Domino
Chapter 4 – Loss and Loyalty
Disclaimer: Passion not profit - enjoy :-)
Spock's perception of time never faulted. For example, he could tell you that between impact and safely evacuating all personnel from the bridge exactly four point nine two minutes had elapsed. Even having said that, time seemed to slow.
Emergency shielding had engaged the minute the bridge's domed roof had been compromised, emergency lighting all but failed as loosened units were pulled from their housing eventually bouncing uselessly from wall to floor in the lowered gravity of the compromised bridge.
He blinked, once, twice and swiped the emerald liquid from his eyes as he scanned the gloom.
Logic dictated that in many situations, what was lost in self-sacrifice was worth the benefits of loyalty and kinship. His inner-most thoughts and desires dictated that, even if it was not logical, he would do what he planned right now.
So one by one, Spock hauled the unconscious forms of his crew mates from the smouldering remains of the bridge. Each time leaping back toward the flames, feeling the burning of his lungs and shamelessly embracing the knowledge that with each successful attempt, another of his friends was saved.
Were he to survive, he thought as he hauled the last remaining survivor into the emergency exit shaft, he would find a logical justification for his actions.
Were he to survive…
Sights and sounds intermittently flooded his awareness, he was being carried and in the next (estimated) four hours several things came to his attention.
Jim, leaning over him, offering words of reassurance. Unnecessary…
Chaos; wounded crew members flooding through the doors of Sickbay, overwhelming resources. If only he could go to his quarters, meditate, he would not add to this situation any more than he could take away…
Jim, holding the hand of a young Petty Officer as he lay dying, praising his bravery, the man smiled in spite of his pain, and breathed his last.
Then end, rushing up to meet him as the tide meets the shore. He body was losing the fight…
"Jim..." he called weakly, trying not to alarm, he just needed to reach him.
"Spock," Jim was by his side in an instant, "stay still, everything will be just fine."
M'Benga quickly pulled him to the side, "Captain, I have one bio-stasis chamber just made available. And in his condition it is imperative…" he trailed off at the look on Kirk's face.
"We don't have the resources," he explained, "Medical was already awaiting personnel transfers before McCoy…"
"Do what you have to." Kirk stopped him before he could continue.
"Spock," he came back to his friend's side, "we are putting you into bio-stasis until we reach the nearest fleet medical facility, hold on…"
xxxOxxx
Over the days following the Gian 'incident' Enterprise was relieved of all responsibility for the Gian diplomatic mission. Indeed, they were in no state to proceed any further than the nearest Starbase for repairs.
Thirty two crew men and women dead, another one hundred and eighty injured. He had raved and protested at Starfleet's apparent disinterest in the event, not to mention the disappearance of McCoy.
His cries fell on deaf ears. But it was during one interview with the admiralty that Kirk got an explanation.
"Doctor McCoy has accepted reassignment." Komack stated plainly over their com link.
Kirks brow furrowed in distrust, "he did what?"
"Oh don't worry Captain, Your CMO is officially on detachment from Enterprise, he may yet return…"
Kirk's anger overflowed in that moment, images of the last few days, the damage and loss flooding his emotional reaction to the Admiral's cool statement.
"Does he even know what kind of a mess he's left behind?" He demanded, standing from his chair in front of the terminal in his quarters, "have you even told him how many people died because he wasn't here?"
The Admiral's response remained cool.
"Captain Kirk, I've been in battle. I know what loss can do to a man. Which is why I choose to disregard your last statement, but not without caution. The nature of your Doctor's reassignment is of great importance to the Federation and will not be reconsidered, thus, until suitable medical cover is found the Enterprise will be placed on light duties…"
"Admiral! You can't sweep us under the carpet because something more interesting turned up! The Enterprise is…"
"At risk, Kirk, as long as its situation remains unresolved."
Kirk's features hardened. "Then assign me a new CMO."
"I would, if there were any available. For now at least, you'll just have to sit tight."
xxxOxxx
McCoy clenched his fists in frustration. He'd never asked for this, but he damned well wasn't going to fall on his face. When he'd stepped foot back inside Starfleet Academy, greeted by the same people who had coached and nurtured him through those difficult first years in the service the reality of his situation had truly struck home.
Mission specific training was into its third and final week and he, along with the other four 'recruits' in his detail were presently soaked to the bone. In the failing light the assault course looked even more grim, and considerably less safe than the first time he'd fallen from the scaffolding, got his boot caught in the ropes or nearly drowned in that damned crawl through.
Commander Sul paced the line of bedraggled men, making some speech about how pathetic they all were or some other bull crap that McCoy wasn't listening to, when he stopped in front of McCoy.
"Wouldn't you agree Doctor?"
McCoy narrowly resisted the temptation to punch the guy in the face, "I've more common sense than to agree with anything you say commander."
Sul drew closer so that McCoy could smell his breath in the cold damp air as he spoke, "Then speak your mind."
"I'm a Doctor, not a talk show host, now get out've my damned face before I give you another reason not to like me. Sir."
A badly concealed snicker rose from the line of men.
Sul grinned and stepped sideways of McCoy's personal space, "Whoever said I don't like you?"
He stopped, set his timer to zero before bellowing right in McCoy's ear, "GO, GO, GO!"
"Goddamnit!" McCoy cursed and the five of them were off around the course again.
