Leonard McCoy lay awake as he did many nights. But tonight it wasn't the dark thoughts that kept him up—if only he'd been faster, if only he'd diagnosed it sooner, if only he'd waited a little longer. No. The worry lines etched into his face eased somewhat as he gazed adoringly at the woman curled into his side.
Christine Chapel.
Sometimes he still couldn't believe she'd chosen him. He wasn't suave like the captain or intellectual like Spock. He was just an old country doctor and somehow that was enough for her.
He loved her so much it ached; it burned throughout his soul in times like this. He worried that she didn't realize what she meant to him. He didn't have the words to explain. All he could do was hold onto her like a drowning man onto a life-ring.
She stirred and her hand searched for his. Fingers entwined, she drew his hand toward her and held it to her lips for a long moment. "Go to sleep," came the fond grumbling words.
His free hand swept the hair away from her temple so he could plant a kiss there. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured.