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“All right, all right, I’m coming! Keep your shorts on, for cryin’ out—Jim! What are you—”
“Bones, what’s this?”
“Hello to you, too. Come on in, stay a while.”
“Don’t dodge the question, Doctor. What is this?”
“Looks like a pack of migraine hypos to me. Don’t know what it looks like to you. I’m out on the patio, come have a seat. These Fleet apartments are all dark and depressing, don’t know why they can’t at least spring for a fresh coat of paint every couple of decades, but at least this one’s got a good view of the bay. I—”
“It is a pack of migraine hypos.”
“Well then, there you go. I was startin’ to worry, but I guess they don’t call you quick on the uptake for nothing.”
“I went to pick up my refill—”
“You go through too many of those.”
“This one lasted more than six months. It’s hardly my fault Spock volunteered us as escort to the Klingon chancellor. You can’t honestly expect me to come out of a stint on Rura Penthe, a fight with an insane Klingon general who’s read more Shakespeare than—”
“I’ll give you that one. I needed a migraine hypo before he was done.”
“—and a running tackle of the Federation president without a couple of headaches.”
“Brandy?”
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
“Yep. Is it working?”
“No. But I’ll take the brandy anyway. Who is this Dr. Jamison, and why is her name on my hypos?”
“I’ve never heard of her, but Jim, it doesn’t take the head of Starfleet Medical to okay a refill for migraine hypos.”
“I don’t particularly want his name on there either, not after that time at the reception with—”
“Yeah, good point.”
“Anyway, you know what I’m asking. Why isn’t your name on here?”
“As touching as I find it that you—”
“I certainly don’t remember switching doctors.”
“I was busy. They probably checked with the on-call—”
“Bull. You’ve authorized every prescription I’ve filled for the past thirty years.”
“Jim—”
“You authorized my prescriptions when we hadn’t seen each other for two years and were in completely different sectors of space.”
“I don’t know why you’re—”
“Because I know you too well. If your name isn’t on here, there’s a reason.”
“Now I need a brandy.”
“Bones …”
“My medical license has been suspended.”
“… What?”
“My medical license has been suspended while the incident with Chancellor Gorkon is under review by the Starfleet medical board. So they couldn’t exactly call me for a refill, could they?”
“Review? What is there to review? The chancellor had been injured, we went to offer aid. He died anyway, but that certainly wasn’t your fault.”
“Officially, that hasn’t yet been decided.”
“Decided by who? I was the only other Starfleet officer there when Gorkon died, and no one has asked my opinion. Who else is even in a position to know whether—”
“You know there were questions brought up at our trial about my alcohol level. My … age, my competence. It seems the good folk at Starfleet Medical want a closer look at my part in what was almost a galactic—”
“Your competence? That trial was a sham, and everybody knows it! No one in their right mind would believe anything Chang was throwing around that day. He was actively working against his own—”
“Don’t yell at me, Jim, I’m not the one needs convincing. You know practicing medicine under the influence is—”
“You were perfectly sober! And if anyone bothered to ask me, I would tell them. I’ve seen you operate with a steady hand after—”
“That’s not really going to help me any.”
“You’ve never operated drunk, Bones!”
“Calm down. See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. Anyway, this isn’t actually going to amount to anything. There’s not enough evidence to determine I was—”
“Because you weren’t!”
“You and I know that, but—Jim, sit down. I don’t need you going off half—siddown, Jim!”
“Bones, I’ve got to go down there and—”
“I’m a big boy, Jim! I don’t need you to fix this for me!”
“I--”
“Just shut up and listen for a minute, would you? This isn’t going to go anywhere. There isn’t any real enthusiasm for this on the review board. They’re only going through with it because of the submitted complaint, and because of the attention the Accord and Chancellor Gorkon’s death are getting across the galaxy. They know they don’t have any evidence one way or the other, and they know Chang was spouting a bunch of bullshit at the trial. You’ve said yourself they haven’t even contacted you for testimony—they’re keeping this as low-profile as they can, and going to wrap it up with all speed. The only reason I’m even suspended is because it’s standard procedure during the review for any case of possible practice under the influence. I’ll be up and badgering you again about your breathing exercises in no time—all this is going to be is a three-week vacation for me and a bunch of paperwork for Starfleet Medical that nobody actually wants.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Have you ever heard Spock’s opinions about fairness? The belief that a situation should necessarily resolve itself in the most satisfactory manner for all, rather than the manner in which it—”
“Too many times. All right then, it’s not just.”
