McCoy was waiting in the transporter room with a smile on his face. Whenever he could get away from sickbay, he liked to be there when a landing party returned, if for no other reason than to make sure everybody was safe. He'd made a habit of it even before Hope had come aboard the Enterprise. And, alas, more often than not, he was needed there anyway, as it seemed that there was always something or other going wrong on away missions.

When he heard Kirk suddenly demand an emergency beam-up, his happy smile gave way to a terrified frown, and he hurried to stand right in front of the transporter platform, his heart pounding like mad, not knowing what to expect and scared half to death of what he might be faced with, once they materialised.

To his relief, they all were uninjured, and Kirk, Spock and Scott stepped off the platform instantly, ripping off their helmets. But Hope stayed on her pad, eyes wide with horror, visible even through the visor, demanding to be beamed back down at once.

"We need to go back!" she screeched almost hysterically, her voice unusually high-pitched and tinny through the mic of her helmet. "You need to come, too, Doctor! You need to save her!"

"Who?" McCoy asked, reaching for her and trying not to show his alarm.

"Calmara! He shot her! Please, we need to go back! Now!" she cried, and was interrupted by Jim's stern voice before the doctor could get hold of her arms, which she kept waving around frantically.

"Get a grip, Hope!" the captain commanded. "We've just been attacked. We can't just beam back down without knowing what's going on. Spock?"

Kirk turned towards his first officer, who was already at the wall comm, requesting Uhura to contact Home World and find the president immediately.

Hope froze at the captain's sharp tone, and McCoy could see that she was trying hard to pull herself together. Stepping to her side, he gently removed her helmet and guided her off the platform, while trying to process what he'd just heard, looking to Kirk and Scotty for an explanation.

Uhura's voice sounded from the comm, announcing that she'd located the president.

"Captain," the president's voice came on, "are you all right? I don't know what to say, I can't apologise enough."

"We're unharmed," Jim assured her, then enquired about Calmara. "We have Dr. McCoy standing by, should we send him down to help?"

"No, thank you," the president replied, sounding dejected even through the translator. "We've had her teleported to a hospital straight away, but she's lost so much blood, they're not expecting her to pull through."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Kirk said, his voice sorrowful, and McCoy heard Hope stifling a sob and quickly sat her down on the step of the platform. "She's just saved our lives."

Finally putting the pieces of what had transpired together, the doctor sat down beside Hope and pulled her into his arms. In getting herself nearly killed, Calmara had obviously saved Jenny and the others. Spock's expression was unreadable, even more of an emotionless mask than usual, which, in itself, was an indication. But Scotty, his face pale and unbelieving, seemed to be close to tears.

"The attacker killed himself the moment he realised what he had done," the president continued, "so we don't know yet where he came from and if he was part of an organisation. But we assure you that finding the answers is currently our top priority."

McCoy ran his fingers soothingly through Hope's matted hair, as she rested her head on his chest, not caring who saw them, simply needing to be there for her and comfort her. She'd gone completely quiet, tightly huddling against him. But when the president informed Jim that she'd just received news of Calmara's death, Hope started to shake violently, silent tears running down her face and soaking the doctor's shirt.

After Kirk had ended his conversation with the president, he glanced questioningly at McCoy. And when the doctor nodded, silently communicating to leave them alone, the captain made for the door, ordering everyone to come with him and give them the room.

McCoy felt deeply saddened by this admirable alien's death, too, and for a long time, they just sat in silence. There was a lot he could and would tell Hope, but right now she wasn't receptive to any of it. So the doctor just held her, gently rocking her in his arms.

She'd become quite attached to Calmara, he'd seen it already when the alien was still aboard. Hope was like that. She had such a big heart, and he loved her for it. But as a consequence, the loss was especially hard on her. Aggravated, of course, by survivor's guilt. They would talk later. A lot. But now she needed a little time to grieve alone.

Sitting there on the step, tenderly cradling Hope in his arms, McCoy thought he'd lost count of the times he'd held her like that.

What is it about us, that we seem to find ourselves in situations like this all the time? he mused.

And not just him comforting her, either. Only a week or two ago, it had been him falling apart in her arms over Joanna, eternally grateful to have her to lean on. And he fondly remembered the first time she'd held him, after he'd lost a patient on a rescue mission, long before they'd become more than friends or even colleagues.

As CMO, he'd been used to taking care of everyone else, a rather lonely position with only Jim and sometimes Scotty or Spock for moral support, and to talk things through to find closure afterwards. And even then, it had mostly been him to give that moral support. So, having someone actually see what he was going through, and just hold him, without judging or uttering platitudes, had been a new and almost magical experience for him. He'd drawn immense comfort from her touch.

Now it was his turn to comfort her again, and he was glad that she let him. He knew only too well how people in pain often tended to lash out and push everyone away. Not Hope, though. She'd always allowed him to be close to her, when she was upset. And he considered it a privilege. Cheerful and positive as she liked to present herself to the world, and which she usually was, she could be inconsolable at times. Good or bad, she was a person who felt deeply. They both were.

When McCoy felt that Hope had run out of tears, he gently released her.

"Let's get you in the shower, love," he smiled, getting up and pulling her to her feet.

