Chapter Text
Acting Chief Medical Officer’s Log, Stardate 2253.51.
Lost two more crewmembers today. Lieutenant Sharma passed away during Gamma while recovering in post-op; I wasn’t there, but pulmonary failure is most likely given the original injuries. I… wasn’t there, because of another damned explosion in engineering. Six injured, two badly enough to find them beds in the secondary medical bay. We had to discharge Selek and Chau to find the space, tried to transfer them to the triage unit in the cargo bay but if they’re that determined to get back to work, so be it. They’re still far better off than Petty Officer Monroe… she died instantaneously in the blast. Even if I had gotten there sooner, there was nothing I could’ve done for her…
Physically at least, the Vulcan survivors on board are stable enough, up and walking around the ship with that hollow look about them, like their hearts had been ripped right out of their bellies, though some might say it’s hard to tell with Vulcans. Only… well, I’ve never been a good liar so I don’t mind saying I’ve always wondered whether feeling ever survived in those folks at all but… anyway. Know better now. Hell, might’ve been a blessing in disguise if they’d gotten off so lucky with all that choosing not to feel bullshit. Not feeling sounds pretty damn good right about now if you ask me. Even if I wouldn’t know where to start…
I just… I don’t know how…
The medical alert chime from intensive care cut cleanly through the haze of McCoy’s hoarse voice. Taking a moment to press the heels of his hands hard into his eye sockets, he took a deep breath before mumbling the appropriate commands.
‘Computer, stop log recording. State cause of medical alert.’
Patient Pike, Christopher has regained consciousness in the intensive care unit. Heart rate 96bpm and rising, blood pressure–
‘Stop.’ He sagged in his desk chair, his own exhausted heart kicking hard against his ribcage. Chris. Awake. Finally, but too soon at the same time.
McCoy steeled his nerves, reading bleakly over the transcription of his words glowing on his desk monitor. ‘Computer,’ he said, ‘erase Acting Chief Medical Officer’s Log.’
Acknowledged. A steadier calm settled through McCoy’s tensed shoulders as he watched his words disappear, wiped clean to a blank nothing.
If only it were that easy.
McCoy delivered the news with his usual bluntness, no detail nor sympathy spared, but was unable to look his patient in the eye as he did so. Instead, he focused on the chalky skin above the loose collar of his blue surgical gown, speaking to the spidery red of a bruise from too many hypospray jabs hastily administered in the battle for this man’s survival.
‘So that’s it, then.’ Pike’s voice was bone-dry with defeat. ‘My legs are gone.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ The defensive clip of McCoy’s reply sharpened the dull fatigue of his drawling tongue. ‘There are therapies, procedures we can try once we get back to Starfleet Medical. All the nerve endings controlling your lower extremities should regain normal function in due course, but until the scar tissue around your spinal column has a chance to heal properly…’
‘You said should.’ Brittle disbelief glazed Pike’s pale blue eyes – and damn, they seemed so much paler than he remembered. ‘Should means maybe not.. Stick to the facts, Doctor.’
McCoy repressed a pained flinch. ‘I am giving you the facts,’ he replied tartly. ‘Captain. So far, your prognosis for recovery is good.’
‘So far.’ Again, the echo of his words was damning. ‘How good? I want percentages here.’
‘The human body doesn’t work in percentages, and I’m not some damn Vulcan.’ And there was no stopping himself from cringing this time at his own thoughtless words. He deserved that hurt, so he swallowed it down with the rest and moved on. ‘Trust me,’ he continued, hoping it didn’t sound desperate, ‘under the circumstances, you’re doing remarkably well.’
‘If not being able to walk is remarkably well…’
‘Look,’ McCoy interrupted, patience splintering like an old oak bough after a lightning storm. ‘When Jim beamed back with you, you were on your feet, right?’
Pike frowned, but nodded stiffly. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But–’
‘And I got your ass to my medical bay by helping you along on your own damn feet.’
‘But now I can’t…’
‘And do you think any of the surgeries I’ve performed over the last few days were intended to take away your ability to walk? Much less permanently?’ The anxious, almost plaintive edge in his voice was coming out too loud, too clear. ‘Do you think I would’ve done that to you?’
Quiet defeat drained the panic from Pike’s eyes, along with everything else. ‘No,’ he agreed dully. ‘No, of course not. You’re a good doctor, McCoy.’
‘Damn it.’ His own shoulders slumped in dismay. ‘I’m sorry, that was…’ He sighed, straightened up and turned away. ‘Apologies, Captain. I was way out of line. Won’t happen again, sir.’
He blinked rapidly at the biobed monitor located safely above Pike’s head, and nearly jumped at the warm fingers curling weakly around his wrist.
‘Leo…’
A harsh sound, something ugly between a laugh and a sob, broke McCoy’s tight throat. ‘Don’t you mean “Doctor”?’ he asked, aiming the question at Pike’s vital signs on the monitor.
‘No.’ Pike’s grip on his wrist tightened; the pad of a thumb rubbed over his thundering pulse with a tenderness that nearly stopped his heart. ‘Leo, look at me.’
