apparently your hotel room was the first place that came to mind when I created the portal.”
          He knows this says more than Kirk’s willing to say out loud.  He doesn’t remember the exact details, but does remember the…Magician…saying something about his similar lack of stability, of the loneliness of being unable to trust.
          And, really, he misses not having to hide something so basic about his existence as the fact that he can’t stay dead.  “And I’ll assume you need patched up a lot?” he asks, cynical, and Jim grins, unrepentant.
          “Not all the time,” the blond whines playfully.  “Honestly, this is the worst time in a while, but.  It doesn’t help that I don’t like doctors, or hospitals, no.”
          “No more mind control.  I’m a doctor, not a puppet,” McCoy growls.
          “I…I don’t want to lie to you, and say it won’t come up, but.”  Jim bites his split lip.  “I can promise you I’ll exhaust every other possibility if it comes up, and I’m very inventive.  I’ll do what I can.”
          It’s flawed, and maybe that’s why he’s more likely to believe that than all of Jocelyn’s pretty words of a perfect tomorrow.  Still, he wouldn’t be himself if he greeted that with a cheer.  “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, tying up the suture expertly.
          Kirk claps him on the shoulder, all sunny smiles again.  “Well, aren’t we lucky you can’t stay that way?”
          Bones reflects that his eye muscles are getting quite the workout.