In the Cell Beside You

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any rights to the television show or movie, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Set in 2009 movie: A month after their shuttle ride to Starfleet, Kirk & McCoy have a chance meeting at a bar and forge a friendship.

Author's Note: I will be flipping POV from Kirk and McCoy so watch the breaks for who's up to bat. The title of the Story comes from a Groucho Marx quote: "When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, "that was fun'".

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What's in a Name

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STSTST ~ Kirk's POV ~ STSTST

'What was I thinking? I'm not a people person,' Jim Kirk berated himself, thought it sickly ironic that the San Francisco bar he was in had the same starship salt dispenser as the Shipyard bar in Iowa, back where all the craziness had begun. Where Pike had dared him to do something utterly stupid, and like that time that moron Hank dared him to jump his bike over a riverbed, he just didn't have the good sense to resist, to admit there was something he couldn't do.

But this here, what he was trying to pull off, it topped all the rest. Seriously, him in Starfleet?! That was the biggest joke yet. Not to mention him being surrounded 24/7 by people?! That wasn't his thing. Sure, in a bar, yeah but that wasn't like this. This…this was people encroaching on every aspect of his life, sharing a room, sitting in classes with about a hundred other cadets, eating in the cafeteria at a table occupied by people who just don't shut up. And that wasn't the worst of it. Yes, he had a reputation back home in Iowa. But here, it wasn't his reputation everyone talked about behind his back. It was his dad's. The oh-so-heroic, George Kirk.

Then there were the not so subtle implications that he only got admitted into Starfleet because of his dad. And ok, yeah, that one he couldn't refute. I mean, what other qualifications had Pike considered in his ten minute association with him?! How well he took a punch? The color of his blood? That he was too stupid to be afraid to go against four against one odds?! If that was Starfleet's entrance exam, half the men he used to work with in the quarry could join up.

So yeah, he had been riding an ego trip, thinking Pike had seen something in him that no one else ever had. 'No dummy, he just saw your dad.' Some legendary hero that believed in death before dishonor. But not him.

No, he needed to end this. To tell Pike he got it wrong. His name was James not George.

When someone behind him said "Kirk?", for the first time ever, he wished that he had taken his step father, Frank's last name. But that thought reminded him of his brother, of Sam's last words before he left home for good. "You can't be a Kirk in Frank's house."

'So what's so great about being a Kirk?' he wanted to ask Sam, would to, if he could find him.

But then his last name was being called out again and he turned around to face his latest antagonist, his hands already balled into fists. Yes, he wasn't usually a punch first kinda guy but it had been a crappy day, no, crappy month and maybe he really did love being a genius-level repeat offender.

Swiveling fully around, he realized that he recognized the approaching thirty year old dark haired man. "Thought it was you," the man said as he claimed the bar stool to his right without invitation.

A bit stunned, he looked to the man already busy ordering a scotch. No one, absolutely, no one was making it a point to spend time with him. Either because of his glare or they were too in awe of parentage or too disgusted by the rampant nepotism in action.

Misinterpreting his look as being unacquainted, Kirk's bar mate started to explain, his tone ebbing with a United State's southern drawl, "We met on the shuttle in Iowa. Name's…."

"Guy who only has his bones to call his own," he finished, was great with tidbits of info, even half drunk on his feet.

His sharp memory earned him a smile from his companion. "Yeah, so how's Starfleet treating you kid?" Nodding to the glass in Kirk's hand, he surmised, "About like it's treating me by the look of things." Then he downed his Scotch in one gulp and ordered another. Muttered, "Think me and my bones should have hit a far continent on earth 'stead of this. Least there the natives wouldn't get joy at ordering me around every second of every day."

He was speaking before he remembered that he wanted to be alone. "Well, unless they make you their slave…right before they eat you."

That earned him a raised eyebrow of surprise from the older man. "Whoa. What happened to the Mr. Optimist I rode into this rodeo with?"

