A/N Yes, I'm back! It's been a crazy year. (I'm sure many of you can relate.) As Dickens said so memorably in A Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…" The Real World brought the pandemic – but also a 3-book contract from a publishing company, and so much of my time has gone to writing the three science fiction novels that will soon be published. (If you're interested, see the Notes below for more details.)

It's been nearly two years since I posted Let Us Give Thanks, my Thanksgiving story about a very young Jim Kirk – and, hey, it's nearly that time of year again! (I guess it's true that all things are new again, given enough time. Grin.) This story is set in that same world, although Jim is twenty years older now, and far less innocent.

I hope is to update this story on a regular basis going forward, writing about the evolving friendship between my two favorite Star Trek men, but – fair warning – between being a slow writer, working with the delightful InhoePublishing on co-authored stories, and Real World deadlines, updates may not occur as frequently as I would prefer. If that doesn't scare you off, read on, and enjoy!

Academy Life or: How Two Genius Loners Met and Became BFF's Despite Themselves

CHAPTER ONE

Leonard McCoy surveyed the crowded mess hall with a frown. He couldn't see an empty table anywhere and, in fact, few empty seats at any of the crowded tables. It had been the same situation day after day, for the last month. Why the hell does Starfleet schedule all the cadets for lunch at the same time?

Shaking his head, Leonard surveyed his meager choices for a seat.

A nearby table for six held a group of five cadets who seemed to be more interested in deliberating bumping their fellow tablemates' elbows as they tried to eat, throwing bits of food and stealing off someone else's plate, than in actually eating.

No thanks.

His next option included a trio at a four top who, if his hearing was accurate – and it was – were each speaking a language other than Standard. He couldn't discern whether they were practicing language skills or just quizzing each other. The cacophony was mind-numbing.

God, no.

Straining his neck, he peered the length of the room, searching for some other choice. He should have just stuck to a sandwich, like he'd done every day since he'd arrived, and headed for a quiet spot on the quad. But he was sick of sandwiches. And today's soup had looked appetizing, a hearty minestrone with plenty of vegetables. So he had impulsively selected the soup, which was now growing cooler as the tray grew heavier in his hands.

An arm waved in the distance, and Leonard recognized D'linth, a Tellerian medical-school cadet from one of the sections he had been assigned to teach. The entire table for eight was filled with Tellerians, except for one open seat, and Leonard felt his heart sink. Not that D'linth wasn't a fine person. But like all Tellarians, he loved to talk. And debate. And ask questions. More than once, he'd monopolized the discussion material in class. Just yesterday, Leonard, in exasperation, had finally had enough and testily reminded him this was a group discussion class for medical students, not a debate forum. Looking sheepish but not at all distressed, D'linth had managed to refrain from another question for an entire ten minutes before waving his arm again, much as he was doing now.

An entire table of individuals devoted to questions and arguments? Hell, no!

Letting his gaze sweep past as if he hadn't noticed the man, Leonard heaved a sigh of profound relief. There, against the windows, was an empty seat at a table for two. The bright light pouring through the windows had caused him to miss it on his first survey of the crowded room. But now, firmly in his sight, it looked like a serendipitous opportunity to enjoy his lunch, courtesy of the universe.

Determined, Leonard hurried to claim it as quickly as possible without spilling his soup, before someone else beat him to it.

He reached the chair, suddenly aware that quite a few pairs of nearby eyes were closely watching him. It was a mystery he would save for future consideration. Right now, all he wanted to do was sit down and eat his soup before it got any cooler.

Setting his tray down safely on the table with a sigh of relief, he pulled the chair out, preparing to sit. But before he could do so, a coldly polite voice halted him in his tracks.

"Find another seat. I'm studying."

Leonard looked down on the well-groomed, golden head that hadn't even bothered to look up as the cadet tried to chase him off. "Congratulations," he drawled, allowing the sarcasm that was never far beneath his skin these days to richly color his voice. "And I'm eating, which is what you actually do in a mess hall." He sank into the empty chair with a small grunt of satisfaction and picked up his spoon. "Go ahead and pretend I'm not here. Please. I'm fine with the quiet. The last thing I want to do is try and make small talk with another wet-behind-the-ears cadet."

Leonard swallowed a spoonful of soup in the silence that followed – thankfully still plenty warm and just as tasty as he had hoped – pleased with his response to the arrogant youngster.

The golden head lifted abruptly, and Leonard found himself staring into the icy blue eyes of the kid from the shuttle.

The ice melted instantly, replaced by a wide grin. "Bones! How's it going? I've been meaning to look you up and make sure you were managing okay."