He screwed his eyes shut, gave his head a shake. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked down again – not at his commanding officer, or his patient, but at his lover. He had the look of a man who had aged years in the space of a few days and the fading bruises on his face still made McCoy smolder with rage but thank all the angels in heaven, he was still alive. With a renewed rush of gratitude for that fact, McCoy attempted a smile that Pike tiredly returned.
‘You look terrible.’
Pike’s dry greeting pulled an involuntary chuckle from McCoy’s sore throat. ‘You’re one to talk,’ he replied. Professional distance forgotten, he allowed himself to trace the fine silver hair spreading from Pike’s temples back into cinnamon brown, further back than he remembered. ‘And you can’t expect me to keep my looks when you pull stunts like that. Took at least five years off my life.’
‘Yours and mine both.’ Though the pull of his grip was weak, McCoy let Pike drag his hand closer to plant a dry, chapped kiss on his knuckles. ‘I’m sorry I worried you. And…’ Pike sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. ‘Sorry for being such a bastard of a patient. Phil always said I was a nightmare in his sickbay, and he wasn’t wrong.’
‘I know. He told me the stories.’ McCoy smoothed the furrows of Pike’s brow with the pad of his thumb. ‘I’ve been told my bedside manner leaves something to be desired, so at least that makes us even.’
Pike dismissed his unspoken apology with a shake of his head. ‘It’s just… I’ve had enough of feeling powerless to last me a lifetime,’ he continued, the words undercut with a vulnerable quaver of truth that made McCoy ache anew for him. ‘I’ll do a lot better when I can get a proper report from Spock,’ he added with a wan smile that McCoy returned hesitantly. Now probably wasn’t the time to inform Pike that Jim was now acting as Captain.
‘Jim’s been asking to see you as well,’ McCoy replied instead, frowning at the biobed monitor as one of Pike’s neural readings peaked strangely. ‘But I’ve already told him he’ll have to wait.’
‘Jim…’ Pike repeated it vaguely, eyes sliding out of focus. ‘You… you brought him on board…’
McCoy frowned at the uncertain slowness of his words. ‘And you promoted him to first officer,’ he said warily.
‘I did,’ Pike agreed, eyes narrowing to an introspective squint. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time… no harm in it when I was ordering him to jump into Vulcan’s atmosphere in the same breath.’
McCoy shuddered, still queasy at the very thought. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Shame he made it back.’
Pike said it under his breath, so quietly that McCoy didn’t fully process the words right away; he felt an icy horror chill his guts before it reached his brain.
‘He shouldn’t have been on board in the first place,’ Pike continued dully, brow furrowing. ‘Arrogant little shit keeps going after everything I’ve got… chasing every record I set at the Academy, exploiting my lover to sneak onto my ship. And I know that bastard wants to fuck you–’
He cut off his own words with a sharp gasp, and the disturbed dread in McCoy’s heart was nothing to the disgust flooding Pike’s eyes.
‘I… oh, God …’ He shuddered beneath his thin blanket, eyes pinching shut as he shook his head, far too violently for his delicate spinal column and McCoy’s comfort. Revulsion temporarily forgotten, he steadied Pike’s head with both hands pressed to either side of his face. His skin was clammy and damp beneath his palms.
‘Chris,’ he said firmly, urging his eyes to open through the desperation of his voice. ‘Chris, you need to calm down…’
‘I can’t… it’s just like…’ Glassy eyes flickered open, frantic with shame and panic. ‘The slug,’ he breathed, face crumpling. ‘That vile, fucking slug… I thought you got it out of there…’
McCoy’s eyes widened, comprehension clicking with the biobed’s peculiar readings. ‘We did, but we couldn’t flush its toxins from your system, not without compromising the work I did to patch up your spinal nerve,’ he explained hurriedly, cursing himself for not having considered the consequences sooner. ‘None of the known antidotes are compatible with human biochemistry, so it seemed safer to let the effects wear off naturally, rather than–’
‘Sedate me, then,’ Pike interrupted coldly, eyes hardening past the lingering terror McCoy could still read there.
‘That’s not really ideal,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I need to monitor your neural responses in a waking state, and…’
‘I said, sedate me, Doctor.’ A faint whine from the biobed indicated Pike’s heartbeat pitching dangerously high, a fact McCoy could read just as well in his heaving chest. ‘That’s an order. I’m still your commanding…’ He ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, fingers clutching the edge of the biobed as he visibly fought to control his speech. McCoy watched, utterly heartbroken, as Pike opened his eyes again, all anger faded in a startling shift of emotions. ‘Leo, please…’
He nodded stiffly, allowed himself to hold Pike’s clenched hand for a moment before striding away to prep the sedative.
‘I’ll find a way to fix this, Chris,’ he promised softly, pressing the hypo home as gently as he knew how. A flicker of gratitude warmed his blue eyes, but the words that slipped from his dry lips were devastating.
‘You don’t know how to fix this…’ His eyes slipped shut; silence rang accusingly in McCoy’s ears. He tossed the spent hypo into the sanitizer with unnecessary force before dropping into the chair at Pike’s bedside, hands dangling uselessly between his knees.
That, McCoy thought darkly, was not the reunion he had had in mind.