And yeah, he remembered the chit chat he had with the nervous doc on the shuttle, remembered giving the guy statistics, of telling him, comparably, military duty in space wasn't any more high risk than military duty dirtside. Had talked out his butt about space exploration, things he had only read about, until the doc looked unlikely to throw up on him. But the doc had it right, he had been….enthusiastic, had really bought into the 'better future', the idea that he was worth someone's faith in him.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his unruly hair. "My optimism got court martialed," he mumbled as he nodded to the bartender, watched his glass being refilled for the third but certainly not the last time that night.

STSTST – McCoy's POV – STSTSTST

Critically eyeing up his companion, it didn't take Leonard McCoy's medical license and dabble in psychology to know the kid was decidedly in the dumps. And as much as he was right there in the dumps with him, he didn't like it, that the spark in the kid's eyes had practically been extinguished. Because, yeah, he liked the kid. After all, Kirk hadn't recoiled away when he announced he might puke on him, had instead spent the trip rattling off facts about how safe space was. Sure, he knew it was all hogwash but that the kid had worked to calm him down….it meant something to him. A lot actually.

It seemed now was his time to repay that particular brand of kindness.

"I hear the first three months here are the worst, trying to get used to being someone's "slave",' he drawled, could see out of the corner of his eye that Kirk's lips turned up into a slight smile at his use of the kid's analogy, so that was progress. "So two more months and then we'll….like saying 'yes sir' and getting out of bed at the crack of dawn, and listening to lecturers that drone on and on. Then, few short years after all that….we get to go into space. Just where you want to be." Because he remembered Kirk's look of excitement at even the prospect of getting out there, while his own gut had really felt like erupting, and not because of the rocky shuttle ride.

That got Kirk looking at him, a spark of that excitement from their first meeting back. "Come on, McCoy, space. It's the final frontier, you know, where …."

"Everyone smart enough to stay on Earth doesn't go?" he cut in with disdain. Seriously, what had he been thinking?! Joining Starfleet, going into space!? He barely liked hover cars, thought they were unnatural, liked the feel of the road under his tires.

But Kirk was shaking his head, spinning his stool to face him. "Space just isn't another destination, it's the ultimate destination."

"You mean last destination," he amended before he remembered he was trying to encourage Kirk, get him to stay in Starfleet, not throw out dark predictions of death and dismay. But before he could soften his point of view, Kirk was speaking again. .

"It's a perfect place to start over. Out with the old, in with the new. You said so yourself, there's nothing here on Earth for you so ….find something out there you like better," Kirk suggested, hand raising and pointing skyward.

And darn it if the kid didn't make a compelling picture. "Clean slate?" he amicably hazarded, knew that was what he had been searching for, kid just said it more eloquently than he could think it.

But some of the kid's spark dimmed as he gave a pale smile, qualified, "For you," before he swiveled back around to his drink, looked into the liquor's dark depths like they were tea leaves.

And it ticked him off, that Kirk could go from blinding super nova to winking out star in two second's flat. Suddenly, he knew in his gut that someone had screwed with the kid's self-worth, in Kirk's ability to see a promising future for himself. Inexplicably, he wanted to wring that person's neck. Sure, he didn't know the kid long but he liked him all the same. Better than he liked any of the staff at the hospital he quit to join Starfleet.

"I think even a guy with your sad lack of charm can't have garnered the hatred of species we haven't even met yet," he drawled, hoping to get a rise out of his companion. Kirk didn't disappoint.

Eyebrows arching, Kirk repeated with a laugh, "Sad lack of charm? I'll have you know I'm irresistible to females of any species, known and unknown."

"Ah, delusional, just as a diagnosed," he taunted, fought hard to hold back his smile when Kirk practically sputtered, "You're diagnosing me now?"

But before he could give a meaningful put down, Kirk was roughly bumped into by a lithe strawberry blond guy who claimed the barstool on Kirk's right while the guy's three buddies crowded around him, also managing to shoulder check Kirk as they jostled for position. Kirk rolled his eyes at him, but didn't turn around to face his rude neighbors.

Neighbors who liked to talk loud.

"I heard he only got into Starfleet because of his dead daddy," one of the standing men announced, seemingly to the entire bar but his eyes were focused on Kirk, well Kirk's back because the other man hadn't moved at the intended jeer.

