Title: The Physician's Oath
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 1,265
Warnings: language, some description of third degree burns
Summary: For the hc_bingo prompt loss of limbs/limb function - Jim's glad, and not for the first time, that they live in modern times.

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Jim wakes up curled on his side on a biobed in sickbay, confused that nothing hurts, that he doesn't hear the steady beeping of the monitor punctuating his heartbeat above his head. He frowns, rolls onto his back, and the faint smell of burning that's ingrained itself in his nose brings everything back.

Bones…

There'd been an electrical fire in engineering.

Jim sits up, taking in the sight of the cylindrical covers that had been placed over five of the beds. One of them is Lieutenant Shivala, Jim knows, who'd had a section of red hot catwalk fall on top of her and pin her to the ground. Bones hadn't been willing to wait for a transporter lock on the debris, removing his blue tunic to wrap his hands before pulling the catwalk aside.

He's not sure if the burned flesh smell is actually stronger or the memories are making it seem that way.

The quarantine light is no longer on next to the entrance to the surgical suite. Jim pushes himself off the biobed, crossing sickbay to hover awkwardly near the door. He makes up his mind about going in when Chapel comes out, nearly dropping the tray of tools she's carrying in surprise at Jim standing so close to the door, nearly walking straight into him.

"Sorry," Jim mutters, bending to help pick everything up. He picks up the hypospray last, keeping it in his hands like it'll ground him. "Is he…?" Jim starts, not sure what he wants to ask. Is he okay? Is he awake? Is he in pain?

"He's sleeping on his own, now," Chapel replies. "The sedatives have worn off, and the analgesics are doing their job."

Jim doesn't notice that he's nervously moving the hypospray from hand to hand until Chapel clasps her hand around it, stopping it in his right hand, but she doesn't take it from him until he willingly releases it. She glances at the on-call room, where Jim bets M'Benga is sleeping while he can. He hadn't been on shift but had to be called in when Bones got hurt. Chapel still seems to have some energy, but Jim bets her schedule hasn't been affected by the accident.

"Maybe you should go to your quarters and try to get some real sleep. Sir."

The fact that she says real sleep makes Jim wonder if he'd been sedated. It would explain why he doesn't remembering lying down on the biobed. He'll have to talk to Bones about how trigger happy his staff is with the sedatives. "If it's okay, I'll just sit with Bones in case he wakes up. Don't want him ripping the gloves off and trying to get to work, right?" Jim adds a smile, but he doubts Chapel's fooled.

She acquiesces anyway. "Just don't make us have to restrain him or kick you out."

"Yes, ma'am," Jim replies, the cheekiness making him feel a little lighter. He enters the surgical suite before he can see Chapel's reaction and sobers instantly.

The first thing Jim notices is how really fucking pale Bones looks. Next is the hyperbaric gloves and the IV fluids. It's something Jim's never really thought about before, how much being burned dehydrates you, and for some reason it makes the whole scene look worse than it really is. Bones looks like he's on his deathbed even though he's sleeping.

There's a wheeled stool next to where Bones is laying, the one M'Benga must have been sitting in as he worked to debride what he could. Jim sits on it carefully, like sitting too heavily might wake Bones up from the rest his body needs, and he can't help but look at Bones' hands, which are an angry patchwork of red and brown depending on how deeply each section of dermis had been affected. The burns were too deep for the skin to blister.

The gloves aren't so much actual gloves as they are oversized plastic bags that form a closed off seal at the wrist, a sterile field inside, to be filled with pure oxygen. It helps keep the blood flowing, letting capillaries repair themselves so any lingering scarring or nerve damage will be treatable with standard regenerators.

Jim's glad, and not for the first time, that they live in modern times. Three hundred years ago, Bones' hands would've been ruined, the nerves destroyed beyond repair and hands too scarred to even bend the fingers. He can't imagine what Bones would do without the use of his hands for the rest of his life. The next few weeks are going to seem bad enough. Jim can suck it up and deal with the selfish reasons, how those amazing hands won't be on him in any way, shape, or form until they're healed, but Bones won't be able to work, either, beyond a supervisory role, and Jim knows that that'll just tear him up. Add on top of that how Bones won't even be able to get dressed or take a piss by himself - saying it's going to be trying for both of them is one hell of an understatement.

He forces his gaze away from Bones' hands to look at his face and is surprised to see that Bones' eyes are open and staring at him hazily. Jim has to sit on his hands to keep him from reaching out for Bones'. "Hi," he says dumbly.

"Hi," Bones replies, and it's the fact that Bones is smiling a little that lets Jim know that Chapel had given him the really good drugs. "Is Shivala going to be okay?"

The health of my patient will be my first consideration, Jim thinks dryly. "She's stable." He's torn between being pissed and in awe of how Bones had risked himself like that for one of the crew. He seems to settle on being angry, though, as the next thing out of his mouth is, "You know, Bones, that was really fucking stupid of you and could've ended so much worse. Did you even think first or just act?"

"Pot… Kettle…" Bones' eyes drift shut like he's fallen asleep but then they open again.

Jim knows he's being hypocritical, that he doesn't have the right to criticize Bones' actions when Jim would've done the same thing; he has put himself at risk for his crew, but Jim's never wanted to be the kind of captain who leads from the background where it's safe. He counts on having a Chief Medical Officer who will put everything back together, but Bones can't do that when he's injured himself.

"She would've died from shock if I didn't do anything," Bones says quietly, his tone dejected. Jim can't tell how much of it's real and how much is the painkillers.

Jim pushes off the floor to roll so he's closer to Bones' face, and he takes his hands out from under his thighs, holding Bones' face between them. "I was so scared, Bones. Your hands…" Jim stops himself when Bones blinks quickly and looks away. He moves his right hand to brush Bones' hair away from his face. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Bones give a noncommittal grunt that Jim takes as agreement. He runs his fingers through Bones' hair, stroking the side of his head, until Bones falls back asleep.

Letting out an unsteady breath, Jim rests his head on Bones' chest, listening to the beating of his heart. Jim once again silently thanks modern medicine because he's glad he won't have to find out if Bones loves being a doctor more than he loves Jim.