"Bones?" Leonard echoed, confused as much by the warm welcome as the strange name by which he had just been addressed. "My name is Leonard—"

"—McCoy. I know. You introduced yourself to me on the shuttle ride in."

"Then why are you calling me Bones?" Leonard asked, irritated.

It didn't seem possible, but the blonde's broad grin widened still further and a mischievous glint lit the vivid blue eyes. "Leonard sounds so…stuffy. Bones is a much better name. And you chose it yourself, remember? 'All I've got left is mah bones.'" The kid's drawl was a surprisingly spot-on imitation of his Southern accent.

Leonard gave him a dark look. "Cute. But I prefer Leonard. Or Len. You can keep your ridiculous nickname." He managed to eat several more spoonfuls of soup in peace before the kid addressed him again.

"You haven't answered my question."

"What question?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself for responding.

"How are you doing? Here at the academy? Obviously, you survived your hangover on the first day. You're looking good, Bones, even if red isn't your best color."

Leonard grimaced. "These uniforms are ridiculous. I'd like to throttle whoever designed them." He swallowed more soup. "And the fools who created all the idiotic rules we're required to follow."

The young man cocked his head. "Like what?"

"Curfew, for one. In your room by 2300? I'm not a teenager, for Christ's sake."

"Be glad you're a fully trained physician. Doctors get more privileges. Until the probationary period ends, curfew for a regular cadet is 2200."

"Ridiculous." Leonard was aware he was repeating himself but it felt good to vent to someone who wasn't immediately offended that he'd insulted their precious Starfleet Academy.

"What else?"

"Doesn't your arm get tired of salutin' on the way to class? Not to mention I'm expected to know, and immediately recognize on sight, every goddamn rank this institution bestows, just by the stripes and insignia on a uniform. I can't decide if that requirement is the pinnacle of egotistic vanity or just bat-shit crazy. What matters is competence. Longevity will probably ultimately Peter-principle a serious number of assholes into the officer ranks."

The kid laughed. "Did you somehow miss the fact that you were joining a military organization, Bones?"

"I must have been out of my goddamn mind. I'm too old for this shit."

"Didn't medical school have a lot of rules? I mean, you're a board-certified surgeon in several specialties. That must have required a lot of discipline. You might have been a teenage medical phenom but that would have meant crap to your instructors."

Leonard snorted, surprised to find that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, despite the whisper of unease in the back of his mind. "Medical schools and residency programs have rules in place for good reasons."

"Such as?"

"To keep you from accidentally killing anyone."

"Good point," the kid admitted. "Although, in my experience, the medical world isn't all that different from Starfleet."
"Yeah? Well, for the most part, nobody in a civilian hospital cares what a doctor wears to work as long as it's clean and neat. Here, you can't attend class unless you're in uniform." He plucked at the bright red sleeve of his jacket. "This uniform. I received a warning from some snot-nosed kid at least ten years my junior the third day I was here. I was on my way to Starfleet General in scrubs, and he stopped me. Grilled me about being out of uniform. So now, in order to avoid a repeat of the situation, I have to dress in this monkey suit just to get to work! And put it back on afterwards! Ridiculous!" The little voice in his head that had been trying to get his attention throughout his rant finally made itself heard. "Wait… how did you know I'm board certified in multiple specialties? Or that I was admitted to medical school at nineteen?"

The kid looked unruffled by his narrow-eyed stare. "I looked you up on Starfleet's database. I meant to find you sooner, but I've had a lot of exams. Still, that's mostly behind me now, so I should have more free time soon. And probation is over on Friday at 1700 hours. Which means the uniform requirements, among other things, will relax."

There were so many things wrong with that explanation, he hardly knew what to address first. "What do you mean, you looked me up? That information is part of my personnel file and it's supposed to be private."

"Is it?" The kid's blue eyes radiated innocence. "I didn't have any trouble accessing it. But don't worry about it, Bones. If you don't want anyone else to know you're awesome, I won't tell."

Leonard opened his mouth, hesitated, then, refusing to take the conveniently dangling bait, said in his best Attending voice, "And what makes you think I want to spend any time with you? I don't even remember your name."

"Because I'm awesome, too, Bones." The grin was back. "And it's Kirk. Jim Kirk." The young man pushed back from the table and stood up. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I have another challenge exam in ten minutes and I can't be late or the higher-ups will make me take Basic Warp Engineering next semester, even though it would just be a waste of my time. But don't worry, it's almost the weekend. How about having a drink together on Saturday night? We can wear civvies on the weekends unless we're in class, or the library, or on duty, or officially representing Starfleet, because probation will be over."

