That growl gains startled looks from the people nearby, but the beaming smile on Captain Kirk's face settles any alarm. There are all kinds of things said about the current senior staff of the Enterprise; Kirk is intense, Spock is intimidating, Doctor McCoy is fucking terrifying. Only some people figure out that beneath the porcupine bristles is endless marshmallow fluff-- or, well, maybe only Jim has figured that out, and maybe it's not so much detective work as it is delusion and warped perceptions of acceptable standards of friendship. WHO KNOWS.
Sooner rather than later, Jim's swanning onto the shuttle and plopping down in the pilot's seat. "Preflight systems check," he announces. "You know, I swear you've told me plenty of times 'if you don't stop making that face it'll stay that way permanently', and I have concerns about the line between your eyebrows at the moment. If you frown any harder your head's gonna cave in, Bones."
Who knows indeed. McCoy hasn't gained a reputation of being fucking
terrifying by cultivating a gentle bedside manner nor has he ever been one
to offer smiles to passers-by. (If he did, at any point, Jim would probably
lock him up in the brig and go about trying to figure out how an imposter
got on his ship.) There may be some marshmallow fluff in there somewhere;
anyone who's seen him around kids and dogs can likely attest to that.
Fortunately for his reputation, there's a decided lack of both on a
starship.
Jim's stalling didn't take long and McCoy is wrapped up in earlier readouts
when he practically tosses himself into his chair. "That's already
permanent," he mutters, switching attention between his science(!) and
preflight checks. "Voice of experience and reason, kid. Listen to it
sometimes." If he says, in that dad-tone he swears he doesn't have, that
you're face is gonna freeze like that, believe him. His already has.
"I always listen to you," Jim says sweetly as he powers the shuttle up. The dad voice is pretty great, in his opinion, it's just hilarious. Jim occasionally worries he's developing one of his own for talking to some of the younger crew members-- but he's never having kids, not after being temporarily dead from radiation exposure, so they'll never know, really. (Somewhere, Carol Marcus is going YEAH THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT TOO, ASSHOLE.)
There's some chatter with the control station, coordinating take-off and making sure the new modifications with the probe are functioning properly, and then Jim's clear to take them out.
He snorts in absolute disbelief at that. Always listens, his ass. One of these days, he's going to stop offering advice (or just plain objecting to whatever half-assed plan Jim has come up with) and then they'll see where they all end up. He turns his attention to the console, though he really doesn't have much to do here besides watch Jim pilot.
"Well," and it's drawn out a bit, like he's giving an answer he's not too certain of, "I can tell you what it looks like, strictly from a pathologist's point of view." He taps the console, leans forward to give the readings he's looked over a million times one more perusal, and shrugs. "This is an energy disturbance in space, not living organism. But... if it were, I'd say it reacted almost like..." He waves his hand, a vague gesture that's likely supposed to mean something. "Like we're a... a virus in an otherwise healthy organism." Which is, admittedly, a pretty unlikely scenario and also pretty pessimistic, since the end goal of natural antibodies is to wipe out the intruding virus.
Another shrug. "But that doesn't explain why it followed us instead of the other shuttle. I still haven't found anything that would differentiate us from them." Again, though, doctor, not... whatever he needs to be to figure this out.
The thing with crazy space escapades is, sometimes it does actually take a pathologist's eye to notice a key detail. Whatever expectations Jim had of starship exploration being pure astrophysics were ground to dust within the first few months out here-- asteroids and gravity wells and wormholes, yes, but also gigantic silicone floating hearts with eyeballs, space whales, sentient viruses, and so on and so forth. Space is batshit crazy and he no longer finds it weird to be asking a medical doctor for his professional opinion about an energy anomaly.
Still,
"I think I like my puppy idea better than being targeted by a stray galactic white blood cell."
