Title: Doctor's Logs Author: Istannor Series: TOS Part: 1/1 Rating: [PG 13] Codes: Summary: There was no Stardate given. We assume it is because the Dr. McCoy was intoxicated. We have been able to place this after the infamous incident with Professor John Gill and before the incident with Dr. Roger Corby. Disclaimer: These are the characters of Paramount and Viacom, they own them I only check 'em out from the library. I promise to bring 'em back. Doctor's Logs I'm drunk, but happy. We've had a peaceful run lately and nobody has died. That's really special since I've been doing autopsies on someone every month, it seems. This log is about nothing but who's getting laid. I love that topic. I wish I was in that topic, but I ain't. Nobody is giving up any stuff to this lonely doctor. Mr. Right hand and Mr. Left hand are my best friends lately, but shoot, at least I don't have to take them out to dinner. Uhura and Sulu are a hot number. Damn it if they aren't still together. There's a pool on how long they'll last. I only gave them three months after they started knocking boots on the last big Shoreleave. I lost. They seem happy and their relationship doesn't mess with their productivity. Jim is handling it really well. I personally don't know how he does it, because he's not getting laid at all, and I know he had the hots for Uhura. I've decided that he's borderline psychotic. That's the only way he would let anyone as special as Uhura get away. Damn, she's gorgeous. Did I tell you how good she looks in her off duty clothes? Her voice is so sweet and sultry; she's smart as a whip. I wonder if she would. . .ah, never mind. Who would want an old coot like me, especially if they were willing to walk away from Jim? But why Sulu? I mean, he's a good guy, funny, honest, not an egotistical bone in his body. Maybe he's just good to her. Maybe he doesn't ask more than she has to give. Maybe he's a better lover than Jim is. I doubt that. If the scuttlebutt is true, Jim is very considerate. I do the physicals, so I can tell you it's not the size of the ship. Maybe it's the motion of the ocean. Who the heck knows? I said this wasn't going to be about Jim, didn't I? But, it's always about Jim. He's the heart of the ship. Where was I? He killed John Gill. He killed Gary. I told you that before. He blew up the Orion Captain. He knifed Kleinschmidt to death. He destroyed the Romulan ship. He's a killer. He scares the shit out of me and I love him like a son. This ship is the best thing that ever happened to me and I'm terrified most of the time. I'm scared I will fail and scared I will let someone die who should live. I am terrified that I won't be able to save Jim from himself. This isn't about Jim. This is about me. I don't think Jim is afraid of anything. Sometimes I think he won't even shy away from killing the ship if it will get him what he wants. He thinks he's expendable and he thinks we're expendable. The strange thing is he probably attaches more value to us, than to himself. I'm watching him. They put an unbelievable amount of pressure on folks on the command track to be damn near perfect. I've never met a perfect man, woman, or other. Ain't nobody perfect, dammit. It's too much to ask of a man. He needs to go get laid, or get married or, something. I know. I'll make him pick up a hobby, a game maybe. Yeah. I'll make him play in the game tournament. That ought to make him decompress a little, get some of those juices flowing out instead of sitting inside of him, poisoning him. It's hard to see him being weighed down by what he has to do. But, I confess I'd glad it's him rather than me. Maybe he'll start playing poker with us again. I played poker with Scotty, Uhura, Sulu and Giotto last night. We had fun. Scotty needs some sex. He talks about engines, upgrades and Scottish legends. Give me a break. Where are the women? Talk about the women in your life, Scotty. Scotty's not getting laid, Jim's not getting laid, Spock. . .well who cares about his sex-life. Spock doesn't want to get laid. That's only a problem for us lowly Humans. No sex and all the booze we can drink. What the hell are we supposed to do but work, get drunk, or get laid? Can't do drugs; that's a no-no. I'm a Doctor, I should know. Make merry, for tomorrow we may die. No-one has brought a ship back from a five year - deep space mission. Garth was the closest to doing it, but he went stark raving mad before he could finish the job. Everyone else was kept close to home. They picked a baby, a 31 year old baby, gave him a ship that can destroy planets and sent him out to boldly go where no frigging ship has gone before. Genius, pure damn genius. We're all gonna die. I'm drunker than I thought. My best friend kills people. My best friend commands people. My best friend is dangerous. I need to sober up. Not now, later. This is a damn good drink. . .I think. Or, maybe I'm very drunk. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm a doctor. I heal, but on this ship, God knows what I will be asked to do next. I'm going to screw up again. I just know it. I can't just jump when Jim tells me to jump. Shit, I trust him. I've never known him to commit a single act of selfishness or betrayal. . .at least on the job. But. . .I'm not a fighter. I'm not a Captain. I don't want to kill anybody. I love healing and putting people back together. I love that last little seam and then cleaning off the skin so that the only thing left is a thin scar and my handiwork. I enjoy the hell out of telling Death to go fuck off. Oops, pardon the language, Lady Log. Just yesterday, one of the redshirts, Scoria Yotsura, came in with a broken wrist. He's an outworlder and still speaks with a heavy accent. Big guy, grayish skin, heavy boned, with the blackest hair I've ever seen on any human. He broke his wrist working out in the gym. He fell from the ceiling. Jim had the whole security team practicing wall climbing and this guy slipped, fell and broke his damn wrist. You couldn't find a happier man on this damn ship. He broke his wrist beating Jim to the top of the climbing wall. He fell after he won the race. The asshole was beaming. We're all crazy. Some hotshot whiz-kid Captain decides all the redshirts need to be experts at free-wall climbing. They jump up and climb walls. Jim decides he wants to beam a bomb into a guy's body and Scotty rushes a bomb to the Transporter room. Jim decides that Spock has feelings and suddenly all of us are protecting Spock's feelings. Where does it stop? Are we going to follow him straight into Hell? Rand is still in love with him, but she leaves him alone. She forgave him trying to rape her, and cleans up his cabin every day. He's really nice to her. . .and as distant as hell, but she stays. Maybe one day. . .you can see her wheels turning. Why am I still here? Jim needs me. That idiotic half-human Vulcan needs me. The crew needs me. People can search their entire life and never find anyone who needs them. I have a whole ship of people who need me. It's okay. If I just get to touch some real ground soon, I'll feel better. I'm just Star-crazy. I'm going to sleep. I drank too damn much. We're heading to check on some guy named Dr. Roger Corby. He's not a real Doctor. I don't believe I said that. The man is an archeologist that's been missing for awhile. Jim thinks he's dead and unfortunately, Jim is usually right. The worst part is that the man was Christine's fiancée. I don't want her to be hurt, but I don't see any way around it. She should've gone with him, if she loved him that much. You should stay with the people you love. Listen to me; I know what I'm talking about. I do. I'm talking stupid. I'm going to sleep now. G'night Log End Log