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“Come on, Bones,” Jim says, turning around for the tenth time to find the doctor lagging behind them. “It isn't safe for you to be hanging back there.”
“I'm coming,” Bones grumbles, and hurries to catch them up. He's sweating, but then Jim is too. The jungles of Delphi VII are sweltering, humid and moist. Only Spock, of course, isn't looking like he's run a marathon. In fact, much to Jim’s envy, there isn't a drop of sweat on that Vulcan brow.
“Any communication, Spock?” Jim asks, although he knows there hasn't been. Whilst he and Bones are fighting their way through the local flora, Spock has been trying his communicator every two minutes as he delicately picks his way past vines and creepers and two inch thorns.
Scotty will be on his way, but whether he will be there fast enough to rescue them from the enormous snakes that inhabit this jungle is anyone's guess.
“Come on down to the planet, Bones.”
The doctor is mumbling, just loud enough for Jim to hear. Just loud enough for Jim to know that he’s unhappy. Despite the grumbling, Jim grins. As if he’s ever not been able to pick up on Bones’ mood. The man telegraphs himself every moment of every day.
“It will be good for you, Bones. Just some fresh air and a bit of adventure, Bones.”
Jim doesn't say anything. Bones is sweating profusely, and he looks miserable. More miserable than usual. And he's pale. More pale than usual, when surely his face should be red in the middle of all this heat.
“Bones, are you alright?” Jim asks, coming to a dead stop.
“You mean apart from being stuck in this goddamn jungle with you two when I could be in my nice temperature-controlled office? No, nothing is wrong.”
He's lying. Jim has seen him do it enough now that he knows the signs. So he takes a calculated guess and sticks out his hand to prod at the chest Bones is covering with one arm. He’d thought that Bones was just protecting himself from the branches whipping back and hitting him, but now he isn’t so sure.
Bones tries to turn away from his hand, but Jim catches the wince, sees the way that his shirt is torn and there's a gash across his chest bleeding all over the blue fabric.
“What the hell, Bones?”
“Fell over back there, didn't I. Must have gored myself on a tree branch. Thank you very much.”
“Why didn't you say anything? Where's your med kit?”
“Dropped it, running away from that serpent. I'm fine, Jim. Scotty will be back soon enough.”
“It is illogical for you to lose more blood whilst we wait, Doctor,” Spock says, appearing at Jim's shoulder. “I have just spoken with Mr Scott. The ship shall be in transporter range in three hours and seventeen minutes.”
“Think you'll bleed to death before then, Bones?” Jim asks, ripping off his shirt and looking for a branch to hack it into strips.
“I'll be fine. Quit your fussing. You're worse than Grandma McCoy.”
“Nevertheless, Doctor,” Spock says, watching Jim wrap the makeshift bandages around Bones' chest. “We must preserve your energy.”
Bones squawks indignantly as Spock scoops him into his arms and pays no attention to the way that the Doctor is hitting him on the shoulder.
“Spock, put me down, dammit. I can walk.”
“Stop fussing,” Jim says. “That's an order.”
The doctor growls, and Jim grins.
“It's not so bad.”
“I'll never live this down,” Bones complains, and Spock wordlessly shifts him higher in his grasp, as though daring the doctor to try and escape.
“You’ll be fine, Bones. Your secret is safe with us.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” McCoy says, but Jim notices how he stops wriggling once Spock resumes his pace.
“Now we know Scotty’s on the way, we’ll find a nice cave to hole up in, okay?” Jim says soothingly, trotting behind Spock and patting Bones on the shoulder. “And Spock will put you down, won’t you Spock?”
“Of course, Captain.”
“And next time, we will bring two medkits, just in case, won’t we, Spock?”
“Most certainly, Captain.”
“Wouldn’t have dropped it at all if someone did their scans properly for once and noticed the giant critters on this rock,” Bones mumbles.
“Be nice, Bones. Spock is carrying you, after all.”
“If it improves the doctor’s mood to insult me, Captain, as it usually does, I remind you that I am impervious to his rambling and able to ignore almost all of what he says. I am unaffected by his comments.”
“Rambling? Why you pointy-eared son of a bitch.”
Jim grins as he falls back and let them bicker on. Let Spock focus on finding shelter and he’ll watch out for the snakes.
And if McCoy’s mood does improve by jousting with Spock – well, that just makes the whole thing more bearable for all of them.
All in all, not a bad day in the jungle.