Title: Mind V Body
Paring: Leonard McCoy X Reader
Warnings: mental health, mentions of physical injury/health, sarcasm, mentions of mature themes like (*whispers in Sam Winchester voice* the sex)
Spoilers: none!
Author's Note: My requests are closed at the moment (09-09-2017) so please do not request! It makes me feel like I'm a demon say 'no!!!' when you guys request.
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When Jim approached his good friend Bones, the doctor usually had something scornful or backwardly complimentary to share to the Captain of the USS Enterprise. Perhaps a reminder for the man to have a medical reason to just waltz in so often to the Medbay so often. But this time, when Jim came to Dr McCoy, this time it was with news.
News of an approved transfer for a new doctor. His friend was scathing.
"Dammit, Jim, I'm the doctor!" He replied, face growing redder than their pal Scotty's uniform. "The CMO of this darn ship, I don't need anyone else to slow me down!"
The yellow-shirted man did not back down from this attack, no. Instead, he shook his head, at the other man's rage, laughing. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to Dr McCoy looking like a disgruntled garden gnome whenever they argued, or spoke for that matter. "Dr _________ _________ will come aboard the USS Enterprise at the next Starfleet colony, whether you like it or not, McCoy."
If he had been anyone else, there would have been a don't forget who your superior officer is tacked onto the end, but there was no other threat but their grim friendship. Noticing this, McCoy shook his head, rolled his eyes, muttered, and took it in his stride. The Georgian native knew how to pick his battles, and this was a fight for another day.
When you had put in to transfer, it was for no reason other than personal motives. A little selfish, yes, but still. You'd gone ahead with it, wishing for any ship, putting out your request to anyone who would take you. One ship had caught your eye, though; the Enterprise. While you had spent eight years aboard the USS Pritchard, you found yourself unable to make yourself a home there, with no true connection to the Pritchard and her crew.
When you had seen on your Datapad that the request had the word affirmative beside it, you almost wondered if it had been a glitch in the system. But no, it was real. You were departing today at Starfleet-managed outpost of Sundfloveien, to be soon taken on by the Enterprise. It was nearly unheard of to be accepted during a crew's five-year mission. But here you were, looking down once again at the Datapad, where the small tick was notated, approved by Captain James Tiberius Kirk.
"Many happy returns, Doctor," an old co-worker soon to be forgotten congratulated you from the transporter pad, and before you could reply, you were beamed down to the Starfleet colony, to wait a day until you were to board the Enterprise.
You spent the day in a hostel room, considering yourself in the mirror above the sink, pacing figurative holes into the carpeted flooring. You were a good doctor, a fantastic crew member with plenty of experience in away-mission discoveries and extra-terrestrial medicine; you were more apprehensive than nervous. When the envoy came to fetch you to board the new ship, you felt a shiver traverse your spine, and a smile upon your lips as the transporter beam brought you onto the ship.
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