You found him sulking in the medbay again, arms crossed, brow furrowed so deep it looked like he was trying to wrinkle his way into another dimension.

“Don’t even,” McCoy muttered without looking up from his datapad. “Whatever it is, whatever disaster Kirk has cooked up this time, I want no part in it.”

You tilted your head. “It’s just coffee, Bones. You missed the last two rounds.”

He finally looked up, narrowed eyes pinning you with the same disdain he usually reserved for malfunctioning tricorders and space anomalies shaped like giant amoebas.

“I didn’t miss them. I avoided them. On purpose. Unlike the rest of you maniacs, I don’t need caffeine to survive repeated brushes with death and incompetence.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally drinking decaf.”

“It’s about the principle, not the dosage,” he snapped, snatching the offered cup anyway. “Besides, some of us are trying to live past fifty.”

You tried not to smirk as he took a long, grumpy sip and immediately relaxed—just a little.

“Admit it. You missed us.”

“I miss peace and quiet,” he grumbled. “But sure, fine. I tolerate your presence.”

A beat passed. You sat on the nearby biobed, swinging your legs.

McCoy sighed. “Alright, what’s the damage this time?”

“Nothing. Just thought you might like some company.”

He looked up from his PADD. "You haven't broken anything again, have you?"

But he didn’t tell you to leave either. And that was as good as a hug from Dr. Leonard McCoy.