"I heard it was like the old days- go to jail or get drafted. Drunken disorderly, like 100 times," another piped in.

"Nah, his mommy wrote him a permission slip to join up. Guess she's hoping to get rid of him the same way she did her husband," the guy occupying the barstool to Kirk's back theorized, causing his little group to break into snickers.

That was almost more than he could sit there and stomach, because, even though he didn't make it a habit to listen to gossip, he knew who Jim's dad was…and how he had died. It just took the almost imperceptible flinch that crossed Kirk's face to breakdown his restraint. Surging off the stool, he began to stalk around Kirk to reach the younger man's adversaries, growling as he went, "So help me, you either apologize or one of my colleagues in Medical will be wiring your mouth shut tonight."

STSTST ~ Kirk POV ~ STSTSTST

Wholly unprepared for anyone, ever, to come to his defense, he almost didn't react fast enough to stop McCoy from reaching Masterson and his boy band. Surging off the barstool, he intercepted McCoy's war path, didn't speak for a moment, was too spellbound by the fury coloring the doctor's face. Fury at a bunch of jerks who insulted…him. Huh? New territory had been breached and he wasn't talking about space. The last time someone stuck up for him….well, Sam never had to stick up for him because he was a golden boy back then, did everything Frank told him to. So maybe…yeah, the hot chick, Uhura, she kinda stood up for him, well, didn't think her fellow Starfleeters should kill him.

So this guy he's known for like…a shuttle ride, being ready to rip heads off to defend his honor? It's so unexpected it's got him thunderstruck. Until McCoy's heated glare bounced to him, didn't accuse him of being gutless at his inaction but was beseeching to be given free reign to unleash his anger on the foursome.

But Jim Kirk fought his own battles, always had, always would. He counted on me, myself and I and that worked out best. Didn't leave him flapping in the wind, depending on someone that never was there…his dad, his mom, his brother. So giving a reassuring pat to McCoy's chest and offering up a smug wink he turned around to face his fellow cadets.

He bestowed his most goading smile on the seated cadet, "So Masterson, you sure you should be off base? You might not be able to find your way back." Promptly, he snapped his fingers like an eureka moment came to him. "Wait, Starfleet stitched your name and quarters in all your uniforms like your mommy used to do for you, right?"

He could tell that Masterson wasn't amused but he wasn't angry either, not yet, but he did climb to his feet to stand toe to toe with him. "Kirk, always thinking you're the funniest guy in the room."

"Oh, I don't just think it, I know it. Especially when you're in the room," he boasted and insulted, eyes flickering to Masterson's three companions when they seemed ready to up the ante to a physical level. To his surprise, he felt McCoy shift closer to him, as if the doctor was ready to not just dive into the pending fray but get right in the middle of it.

McCoy's presence seemed to strike Masterson too because his eyes traveled to the other man. "Who's your friend?"

He almost snorted at Masterson's turn of phrase. Friend?! Yeah, not quite. He didn't have friends, never even went in for the drinking buddies. This guy, McCoy, was just some guy he met on a shuttle and ran into here again. 'And he doesn't deserve to have his reputation trashed just because he's had the misfortune to walk into this bar, think it was OK to grab a drink beside you tonight.' So he denounced Masterson's assumption, gave McCoy his walking papers and a clean slate…just like the good doc wanted. "I don't have any friends 'cause then I'll have to pretend I'm not the funniest guy in the room."

And he fought the urge to look over his shoulder, to read the hurt, the anger, the sting of betrayal in McCoy's features but didn't, kept his focus front and center on Masterson, just waiting for the fireworks to start. But when he didn't sense McCoy's departure, he thought maybe the doc was waiting around to take his own shot at him.

Felt himself tense when Masterson eyes swung to McCoy. "You guys looked pretty chummy when we got here." As if he expected McCoy would denounce him right back. But silence only came from that quarter.

"Him? Nah, asked me to pass the pretzels. He's not even from around here," he announced, hoped McCoy got the message to move on because Masterson was enough of a scumbag to target McCoy if he saw him again.

"No, I've seen him around the academy. What's your name?" Masterson directed at McCoy.

