Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely related to the Star Trek franchise, or any other trademarks you may recognize.

A/N: So, I was searching for inspiration the other day, and started having way too much fun with random word generators. That coupled with my desire to write something for a fandom I love to read but have yet to write about, produced this. This, to be precise, is going to be a series of random one-shots inspired by or incorporating the aforementioned random words. Some are barely not drabbles, and some are rather longer, so I'll throw the shorter ones together into one chapter. They won't all be in the same verse, some may be AU, some will be angsty, some will (hopefully) be funny, and some will probably be slightly crack. You can expect slash -- mostly Kirk/Bones or Kirk/Spock. And since I absolutely adore James T. Kirk, and tend to show my adoration by smashing characters over the heads repeatedly with two-by-fours, you can expect lots and lots of Kirk angst. I'll post individual warnings on each chapter. To start us off, here's a little Jim and Bones academy days one-shot.

Title is taken from the Rise Against song "Survive."

Warnings: Profanity. I think that's it. Oh, it's possibly AU, since I can't think off the top of my head if they're still using measly little cars at this time. And I'm totally milking the hospital regulations thing. Oh, and mush.



"Dr. McCoy?" The image on the screen flickered then steadied. A young man with light brown hair and a standard-issue medical coat scribbled something on what Bones guessed was a medical chart before looking back up at him. "My name is Dr. Kellion. I'm calling about your roommate, James Kirk?"

Bones set the textbook he'd been studying down carefully, resting his fingers lightly on top of it. He had a bad feeling.

"What is it? What's happened?" He barked.

"There was an incident, and Cadet Kirk was brought to our facility. We'd like to perform a procedure on him, but we're having some difficulty contacting his next-of-kin. If you could --"

"What happened?" McCoy interrupted.

"Ah," Kellion glanced down at the medical chart in front of him. "Something about a car accident? I'm afraid I can only release details to Cadet Kirk's next-of-kin, which, as I said, we're having some trouble locating."

"What's wrong with him?" Bones insisted.

The young doctor's gaze grew hard, and Bones saw that his irises were traffic-cone orange. "As I said, Dr. McCoy, I can only release that information to his next-of-kin."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Bones growled. "Who the hell is listed as his next-of-kin?"

"Ah, a Mr. Jablome." Kellion said. "Haywood Jablome."

Bones stared.

"I'll be there in five minutes," He finally snapped, thanking whatever God was up there that as a medical student his dorm was strategically located close to the hospital. "Try not to get any stupider between now and then."

"Dr. McCoy!" Kellion protested, but Bones was already out the door.

Exactly five minutes later, Bones burst in through the hospital doors, sending a handful of nurses scattering in fear. He stormed up to the information desk and demanded Kirk's whereabouts, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter as the wide-eyed receptionist looked up his roommate, wishing that idiot Kellion had given him more information so he could deduce where they were keeping Jim on his own. Finally, he managed to decipher the receptionist's stuttering answer and stalked to the Accident & Emergency ward.

He was in the process of yanking open bed-curtains to see if Jim was behind them when just the person he needed to yell at called out his name.

He whirled around, and there was Dr. Kellion.

"Dr. McCoy!" The young doctor gasped. "I must insist that you stop--"

"And I must insist," Bones snarled. "that you tell me where the hell my best friend is."

The insufferable doctor drew himself up with a huff. "Dr. McCoy, I have explained more than once that I can only give sensitive details out to a patient's next-of-kin, which is why I requested your help to contact Mr. Jablome so that Cadet Kirk could receive treatment --"

"It's a fake name!" Bones growled.

"What?" Kellion said, baffled.

"It's a fake name, for Christ's sake, you orange-eyed bastard! It's fake! And to answer your question, no, no I would not!" Bones yelled.

"What?" Kellion repeated, blinking.

"There is no Haywood Jablome!" McCoy cried. "Sound it out, dammit!"

Kellion's mouth opened into a soundless 'o.' McCoy could see the wheels turning in his head.

Finally, the doctor managed to pull himself together. "Under the circumstances, it seems we'll have to postpone Cadet Kirk's treatment until a family member can be contacted."

"What's wrong with him?" McCoy asked.

"Dr. McCoy --" Kellion began.

Bones cut him off. "No, listen up. I don't want to hear any idiotic excuses about how I can't know what's happening to my best friend because the moron has trust issues as wide as Texas and decided to use an important medical form as a cheap prepubescent joke. What I want to hear is exactly what happened to him and what the hell is wrong with him now?"