"Smell that bad?" she chuckled weakly, as she followed him to the door, and his heart melted at her attempt to cheer up for him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jenny knew she was behaving painfully unprofessional, but was feeling too numb to do anything about it. Leonard understood. She was immensely grateful for his quiet, gentle support. Without any further words, he steered her to his quarters, helped her out of her suit and left her to it in the shower.

She had no idea how long she'd just stood there, the scene of Calmara throwing herself between them and their attacker on auto-replay in her mind. What had she been thinking? Why had she done that? And what, if she hadn't?

It was only when she heard the rustling of clothes being discarded followed by the feeling of strong arms wrapping around her, that she realised how cold she'd become. With a sigh she leaned back into McCoy's warm embrace and enjoyed the feeling of hot water streaming down her skin, as he switched from sonic to water, a rare treat.

Closing her eyes and humming with pleasure, she let him lovingly soap her up, gently wash her hair with shampoo and finally rinse her off, before wrapping her in a soft towel. He'd never done that before, but the tenderness of it soothed her mind and helped her dispel the numbness.

Taking a deep breath, she thanked him with a gentle kiss, then towelled herself off and padded back into the bedroom. Following her out of the bathroom, McCoy made a beeline for the bed, and moments later, Jenny found herself snuggled up against his warm body under the blanket.

"She gave her life for me, Leonard," she whispered, her first words since leaving the transporter room. "How can I ever get over that?"

"By honouring her sacrifice," McCoy replied softly. "By being grateful and happy to be alive."

"How could I be happy, knowing that I'm alive because someone else died?" Jenny cried, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him, outraged by the suggestion, then quickly relenting, when she saw the realisation of how close he'd come to lose her register on his face.

"I'm sorry, love," he smiled sadly. "I, for one, am eternally grateful to Calmara for saving your life. But I understand, of course, that you don't feel the same. Not now. Not yet."

"You don't understand! You haven't been there!"

She was sorry the moment the words were out. She didn't mean to be angry with him. He was not to blame, and he'd been nothing but understanding since they'd beamed back aboard. But there was so much anger inside her that needed to vent. And Leonard, dear, kind Leonard, understood.

"I don't need to have been there to know what you're going through," he said softly, tenderly brushing tendrils of her still damp hair out of her face. "But you need to accept that she made a conscious choice. You've saved her life, too. When she first teleported onto the observation deck."

"But I can't believe she chose to die," Jenny replied stubbornly. "Maybe she didn't think he'd shoot her. Maybe it all happened too fast for him to realise who she was."

"There's always a risk, and she took it willingly," McCoy sighed, pulling her back into his arms. "What you should do is grant her the dignity of this last sacrifice."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Holding her tight and gently running his fingers up and down her back, McCoy could feel Hope gradually relax into his embrace, as she was considering his words.

"She was special," he added after a while.

"Do you know how old she was?" Hope asked quietly, and it sounded like an accusation. "Or anything about her family, or her favourite things?"

"No, I don't," he admitted quietly.

"You say she was special, yet you don't know anything about her. Next you'll tell me she was just a stranger," Hope trailed off, her voice choked with new tears.

"I wasn't going to," he began, but fell silent when another crying fit took hold of her, and just hugged her tight and kissed her hair and forehead.

"It's not your fault, Jenny," he said firmly, when she'd calmed down again. "Yes, she did it for you, as well as for Jim, Spock, and Scotty. But understand that she'd accepted death long before then. When she'd got on that little spacecraft of hers, knowing she was never going to return home. She was lucky to be rescued by us. By you. And she was immensely grateful and proud to have saved her home world, too. That's what you gave her."

Hope lifted her head to look at him, and he could see his words sinking in. But survivor's guilt would take longer to overcome. Especially for someone as caring and selfless as her. They'd have to work on that. And he'd have to talk to Jim, Spock and Scotty, too.

"But it's still not fair," she murmured after a few moments. "Calmara should have been allowed to enjoy her accomplishment longer. To be celebrated as the heroine she was."

"She'll always be remembered as the saviour of her planet, of Home World," McCoy assured her.

But when Hope rested her head back on his chest, her body starting to shake with quiet sobs all over again, he made up his mind to tell her something he hadn't actually intended to, thinking it wasn't his place to tell.

"There's something else you should know, love," he said, pausing a little until he was sure to have her attention. "Something I discovered when I first tended to Calmara, and which she told me and Scotty, when we worked on her helmet and on reproducing the liquid she needed."

"And what was that?" Hope sniffled, nestling closer into the crook of his arm.

"She wouldn't have lived very much longer, anyway. She had a terminal illness, something akin to blood cancer in humans. One of the reasons she volunteered to go on that suicide mission in the first place. And also the reason she lost blood so quickly, when injured. We were lucky that her wound, when she first came aboard, was little more than a scratch, or I wouldn't have been able to fix it."

"Blood cancer," Hope murmured, dumbfounded. "Just what I had. The universe really has a strange sense of humour. Do you still believe in coincidence, Leonard?"

"Not sure I do, love," McCoy replied softly, soothingly rubbing her back and caressing her face, wiping away the last of her tears, as she slowly drifted off to sleep, the events of the past few days finally taking their toll.

Just like I'm not sure I believe in your ever having had blood cancer at all, was his last conscious thought before he, too, dozed off. Too tired to ponder the issue that had been bothering him ever since Hope had told him about her past, and surely would continue to do so, until he found a satisfying answer.