"Mr. Bones," he answered for McCoy, smiling his most earnest smile. "But enough about me, I hear you're the one with the lock on family legacy in Starfleet. You're third generation. Tell me, are you gonna wear one of their uniforms for dress formals?"

Masterson's face colored into shame and he nearly sputtered, "My mother and grandmother were the Starfleet officers in my family."
Loving that the idiot walked right into that one, he put a hand on Masterson's shoulder, leaned companionable closer and drawled, "Exactly and you'll look great in the little skirt. Give you a chance to show off your legs." And then he topped it all off with a wink.

'Here it comes,' he thought as Masterson telegraphed his intended punch like a grade-schooler. But he didn't raise a hand to stop it, liked to give his opponents the feeling of being superior, at least for a moment or two. Braced for the punch, he wasn't at all prepared to be yanked backwards by a pair of arms suddenly coiling around his waist. He could feel the whoosh of Masterson's fist as it barely missed clipping him on the jaw, then he was stumbling into someone's chest, knew it was McCoy's when the other man growled right by his ear.

"Where I come from, you try and avoid getting punched in the face."

"What fun would that be," he snarked back, was about to be request being turned loose when McCoy did just that. Except he followed up by shoving him to the right. Then the doctor stepped forward and punched Masterson himself.

Stammering, "What the…" he didn't have time to put everything into prospect before Masterson's lackeys were joining the fray. Delivering that first punch …he would have to be a called a liar if he said it didn't feel good. Then it was just down to throwing out punches, kicks, jabbing out with elbows, taking the blows to his face and body with determined grace. At one point his back slammed into someone else's and he turned around, fist raised only to discover he had McCoy in his sights.

"I'm on your side, remember," McCoy drawled with a touch of derision before bellowing out an order of "duck!"

Obeying, he heard the smack of flesh on flesh as McCoy decked the guy who had been coming up behind him. With that foe seemingly down for the count, he popped back up, gave a "Thanks" to McCoy before they parted ways, took on their opponents again.

With a nice uppercut followed by a roundhouse right, he knocked Masterson out cold. Turning to take on the rest, he found that the other cades were already on the bar floor, one courtesy of him, but two courtesy of McCoy, who was stumbling a bit to keep his feet, had a cut lip and cheek and a red welt over his right eye that would be a nice shiner.

Before he could offer up thanks to the doctor, the all too familiar ruckus of the police barging into the bar was heard. Sighing, ready to be a re-repeat offender, he was moving to lean back against the counter of the bar, to await his arrest but McCoy's hand shot out, snagged him by the elbow and then the man was manhandling him again.

"Come on, we gotta hit the road, Kirk," McCoy announced, practically dragging him behind him as McCoy waded through the bar crowd and slammed out the back exit into the alley, where two officers stood at the south entrance.

"Run!" McCoy commanded, his hand still locked around his elbow.

He and McCoy ran in tandem toward the north entrance. But when he started to go right, McCoy pulled him left before finally releasing his hold on him. Pelting down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, he and the doctor didn't stop until they were seven blocks away.

Panting, he leaned against the grimy alley wall and looked to his right where McCoy was duplicating his hunched over position. "Thought doctors were pacifists?"

Gulping in air, McCoy shook his head then gave him a cocky smile. "My great great great grandfather fought in Earth's Civil War. Fighting's in my blood, kid."

Prepared to make a wisecrack, he fell silent instead as he noticed McCoy's bloody hand. Coming off the wall, he snatched the other man's hand in his grip, inspected the cracked skin over the knuckles with concern. "Are you insane?! You're a surgeon, McCoy. You could have messed up your hands?!" Couldn't believe the doctor had risked ending his career over a bar fight…a fight that wasn't even about him. 'It was about me,' he thought, eyes raised to McCoy's in surprised gratitude.

Snatching his hand from Kirk's, McCoy snorted, "Right, worry about a little of my blood, meanwhile you were gonna let 'em mess up your face. How you gonna charm all those females then, huh?"

When McCoy followed up his tirade by unexpectedly reaching a hand out toward his face, he flinched away, instantly felt his face color at the action. Hoping to cover up the moment, he gave a wolf's smile. "Oh, I manage just fine," and steeled himself this time when McCoy's skilled fingers made contact with the cut on his cheek and the one on his forehead that was dripping blood down by his eye.

