It was almost melodic. The steady beeping of the heart monitor and quiet hum of the ventilator joined together in steady rhythm that screamed, "I'm alive!" with each beat. After nine hours, Bones had finally treated every burn, set every break, and stitched every gash inside and out. He had refused to let any other medical officer treat the Captain. That was supposed to count for something, wasn't it? Most sedatives would've worn off hours ago, but Jim didn't stir, hadn't moved since being beamed back aboard the Enterprise in Sulu's arms. "Thrown against the bulkhead," the helmsman had gasped before collapsing on the pad.
Now, he waited. There was really no place else to go. If he wasn't on duty in Medical he was…with Jim. So he had pulled up a chair beside his friend's bed and took his place, as always, at Jim's side. "I'm saving the rest of this for when you wake up," Bones stated, holding up a bottle of bourbon. "So you better wake up, cause I'm gonna be pissed as hell if this goes to waste. You brought this back for me on your last trip home, expensive stuff."
The doctor threw back what was left in his glass and closed his eyes to savor the burn in his throat. "I didn't sign up for this you know," he continued conversationally leaning back in his chair. "I can't keep piecing you back together every time you jump into trouble. I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker. Pretty soon there won't enough of you to piece back together."
He swallowed the lump growing in his throat and leaned forward and wrapped a hand around Jim's wrist. "And then there won't be anything left of me," he whispered. "Damn it, Jim. I don't give a crap about this ship or its mission; I just want you to wake up. You're their captain….but you're my best friend."