So, I was thinking about what a goddamn badass Leonard McCoy is.
Actually, I was thinking about drug shortages. I am a resident in the United States. The United States of America. First world medicine, folks. And sometimes - all too frequently - I have to revise the treatment plan of a healthy patient undergoing elective surgery because I do not have access to the ideal drug.
In other words, I compromise.
That’s a sickening feeling, friends.
Which brings me back to Bones.
Bones, Chief Medical Officer on a five year mission in deep space, where no man has gone before. Bones, who cares so goddamn deeply. Bones, desperately filing requisition forms for medications that he has no hope of receiving in the foreseeable future. Bones, elbow deep in a unfortunate ensign that caught the wrong end of a blast in engineering, sweat dripping in his eyes, nagging thoughts of, “is his name Jason or Joseph?” Bones, mad as hell because medical takes another budget cut. Bones praying frantically to a god he doesn’t believe in, “oh, please, not again.” Bones, eyeballing a unknown species and making a quick judgment call, based on a hasty heart rate estimate and an eyeballed weight, the effective loading dose of a - probably - renal toxic drug. Bones, hissing at Spock to shut the hell up, all the while making his own calculations. Bones, who years after the mission has ended, bolts up out of a dead sleep in a panic of adrenaline, because endless nights of call have made gentle awakenings impossible. Bones, staring dumbstruck at Starfleet Medical’s supply rooms. Bones, dedicatedly carting his tiny medkit on his hip, facing an alien world with a tricorder and a few hypos. Bones, hiding in his quarters for days, pouring over all of the federation’s published xenophysiology records, searching for a connection, wondering where it went wrong. Bones replaying the day’s scene in his mind, fear still gripping his chest as Jim sleeps peacefully in the biobed. Bones alone in the field, performing a bilateral finger thoracostomy on a blue-lipped yeoman who reminds him a little too much of Joanna (if somebody does not write this fic, I will). Bones, fresh out of med school, feverently murmuring his oath with conviction and wide-eyed naivety. Bones blaming himself. Bones bitching about the unpredictability of genetically modified antimicrobials. Bones needing a goddamn drink. Bones, contemplating the nuances of therapeutic nihilism. Bones, forcing himself to meet Jim’s eyes as Jim officiates a funeral. Bones, calculating pharmacokinetics in his head. Bones, knowing there was nothing to be done, but dammit, what if? Bones, painstakingly documenting his every discovery, every treatment plan, every failure and every triumph, for the next generation of medical professionals. Bones in his office with his head in his hands. Bones, absolutely giddy and shaking with relief, “Don’t be so melodramatic; you were barely dead.”
Practicing medicine is terrifying. Every day, I am horrified at the thought that I will not be able to provide for my patients. I love my field with every breath in my body, but the responsibility is overwhelming, and sobering.
Disease and danger, indeed.
“By golly, Jim, I’m beginning to think I can cure a rainy day.”
You were running late. You were the last to finish your shift that day. Jim and Leonard had suggested a final night out before heading out on another long space mission. You had tried to turn them down, several times. You weren’t that big of a drinker, and honestly, you just wanted to sleep. You finally had to relent; it was the only way to get any relief from their constant begging for you to join them.
Bones is a man of the deep south. I grew up in Arkansas. I can say it. People with southern accents arelazy speakers.
Put down the pitchforks, and hear me out.
We don’t like to enunciate. We don’t like syllables.
I’ll give you an example.
Ladies and gentlemen, when I was first exposed to the term, “y’all’d’ve,” I did not understand.
In fact, I’m not ashamed. I had to google it.
I immediately laughed so hard.
Because where I’m from, we don’t say, “Y’all’d’ve.”
As in, “Y’all woulda.”
There’s no V sound.
In fact, the idea of a V sound at the end of “you all would have” was so foreign to me that I did not even recognize it was a thing.
Which brings me back to “Len.”
Ask anybody south of the Mason Dixon to say, “Leonard.”
I’d bet good money that, phonetically, what comes out is “Len-ard.”
Leonard is two syllables (as I pronounce it - I’m sure some will disagree). Leo is two syllables. Len is the phonetic diminutive of Leonard (as the McCoy family likely pronounces it). Len is only one syllable.
Lazy speakers, remember?
In other words, what’s the point of a nickname that’s not any easier to spit out?
For the record, I absolutely love the name Leo. I think it’s adorable. It’s quirky and masculine. It’s a great name, and a great nickname. It’s just not Leonard McCoy’s.
I’ll admit, I have a little bit (little bit) easier time imagining Leo as a nickname for AOS Bones. That’s probably because I find it impossible to divorce De from the image of the quintessential “southern boy.” Not sure if it’s the cadence of his speech, or the way he says nuclear as “nucular,” or if it’s just because he’s the original, but De is Bones, Bones is Len.
Like I said, it’s the tiniest of nitpicks. I love a Leo fic as much as I love a Len fic.
This is based off a dream I had the other night, and decided to write out. Nothing special or exciting, just a fun, fluffy story. And now that I’m officially posting the first part, I’m dedicating myself to finishing the rest.
3,123 word(s) of fun and fluffy buildup. No warnings. Leonard x Reader
You shimmered onto a familiar patch of grass. The warm breeze blew your hair gently around your face, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You opened your eyes slowly and stood there for a moment and stared at the quaint farmhouse your parents had given to you, with your bag slung over your shoulder, smiling ear to ear.
The Enterprise had just finished another mission and had come back for supplies and repairs, granting the crew a weeks leave. You had jumped at the opportunity to come home. It had been far too long since you’d been back.
I spent some time cropping these and adjusting their color saturation, but I don’t claim them to be “mine” or even “my edits” since I’m sure other people can do it much more expertly. So if you wanna download them or even repost them, feel free. Enjoy the beauty of Bones and Jim Kirk! <3
I still don’t think my smut is that great, but practice makes perfect, yes?I hope you enjoy it regardless.
Requested by:anon, whoever you are<3
1302 word(s) of: smut
Mature Audiences(which is none of us, lets be honest)
You were meandering around in the kitchen trying to decide what to fix for dinner. Your boyfriend Leonard was due home any minute, and by the sound of it, he had a rough day. He had phoned you at least three times that day, which was unusual for him. You knew he had to be stressed and tired for him to have to call you so much to calm him down.
You were about to pull something out of the fridge, when you heard the door swish open. You pulled your head out of the fridge and listen to the soft footfalls of Leonard’s boots. You shut the fridge door and made your way to meet him.