McCoy could have told him space is batshit insane from the get-go -- in fact, he's pretty sure he did, multiple times over -- but he does honestly appreciate that Jim does ask for his opinion, even if whatever they're looking at is so far out of his field he's squinting sideways at it.
Or has him squinting sideways at Jim, which is perilously close to happening right now. "I didn't say it was preferable."
"I don't know," Jim says slowly, piloting them away from the little outpost and back out into space, "sometimes when you're right about the worst-case scenario, you seem kind of smug."
Jim's definitely just giving him shit, but also-- well. Every time Bones has been right about something that Jim insisted was absolutely unquestionably Not A Big Deal, he's heard about it for weeks. Months. Years, even! There was that thing, with the rehabilitation planet and the mind control, which in Jim's opinion should have hit its expiration date ages ago.
Smug? No, it's not smug, Jim; it's pointing out that he is occasionally right when it comes to his pessimistic outlook and one should never simply dismiss it out of hand. Reminders are necessary, especially in this business.
... And, really, mind control is never something to take lightly.
"There is nothing wrong with being right." You want smug? That's a smug statement, conjuring up with all the arrogance he can summon.
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no subject
Sooner rather than later, Jim's swanning onto the shuttle and plopping down in the pilot's seat. "Preflight systems check," he announces. "You know, I swear you've told me plenty of times 'if you don't stop making that face it'll stay that way permanently', and I have concerns about the line between your eyebrows at the moment. If you frown any harder your head's gonna cave in, Bones."
no subject
Who knows indeed. McCoy hasn't gained a reputation of being fucking terrifying by cultivating a gentle bedside manner nor has he ever been one to offer smiles to passers-by. (If he did, at any point, Jim would probably lock him up in the brig and go about trying to figure out how an imposter got on his ship.) There may be some marshmallow fluff in there somewhere; anyone who's seen him around kids and dogs can likely attest to that. Fortunately for his reputation, there's a decided lack of both on a starship.
Jim's stalling didn't take long and McCoy is wrapped up in earlier readouts when he practically tosses himself into his chair. "That's already permanent," he mutters, switching attention between his science(!) and preflight checks. "Voice of experience and reason, kid. Listen to it sometimes." If he says, in that dad-tone he swears he doesn't have, that you're face is gonna freeze like that, believe him. His already has.
no subject
There's some chatter with the control station, coordinating take-off and making sure the new modifications with the probe are functioning properly, and then Jim's clear to take them out.
"So what do you think this thing is?"
no subject
"Well," and it's drawn out a bit, like he's giving an answer he's not too certain of, "I can tell you what it looks like, strictly from a pathologist's point of view." He taps the console, leans forward to give the readings he's looked over a million times one more perusal, and shrugs. "This is an energy disturbance in space, not living organism. But... if it were, I'd say it reacted almost like..." He waves his hand, a vague gesture that's likely supposed to mean something. "Like we're a... a virus in an otherwise healthy organism." Which is, admittedly, a pretty unlikely scenario and also pretty pessimistic, since the end goal of natural antibodies is to wipe out the intruding virus.
Another shrug. "But that doesn't explain why it followed us instead of the other shuttle. I still haven't found anything that would differentiate us from them." Again, though, doctor, not... whatever he needs to be to figure this out.
no subject
Still,
"I think I like my puppy idea better than being targeted by a stray galactic white blood cell."
no subject
Or has him squinting sideways at Jim, which is perilously close to happening right now. "I didn't say it was preferable."
i'm alive
Jim's definitely just giving him shit, but also-- well. Every time Bones has been right about something that Jim insisted was absolutely unquestionably Not A Big Deal, he's heard about it for weeks. Months. Years, even! There was that thing, with the rehabilitation planet and the mind control, which in Jim's opinion should have hit its expiration date ages ago.
alive is good. i'm glad.
... And, really, mind control is never something to take lightly.
"There is nothing wrong with being right." You want smug? That's a smug statement, conjuring up with all the arrogance he can summon.