The idea, so the commander had put it, was to get them used to the challenges and difficulties they may face 'out there'. As such a short section of the course involved running through a bombardment of projectiles which you hoped didn't hit you, not purely because they hurt but also because it had been made clear to them all that one of those projectiles might actually be the real thing.
This time around was not McCoy's lucky run; oh he scaled the ropes, managed to keep his footing on the wet scaffolding, didn't drown in the waterlogged trenches and was beginning to see how, if you were a bit mentally unbalanced, you might think this was fun, when something searing hot tore into his side and sent him crashing to the floor.
He was only half way through the course. A hand grasped his own and hauled him to his feet and before long all five detail members were crossing the finish line together, supporting their injured man between them.
A satisfied smile crept over the face of the commander, who then carefully tucked it away before approaching his new team.
xxxOxxx
Daniel James joined the fleet at the tender age of 17, four years later and at the beginning of a promising career in bio-engineering Ensign James did the unthinkable and volunteered for Special Operations, and security no less, a sure way to either sky rocket your reputation or end your career with a short, sharp shock. At least, he had thought, he wouldn't have to wear a red shirt.
He'd accepted his first assignment with open arms, but from day one things did not seem to be getting off to a good start.
The oldest member of their team for one, had a serious chip on his shoulder from the word go.
"Dan James," he'd introduced himself with a proffered hand shake, "But my friends just call me Jim."
For a moment he thought he saw sadness ghosting through the older man's eyes but it was quickly replaced by a flippant wave off and a short reply, "Good job I'm not your friend then, huh Kid?"
He shrugged, "Everyone else calls me Dan," he continued regardless, "except my Mom; she insists on Daniel. Makes me sound like I should be fighting lions…"
It hadn't taken long for Dan to break through old Doc McCoy's crusty exterior or to find out the reason for his discomfort, you really didn't have to look far to identify one of the senior officers of the Fleet's famed flagship. Of course he hadn't chosen to be here, but whenever he was asked the doctor would joke sourly that he had been bored of the quiet life and had wondered if voluntary suicide would suit him any better.
One evening he had joined the Doctor sitting on the back step of their communal living quarters at the training complex, armed with no more than a flask of whiskey and a companionable silence.
He took a sip of the fiery drink and offered the flask across to his silent companion.
After a time he spoke, "You can call me asshole if you like, but I'd prefer we get to know each other a little better before we start name calling."
The older man offered a small smile and continued to gaze out into the dark night.
"You're ok Kid," he said at last, "and I'm sorry. I'm just a grumpy old coot who got more than he bargained for."
There followed another short silence before Dan took a risk he would later be grateful for.
"You miss them."
It was a statement, not a question, and the doctor's shoulders tensed in response to it. He spun his head round to look Dan in the eyes as if to assure himself that there was no danger in admitting what the younger man already knew. Thankfully, his expression softened, he leaned forwards with his elbows draped over his knees.
"Yeah, Kid. I do."
The silence that fell was not uncomfortable and heralded the start of what Dan hoped would be an understanding, even a friendship between the two.
The night of their final assault run was a different matter entirely. Instead of the quiet and withdrawn personality the team had grown to know for his wily use of satire and careful sharp wit a new man was pacing rather uncomfortably toward McCoy's bunk.
"The bastard! Of all the deliberate, spiteful downright… ow Goddamnit!"
He plonked down on the small mattress, unaware of the attention from the opposite side of the room. Dan stepped forward.
"Look like you could use a doc, Doc."
McCoy looked up, startled, but quickly recovered.
"Can it kid, I got this. Just promise me one thing; when I pass out, don't draw on my face like you did with Dozer." McCoy searched through his standard issue exercise kit bag and drew out his field med kit. It was small, equipped with a few basic items of essential equipment, not much more.
"You're gonna take the slug out yourself…? Whatever happened to medevac?"
McCoy narrowed his eyes at the younger man, "I back out now, we all have to do the damned course again. You think I'd put you through that? Anyway, I didn't think you'd be here, thought you'd be celebrating."
"And I didn't think you knew about what we did to Dozer. Guess we can all be wrong sometimes..."
McCoy continued to rustle through the kit, laying out the things he would require to remove the object lodged in his left flank. Dan chewed his lip.
"I did bio-engineering. Think I can help?"
"I'm a man not a science project…" McCoy snapped, Dan backed off and went to lean a little over-casually on the bunk frame.
"Is that the Mk5 dermal regenerator…?" he enquired innocently, "I helped design that thing. Is it any good…?"
McCoy raised one eyebrow and smiled in spite of himself. He'd underestimated the Kid already. "So you made your point," he conceded, "But I'm not letting you operate. Just load that hypo with the strongest damned stuff we have in a field med kit, and don't give me it 'til I say it's safe. I need a clear head for this. Damned thing's clipped my spleen."
A few long moments passed, McCoy ran his bio-scanner over the area and moved to make a small incision gasping something unintelligible (and probably quite profane) through gritted teeth.
"You want a leather strap?" Dan offered lightly.
"Shut up Kid."
A few more tense minutes dragged by as McCoy removed the shard of metal from the wound, repairing the worst of the damage before letting out a deep breath and leaning wearily against the bunk, his face ashen.
"When you're patching me up, you're gonna use anaesthetic, right?"
McCoy looked exhausted, but smiled broadly at the man before him.
"Depends…" he said as the world began to swim in front of him, "if you draw on my face…"
A/N: And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp!
and surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne
:-) Happy New Year xxx