Author's Note: I know, I've abandoned this for so long! But we finally bought the movie and I watched it twice yesterday, and my plot bunnies have revived from the dead! Thanks to all of my reviewers and silent stalkers, ya'll are the best!
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, Vulcan would still be there.
He was trained for the worst.
He had performed surgery on cadavers, dealt with severed limbs and suspended organs, but he had survived. More than half of the medical students quitted halfway through med school, unable to take the gross world that was space medicine.
But Leonard McCoy had prevailed. He had taken everything that was given to him, fixed it, and gave it back. That was his thing, his nitch. He could repair what was broken.
Fix it.
But nothing could prepare him for the horrors that were reality. The second the missiles hit the Enterprise, McCoy knew that he was in for a long, grueling day. Deck six had been wiped out automatically, pushing him to the position of Chief Medical Officer. The chaos around his was too much to bear, bloody persons scattered among those that were quickly cooling.
He felt numb as he was running around, checking wounds, helping those he could while he was useless to others. So many screams of pain and pure terror. He jumped over dead bodies, feeling sick as their dead eyes bore into his soul, silently asking why he couldn't help them. Why he had chosen to save someone else.
The realness of the situation finally hit him after the whole thing was over, and he was sitting in his bed in his cabin. Finally, the doctor broke down, the fear finally drilling into his person as he came to understand one thing.
He couldn't fix it.
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