The audacious flood of information left him momentarily dumbfounded. By the time he got his tongue and brain in sync, all he could see of Jim Kirk was the back of his blonde head as he strode towards the exit.

Leonard half stood and shouted at the red-clad back of the straight-shouldered cadet, "That's against the damn rules, too, you idiot! No alcohol allowed on campus! Didn't you read your orientation manual?"

The only response he received was a cheery wave before Kirk disappeared.

He sat back down, thoroughly disgruntled, and picked up his spoon.

And how the hell does Kirk know I don't have hospital duty on Saturday evening?

He swallowed a mouthful of soup.

A drink sounded good, though. Right now, he'd sit down with the devil himself, if it meant he could enjoy a glass of bourbon on the rocks.

Maybe he'd just wait and see what Saturday night brought his way. Smiling, Leonard scraped a last spoonful of soup from his bowl.

He didn't even mind that it was cold.

"I'll expect a ten-page paper that discusses the treatment modalities for Argellian encephalitis and their concomitant risks by the end of class next Friday. A week should be more than sufficient time for this assignment. If there are no further questions, class is dismissed."

Following immediately on the heels of the professor's pronouncement, a muffled boom sounded and, at the same time, the floor shivered beneath his feet.

Leonard blinked, wondering stupidly for a moment if San Francisco had imported a strong, Southern thunderstorm to accompany today's non-stop rain, or if one of the off-world students was expressing their alarm at the homework assignment with some strange, heretofore hidden ability.

Leonard snorted at his fanciful thoughts. The likeliest explanation was a small-scale temblor. Starfleet had, after all, ignored common sense when they chose to locate the Academy in an earthquake zone.

When nothing more occurred, he shook off his startlement and gathered up his pad and stylus. Tucking them into his leather messenger bag, he shrugged resignedly into his still-wet rain gear. Then, prepared to venture into the inhospitable elements awaiting him outside, he trudged wearily toward the door, surrounded by an excited flood of students eager to celebrate the arrival of the weekend and the end of the probationary period's restrictions.

It had been raining all day and he was heartily sick of the cold dampness that managed to find its way into the very marrow of his bones. Exiting the building, he saw that low, dark clouds still hung threateningly, creating an early dusk, instantly making him homesick for the blue skies and heat of his Georgia birthplace.

As if sensing his glum mood, a distant siren began to wail mournfully across campus. It was soon joined by a second, then a third. Despite the distortion created by the buildings, it sounded as if they were moving ever closer.

He hesitated, his medical instincts on sudden alert. The throng of chattering cadets parted effortlessly around his motionless form, like a fast-moving stream flowing around an immoveable boulder, seemingly oblivious to the ominous lamentations that weren't, he realized now, all that far away.

Then the sirens abruptly stopped, leaving him standing uneasily in the strengthening downpour, with only his heightened nerves for company.

Shaking his head, Leonard forced himself to move. The walk to his quarters was a long one. The sooner he arrived, the sooner dry, more comfortable clothing and a hot cup of coffee would be his. He should stop imagining disasters. The hospital would find him, if they needed his services. And it was likely only a drill of some kind. There had already been a number of them, his least favorite being last week's 0300-hours fire alarm drill. He had really wanted to choke someone over that one, having only been asleep for two hours, thanks to a late night spent finishing assignments for the next day's classes.

Fifty minutes later, fresh from a hot shower and clad in jeans and a warm fleece over his tee-shirt, he cradled a reviving cup of coffee while considering his options for dinner. With the probationary period officially over, he was now free to venture off campus in civilian clothing. But even the idea of food that hadn't originated in the mess hall, or in a replicator, didn't seem tempting enough to entice him to brave the elements again.

His small suite of rooms in medical housing – an enlistment perk he had received as a fully licensed and board-certified multi-specialty physician – was warm and cozy. The entire building had proven to be a quiet residence despite its size. The other inhabitants were, for the most part, men and women who, while no longer cadets, were deep in their respective medical residency training. His odd status as both a first-year cadet and an experienced physician – one who had seniority over them when on duty at Starfleet General – left him isolated from the casual friendships that existed based on shared circumstances or disciplines.

Which suited him just fine. After a day of crowded lecture halls and classrooms, the tranquil privacy of his rooms was a godsend.

He hadn't cooked in a while, he mused. Not since joining Starfleet, despite having had the little apartment kitchen stocked with basic necessities – another service perk of medical housing. He had eggs and cheese and vegetables in the chill-freeze. Biscuit ingredients were in the cupboard. All in all, an omelet and a hot batch of biscuits sounded like an ideal Friday-night supper.