"Because it sounds to me," Bones continued, when it looked like Kellion was stupid enough to protest further. "That you are about to refuse a member of Starfleet appropriate medical attention because of some chicken-scratch on a legal form. I don't know how the hell you got through medical school when it's apparent that most speed limit signs have bigger numbers than your IQ, but for the first time in your miserable career I want you to straighten up and act like you took a fucking oath to save lives and tell me what the hell is going on."

Kellion was shaking. Literally shaking. Bones felt a little proud.

"Okay," The doctor with the DayGlo-orange eyes breathed out. "Okay. Follow me."

Kellion wove through the Friday night hospital rush and lead Bones to a small room buried in the ER. Kellion shut the door behind them, and Bones was ensconced in the familiar sound of a softly whooshing machine helping someone breathe.

Jim was laid out on the only bed in the room, far, far too still. The way he was posed on his back made Bones think of funerals, because Jim was never this contained. He was always moving or sprawling out or twisting himself up in ridiculous-looking positions in his sleep.

Bones touched him, gently, resting a few fingers on his arm. Jim didn't move.

The skin on his arms and face and everywhere else Bones could see was splotched with deep, night-dark purple, and a thousand tiny nick and scrapes were filled with darkly-dried blood. Clean, new bandages were wrapped around what Bones could assume were the larger injuries. There was a plastic mask attached to his face, and Bones could see it fog and clear in turns as Jim breathed.

And his eyes...

There were more white bandages wrapped around his eyes, and Bones could only imagine what lay beneath.

"What happened?" He whispered hoarsely, fingers grazing down Jim's skin. Fuck, Bones traced, and Shit and Goddammit and Don't you dare.

Kellion cleared his throat nervously, scanning the medical chart. "According to the paramedics who brought him in, it looks like a drunken driver ran a red light and crashed into his car."

"Jim doesn't have a car," Bones said dumbly, writing Bastard and Stay with me on Jim's skin with his fingers. "What about his eyes?" He demanded,

Kellion shifted. "In the course of his accident it appears that something glass broke and injured Cadet Kirk's eyes. We've picked out most of the shards, but he's sustained heavy damage." He cleared his throat. "It's highly unlikely that Cadet Kirk will retain his sight."

Bones' fingers dug into Kirk's unresponsive skin without him realizing it. If Jim couldn't see... if Jim couldn't see, than most of his opportunities at Starfleet would be lost to him. Not only that, but Jim Kirk's entire world was built on living fast and movement and colour. Bones hadn't ever thought it was possible to break James T. Kirk.

But this might come close.

"There is a procedure," Kellion continued carefully. "It's still in the testing stages and there's no guarantee it would work, but it would greatly decrease the odds of partial or complete blindness."

Bones' head snapped up. "Do the procedure," He said hoarsely. "Why haven't you done it yet already?"

"As with any experimental procedure, we need the express permission of the patient or the patient's next-of-kin before we can perform it, due to the risks involved." Kellion explained.

"Jim doesn't have a next-of-kin," Bones said bluntly. "He filled in a request for oral sex on that line, in case you've forgotten!"

Kellion's expression was sour. "I remember. Under these circumstances, the hospital cannot afford to do the procedure."

"What do you mean they can't afford it?" Bones demanded. "Jim can't afford for them not to do it! He'll go blind, dammit."

"It's technically an elective procedure. And we need permission --"

"I give you permission!" Bones interrupted.

Kellion's voice was flat. "I'm sorry, Dr. McCoy, but --"

"Fuck you!" Bones raged. He stepped forward, shocked by the sudden coldness he felt when his hand flew off of Jim's arm. He snagged Kellion by the collar and slammed his back into the wall. "I'm his best friend! I'm his only fucking friend. I'm the person who cares about him most in the entire goddamn universe! Just because some fucking piece of paper doesn't have my name on it..."

"Dr. McCoy!" Kellion cried. "I am going to have to have you removed by security!"

"Do the fucking procedure!" Bones roared.

Kellion yanked himself out of Bones' grip and slammed his palm onto a small button near the door. An instant later a group of brawny men in security uniforms burst into the room, seizing McCoy by the arms when Kellion pointed and hauling him out despite his protests.

Just before the door slammed shut in front of him Bones got a full view of Jim, still lying deathly still, chest rising mechanically, Georgia-sky-blue eyes swathed in bandages, already blind to the world.

Very quickly McCoy was outside of the hospital in the damp night air, breath rising in clouds of steam as he panted. He'd been informed that while his behavior would be excused at the moment due to the stressful situation of his roommate's accident, he would not be allowed back into the hospital until he'd calmed. Furthermore, he was in danger of losing his own position at the hospital, and potentially his entire Starfleet career, if he persisted.

