You barely stepped into the medbay before McCoy’s gaze cut to you like a scalpel—slow, sideways, and dripping with disapproval. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

That look alone could’ve taken out a Romulan warbird.

“...What?” You asked, shifting guiltily under his glare.

He didn’t blink. “Tell me, how is it that you of all people manage to find the most dangerous ways to exist?”

“I—”

“No, don’t answer that,” he snapped, still side-eyeing you with the weight of an ancient, caffeine-deprived god. “Because I know the answer. It’s because you have a death wish, Jim."

You dared a small shrug. “It wasn’t that bad—”

“Oh, please.” He finally turned to face you fully, arms crossing over his chest like a disappointed father who’s had enough of your antics. “You jumped off a ledge into the ocean. A cliff. With no gear. Into an ocean full of rocks you could've died on. And you’re telling me it ‘wasn’t that bad?’”

There it was again—the look. That patented, top-tier, side-eye forged in the deepest fires of Georgia grumpiness.

You raised your hands defensively. “In my defence, it worked.”

His eyes narrowed further.

“I’m going to start sedating you all on sight,” he muttered. “For preventative care.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Admit it, Bones. You’d miss me.”

“I’d miss the silence,” he deadpanned. “Now sit down before you start bleeding on my floor.”