"That's gonna need stitches," McCoy diagnosed.

But he brushed McCoy's hand away. "Nah, its fine," and started to head out of the alley.

McCoy snagged his arm again.

"Whoa, what's with the manhandling," he groused even as he let McCoy steer him to the street, flag down a taxi and nudge him inside.

"Starfleet Academy, Medical building" McCoy instructed the cabbie.

To which he protested, "Serious, this is fine, Bones."

McCoy's eyebrow arched at the nickname. "Bones, is it?"

"Come on, it's appropriate, right? If it makes you feel better, I'll let you give me a nickname."

"Idiotic, how's that?"

He feigned a look of hurt. "I'm not feeling the love. I mean, we just bonded back there," he joked but found that it wasn't a lie, really did feel a bond of friendship with McCoy.

"Yeah and we're gonna bond some more while I stitch up your head," McCoy acerbically predicted.

STSTST ~ Kirk's POV ~ STSTST

For someone whose hands were used for delicate work, should be protected against strain, should logically by weak, McCoy had a killer grip. He should know, the doctor didn't let him go until he had pulled him out of the cab, frog marched him into the Medical facility and practically shoved him onto an exam table.

As the doctor ordered the necessary items from a nurse, he contemplated the man, tried to figure out why McCoy got involved and like any great mystery, Kirk found it easier to ask then to wonder. "Why did you do that, get involved? Chance getting hurt?"

McCoy's eyebrow arched again. "Why wouldn't I?" was his indignant comeback, like he thought he was a little mentally challenged.

And it was staggering that it was that simple of a decision for McCoy to have his back. He was about to offer up his sappy gratitude when the doctor, none too gently, jammed a hypo in his neck. "Ouch! We're on the same side, remember?" throwing the doctor's words back at him. "Didn't they teach you bedside manners in Medical school?!"

McCoy's smile was rakish as he began stitching up the wound. "They did…but I skipped that class to go out with a pretty girl."

Chuckling, he found that he liked McCoy more and more. "I admire your priorities."

"My taste in alcohol is even better. There's this bar on 9th street, beers are two for one on Friday nights…" the doctor reported, the invitation clear as he put the finishing touches on the stitches and stood back, waited for his reply.

Smiling, he thought, being around people, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Especially if it meant someone to split the cost of beers, have his back in a fight and even patch him up afterward. Meeting McCoy's expectant gaze, he replied, "I'm in. Just hope you don't start another fight."

That got the desired reaction from his new friend.

"Me?!" McCoy's voice rising in indignation. "You started this one."

Holding up a finger and shaking it, he refuted, "No, no, I did not throw the first punch."

"Right, you insulted him until the other guy did," McCoy perceptively concluded.

Impressed by the doctor's astuteness, he smiled wider. "See, you didn't stop me from doing that so it's partly your fault."

McCoy threw his hands in the air with aggravation. "Of all the bullcrap logic…" he grumbled.

Enjoying the man's irk, he reached out and gave the other man's shoulder a squeeze. "Bones, I think we're gonna start liking it around here…well, at least Friday nights," he qualified with a smile that McCoy soon begrudgingly returned.

And it was strange, to think his father's reputation, in a way, had garnered him his first real friend, someone that he could count on. It had him sending up a 'Thanks Dad' and for once, it wasn't with bitter sarcasm for all the man had left him to deal with on his own, but with real gratitude. Because being alone, it really was highly overrated and maybe having a reputation to live up to, wasn't all bad.

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The End?

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Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. I just loved the friendship between Kirk & McCoy and couldn't help penning this story.

I do have other ideas for McCoy & Kirk one shots, so if you're interested in more, please drop me a review.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

PS – And in case some of my SN readers stumbled onto this story and are worried about SN updates, I want to reassure you that I haven't abandoned any of my other stories. I am diligently working to finish "Surviving is just step one" before getting back to "Tethered". However, like the crazy obsessive person I am, I got sidelined by the oh so wonderful James T. Kirk. Hope you forgive me!