He had just finishing chopping onions and peppers, and was carefully dicing tomatoes, when his communications panel chimed, signaling an incoming call. At the same time, he heard his portable communicator beep from the bedroom, where he had left it sitting on the bedside table while he showered and re-dressed. Cursing under his breath, he hastily wiped his hand on a towel, berating himself for forgetting to set his status to Do Not Disturb.

Striding across the room, he punched the Connect key on the wall panel. "Yes?" he snarled, annoyed at the interruption to his evening.

"Dr. McCoy? It's Glen Yang."

Glen Lang was an emergency medicine resident. Len had worked several shifts at Starfleet General with him, and had found him to be competent, if somewhat pedantic. Uncharacteristically, he looked a bit harried on the monitor screen.

"What can I do for you, Glen?" he asked, modulating his tone and re-arranging his expression to a less annoyed one.

"I'm sorry to disturb your evening, Dr. McCoy, but I…I need your help. If you're willing… that is…I…there's no one else here to ask…"

"Where's your Attending?" Starfleet was a stickler for having an Attending on shift at all times in the Emergency Room, one whose main job was to oversee the more inexperienced residents and medical students.

The young resident grimaced. "Dr. S'Loom is in the OR, sir. I'm in charge until the On-Call Attending arrives."

Which wasn't him, since he had the weekend free for the first time since enlisting.

"So, what do you need, Glen?" he asked, mollified by the news that he wasn't being called in to cover for S'Loom.

"One of the cadets from the collapse is refusing to be examined, and he really should—"

"What collapse?" he asked, startled.

"A containment chamber in the engineering lab failed while a dilithium crystal was being cut. It blew out the back wall of the lab and heavily damaged an adjacent stairwell. Which, unfortunately, was being used by a number of cadets who had just been released from class. Fourteen injured, four with significant injuries. Crews are still combing through the wreckage but it's beginning to look like the authorities have accounted for everyone."

That muffled boom. The faint shiver of the floor. "Jesus Christ!"

"Everyone who's come in from the site says it's a miracle no one died. The cadet who's refusing treatment had a lot to do with that, according to the first responders. He took charge in the immediate wake of the explosion, and managed to extricate several of his fellow cadets before the stairwell completely collapsed. He actually climbed the debris pile to pull people out, including the young woman Dr. S'Loom took to surgery," Glen said, an incredulous edge to his voice. "Everyone else involved has been examined and released, or admitted, but the cadet in question keeps saying he's fine, despite the stasis bandage he's wearing on his forehead." Glen's face grew larger in the viewscreen and his voice lowered to a near whisper, as he leaned in closer to the camera. "It's against regs to discharge him without an exam, sir."

Len sighed. "Of course, you shouldn't let him leave, unexamined. He's the patient. You're the doctor. Tell him to quit being a jackass and let you do your job." He rolled his eyes. "These kids all think they're invincible heroes."

"But, sir, he is refusing to let me perform an examination," Glen said tartly, annoyance, and a bit of what Leonard suspected was hurt pride, clearly visible in his dark eyes. "That's why I contacted you. Cadet Kirk says, if he has to have an exam in order to leave, the only doctor he'll let perform one is you."

Kirk.

Leonard's mind immediately flashed back to the charismatic grin and dancing blue eyes of the man seated across the lunch table from him earlier in the week.

"Would that be Jim Kirk?"

Glen's countenance instantly cleared. "So, you do know him! That's great, sir. Really great. Your name wasn't listed on his medical file as his Doctor of Record or we would have contacted you right away. How soon can you get here?"

Leonard opened his mouth, intending to set Glen Yang straight…and heard himself say instead, "Key in the request for an emergency consultation. I'll transport over and be there in five minutes."

"Of course, sir. Consider it done." Glen began tapping on the PADD in his hands. "See you in a few, sir," he said, cheerfully, and terminated the call.

Exiting his bedroom Len cast a regretful glance at the brightly lit kitchen. Dinner would have to wait. Cursing under his breath, he strode from the warm sanctuary of his suite, heading with long strides for the transporter station on the ground floor of the residence hall, a station that had been expressly installed to handle situations that might require medical personnel to make a fast, on-site arrival at Starfleet General.

At least I won't have to brave the foul weather outside, he thought, grimly, and quickened his pace.

He'd set the young idiot straight in no time at all. Jim Kirk was, after all, in his world now.

NOTES

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