“No, it’s not. But in this case, I’ve decided justice will be best served by keeping my head down and my mouth shut.”
“Your mouth shut? Okay, who are you really, and what have you done with—”
“Laugh it up. You’ll understand, though, if I’m not crazy about this thing drawing any more attention than it has to.”
“I suppose so. But if you won’t let me try to fix it—”
“I won’t.”
“What can I do? I hate to just leave you here with this.”
“Be a friend, Jim. Have a drink. Stay for supper. I haven’t seen you in weeks, and you know misery loves company.”
“Bones, I’m sorry. There’s been so much—”
“No, you don’t. Don’t go reading anything into it that I didn’t put there. You’re a busy man, I’m a busy man. We can’t always be on a starship, falling over each other five times a day and at mealtimes.”
“I suppose not. A drink and dinner sound good, though.”
“Great. Let me top off your glass.”
“Are you cooking?”
“Have you met me?
“Where are your takeout menus?”
“Top drawer under the island.”
“I’ll go grab them. So who was it lodged the complaint?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you.”
“You know I’ll find out anyway.”
“Right—forgot for a minute who I was talking to. Fine. Admiral Eccleston.”
“Eccleston?”
“Jim, remember what I said about—”
“He hates you! He always has!”
“Thanks for that reminder.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Accord or Chancellor Gorkon then—this is about his own petty vendetta. He’s been waiting for his chance for decades!”
“I told you the review board wasn’t enthusiastic, right? They know that as well as anybody else.”
“And you want me to just sit back on this?”
“Ah, crap. I’m not going to be able to keep you out of it, am I?”
“Sometimes being a friend means throwing your weight around.”
“Look … if I can’t talk you out of it, at least run whatever half-crazed ideas are clattering around that skull of yours by Spock first. I don’t want the two of you gettin’ in each other’s way.”
“Spock … Wait, what? Spock knows about this?”
“Vulcan-Human physiology. Harder to find anyone on-call that will sign off on his prescriptions.”
“You’re letting him have a go at Eccleston, but not me?”
“Letting him? Since when has that green-blooded menace ever listened to anything I say? Given my unique medical needs, Doctor, it is illogical to allow the license of my personal physician to be endangered by a pencil pusher with less than half the personality and little to no medical—”
“Logical, my foot.”
“You know he stretches logic any which way he chooses, these days.”
“And it only took you three decades.”
“Oh, no. You can’t go blaming that on me.”
“Not only, at least. Bones, I think we’ve been a bad influence.”
“I like Spock the way he is.”
“Wait until I tell him you said that.”
“I’ve got lots of compounds laying around here to lace your dinner with, Jimbo.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“No, I probably wouldn’t. More’s the pity.”
“You call in dinner—make it Italian. I’m still working on convincing Spock he liked it before he died.”
“Did he?”
“No, but I figure it’s worth a try.”
“Saints preserve us. I take it this means you’re bringing him back with you?”
“If he’s free. We’ll bring the food back too. We can plot around your kitchen table.”
“Nope. I don’t want to know. None of it.”
“Okay, we’ll plot before we come back.”
“I won’t wait up.”
“We’ll be here. I promise.”
“Alright. Angelo’s then. Seven thirty. Don’t make me starve because you two get caught up in some stupid, half-assed—"
“Bones.”
“Yeah, Jim?”
“You said no. If you mean it, if you really want me to stay out of it, I’ll respect that.”
“And spoil your fun?”
“I’m serious. Just say the word. I’ll sit back down, have another drink, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Jim?”
“Yeah, Bones?”
“Go on, get outta here.”