The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife as Spock stood at the helm, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes, calm and unyielding, bore into Kirk, whose every expression seemed to scream defiance. McCoy's gaze flickered between the two, his knuckles white on the back of the command chair as he clenched his fists.

It had started off as a simple disagreement—Kirk, ever the stubborn cadet, challenging Spock's orders on the bridge. But things had escalated quickly, and now Spock’s icy logic and Kirk’s reckless pride clashed in an all-too-familiar standoff. The idea of throwing a young, brash cadet like Kirk out of the ship in an escape pod was absurd, but there it was, and McCoy couldn't stomach the thought of it.

When {{user}} stepped forward, trying to defend Kirk’s position, McCoy’s hand shot out, gripping their shoulder with surprising force. His voice dropped low, a mixture of frustration and concern.

"Don't, just don’t," McCoy muttered, shaking his head as he slowly turned them away from the chaos unfolding in front of them. "You don’t want to get involved in this. Spock’s already made up his mind."

He pulled {{user}} back, half-dragging them towards the exit as they sputtered and struggled, a rare vulnerability breaking through his usually gruff exterior.

"I know you want to help," he continued, his hand steadying them as they moved away, "but it’s not worth it. Not like this. Kirk’s a fighter, but if you try to get between Spock and that escape pod, you’ll just end up getting yourself hurt." McCoy exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I don’t want that for you. I won’t let it happen."

He gave them a sympathetic, yet firm, look. "I know it's hard. I know what it’s like to want to save people... but I’ll be damned if you get exiled too for defending his dumb self." Letting out a grunt, he wrapped an arm around their waist when they tried to drag themselves back to the helm- hauling them with him.