Bones resisted the urge to slam his fist into the wall.

For a moment he raged silently, cursing Kellion and the anonymous drunken bastard who'd done this and Starfleet and Jim and anyone else he can think off. The stars were cold and bright above him, and it hit him in a sudden, over-whelming wave of despair that Jim would never see the stars as close-up as he'd drunkenly told Bones he'd always wanted too.

And McCoy didn't know what to do.

He was just a doctor, dammit. He was just a best friend. He was just hopeless.

Except, no. McCoy couldn't afford to be hopeless.

An idea occurred to him, hit him like lightning. It was unexpected and crazy and it just might work, and Bones had a sudden flash of realization that Jim must feel like this all the time.

He shook it off and got down to business, pulling out his communicator.

"Patch me into Admiral Pike," He demanded in a voice that couldn't be argued with. "Tell him it's an emergency."

It took a long time for McCoy to be taken seriously enough to actually get in contact with the Admiral. Things moved rather quickly after that, though, because Pike wasn't about to let his protégé be crippled, and he was rather appalled by the way Starfleet Academy Hospital had been operating. Some people were definitely getting ripped a new one. Bones only hoped a certain smug orange-eyed son-of-a-bitch was among them.

Jim got his procedure all right, and his doctor -- a new one, of course, a rather pretty thing with bone-straight black hair that McCoy rather enjoyed talking with -- declared that he had a forty percent chance of full recovery of his sight. It wasn't exactly odds Bones would've like to gamble with. But it was Jim, so when the bandages were removed and Jim blinked in the bright fluorescents, Bones knew he shouldn't be surprised.

A while later, and Jim was still in the hospital but well enough to begin demanding his release and plotting escape plans, and Bones was taking his lunch break in Jim's hospital room. Jim had long since swiped Bones' cookie (which, if Bones was honest with himself, he only bought because he knew Jim loved chocolate chip) and was nibbling on the edges, bitching about the quality of hospital food.

Bones waited until Jim had a full mouth before producing a stack of legal forms from his bag and slapping them on Jim's bed, hard enough that the edges of the pages curled up a little, as if in fright.

"Whaff dif?" Jim asked around the mouthful of cookie.

Bones translated that without any effort. "This," He snarled, "is the nice stack of new forms you're going to need to update the contact sheet in your medical file."

Jim swallowed. "What for?" He asked curiously. Bones felt his blood turning to slush in his veins with sudden cold.

"What for? What for? You idiot! It's so stuck-up infant doctors with the IQ of processed cheese don't have to scramble around trying to find poor little Jimmy's great-uncle Haywood Jablome while I watch them repeatedly run their heads into walls." Bones shouted.

A small smile graced Jim's lips. "Oh, yeah. Haywood. That was a good one."

"A good one?" Bones repeated incredulously. "Jim, no one's found that joke funny in the last four hundred years." Then he shook himself, before he could be drawn further down the whirlpool of Jim's kind of thinking. "And that's not the point! The point is, you need to have some relevant contact information so that important decision regarding your health can be made."

Jim opened his mouth, and Bones could just see the flippant statement that would come next forming on his tongue. "Dammit, Jim! You don't get it, do you? You were going to go blind. Blind, Jim. That means your Starfleet career would be over. All those things you like to do? All those people you like to do? Gone. You couldn't drive a car on your own, let alone command a starship. Everything you'd ever wanted would be taken away from you, and you couldn't even see it coming. And all I could do was watch."

Bones' heart twisted up and hurt in a way that shouldn't be medically possible when he thought about Jim, his Jim, living in a world without seeing Georgia-sky-blue or sunshine or beauty or stars.

Bones squeezed his eyes shut hard, breathing in harshly through his nose. When he opened his eyes, he found Jim staring at him, taken aback by the unexpected force behind his friend's emotions.

"But, Bones," Jim said in a small, confused voice. "Who am I supposed to put down? My dad's dead. My mother wouldn't come. Frank?" Jim gave an unhappy laugh. "He'd tell 'em to pull the plug if I had a hangnail. And I haven't talked to Sam in years."

"I don't have anybody," He said quietly, hands fisting in the sheets.

Bones stared at him. "You idiot. You absolute, colossal, thick-headed idiot. Dammit, Jim." He rested a hand on Jim's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the thin hospital gown. Jim looked up at him with those Georgia-sky-blue eyes.

"You've got me."