Author's Note: This story takes place as a missing moment during "Star Trek: Generations." It was originally written on August 9th 2006 and edited on September 15th 2007. Featuring Dr. McCoy.
Disclaimer: I'm sick of these! You know the drill: not mine, don't sue me.
Star Trek
That Dreaded Call
PenPatronus
"Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT! Didn't I shut that damn thing off?"
He had, and some punk kid engineer had hacked into the communication system.
Scotty'll hear about this, he thought while massaging his own temple and still refusing to get out of bed. He, a twenty-fourth century doctor, was not only unable to cure his own headache, but was not even able to tell what was causing it. "It's because of damn things like you!" he concluded. McCoy shook a fist at the communication screen on the other side of the room, then suddenly remembered that the christening and maiden voyage of the Enterprise-B had been the night before. His entourage was in town. "Oh, you're going to get it now! I'm going to beam an enraged Scotsman right into your damn lap!" And Jim into the closest bar! He hadn't seen his friend in six months. God, I miss him…
The headache, mercifully dulled from sleep, now stampeded across his temple once again. The beeps in the room became a siren, but there was no reason a priority one signal needed to come to a retired country doctor. Leonard McCoy moaned and literally rolled out of bed. "If this isn't God or Spock…" He'd been dreaming about Natira, and few things in the universe were worth interrupting that!
With his eyes still shut, he stumbled forward and tumbled into a chair. "What?" he sputtered, inviting the communication.
"Leonard."
McCoy's eyes opened, his hand immediately reaching for the med kit he kept under his desk. He instantly calculated how quickly he could get to the nearest transporter hub and—when, in our entire friendship, has Scotty ever called me by my first name? McCoy heard the hurt, the sadness, the desperation and devastation in his friend's voice. He was a doctor. He recognized pain in all of its forms.
"Scotty?"
"Doctor, oh doctor," Montgomery Scott's voice vibrated from his Scottish burr.
"What is it? What's wrong?" The engineer's face was pale and wet. His eyes were puffy and red. It suddenly occurred to McCoy that he'd seen that look before…when he'd had drawn a sheet over the body of Scotty's nephew.
Fresh tears trickled down Scotty's cheeks. "Oh doctor…I've been trying to contact you all night…The capt'n, oh doctor, the capt'n…"
McCoy leaned closer to the screen. "Tell me. Whatever it is, tell me right now."
McCoy was tortured by his imagination while Scotty told him what happened. He saw the energy ribbon, watched Jim get sucked into space when the hull ruptured, heard him scream…almost heard him scream McCoy's name…
"He was alone, wasn't he," McCoy whispered. "Oh God we left him alone…" The tune to "Row Your Boat" entered McCoy's mind. "We should've never left him alone…"
"What?"
He smelled the campfire, the trees, the beans. The great shadow of El Capitan and Jim Kirk falling from it into space, burning up in a ribbon of fire…
I've always known I'll die alone…
"Doctor, Spock doesn't know. We thought—Chekhov and Sulu and Uhura—we thought maybe you should be the one to—"
"Yeah…I'll contact Spock…" he spoke slowly, and his own voice sounded distant.
When Scotty's face disappeared, McCoy tried to stand up, and found that he couldn't.
The End