The next half hour passed in a blur, as McCoy frantically worked to bring Hope back. He was in full doctor mode, his mind focusing on one thing only, and that was to keep her alive. Only when she was breathing again, her heart back to a regular beat, her organs functioning as they should without indication of any lasting damage, did he allow himself to break down.
Locking himself in his office, he hit the wall hard with his fist and let out a pained sound somewhere between a roar and a whimper. Then he staggered over to his desk, slumped down in the chair, and covered his face in his hands, as his body was wracked with sobs and tears were freely running down his face.
Tears of guilt, tears of rage, tears of terror, and tears of relief. Hope had fallen into a coma, but at least she was alive. Unlike with her other organs, only time would tell, if and to what extend her brain had been harmed. When he had no more tears left, he cleaned himself up, splashing cold water onto his face until he felt calm enough to convincingly play the part of composed CMO again.
On autopilot, he turned the last of Hope's blood into serum, but the satisfaction he felt when everyone aboard had finally been cured was half-hearted at best. Nevertheless, he hurried right back to Hope's bedside to let her know that her stupid sacrifice had, indeed, saved everyone, just as she'd intended.
Naturally, there was no reaction, but the doctor still hoped that somehow, somewhere in the depths of her mind she'd heard him. He'd tell her again when she woke up. When he was done biting her head off for being so damn stupid and reckless, of course.
After that, McCoy refused to leave Hope's side again, not caring if people thought it was because they were more than just friends, or because he couldn't live with the guilt of letting this happen to her. Either was true.
He just needed to be near her, to make sure he was there when she came around. She'd already woken from a deep sleep, a 300 year-long sleep, once, and even though she never talked about it, he suspected that waking from that hadn't been a pleasant experience. This time, he wanted to make sure that she woke up to a friendly face. That the first thing she felt, when she opened her eyes, was that she was safe and loved. Geborgen.
-x-x-x-x-x-
McCoy spent the first day between disbelief and denial, basically expecting Hope to wake up any moment. Or, alternatively, for himself to wake up from a coma, or a nightmare, anytime. Seeing her so pale, her face waxen and devoid of all life, of that ebullience that was so essentially Hope, tore him apart, and yet, seemed so unreal. Normally, she was constantly in motion, always bubbly and generally full of beans, just thrilled to be alive. He'd never seen her without an animated glow to her cheeks before. Not even when she'd been hurt or scared.
Knowing how she thrived on physical contact, how much she needed and revelled in hugs and tender touches, McCoy kept holding her hand, caressing her face, and stroking her hair without cease. She was always happiest curled up tight in his arms, he thought fondly, and the lack of response to his gentle hands now, in such stark contrast to her usually snugging closer the moment he touched her, was almost physically painful. Still McCoy hoped that somewhere deep down she could feel it. Feel the love in his touch and in his voice, as he softly talked to her, or even sang to her, when he was quite sure no one was within earshot.
He talked about her first year aboard the Enterprise, knowing how much Hope loved to bask in those memories, loved to reminisce about the beginnings of their love, about how their friendship had blossomed into romance, or rather how she'd swept him off his feet the day they'd first met. He even told her about his feelings during her time on the Lexington, something he'd rarely talked about yet. His moods, his doubts, his fears, how much he'd longed for her then. And how much he longed for her to return to him now.
Lots of other people came to visit, and McCoy really just wanted to get rid of them, to have her all to himself. But he knew that he could neither deny Hope nor her friends some time together. Maybe one of them would even say or do something that brought her back, that prompted her to let go of whatever was keeping her away.
Uhura spent a long time talking quietly to Hope, always touching her arm or holding her hand, as if she, too, knew how much her friend needed that. McCoy pretended to busy himself with something or other, wanting to give them privacy, but Uhura kept throwing him compassionate, almost worried glances, and the doctor suspected that she was well aware, if not of their relationship, then at least of his deep feelings for Hope.
Chekov, by contrast, wasn't quiet at all, loudly lamenting over Hope's situation, alternating between berating her for abandoning him and begging her to come back. At least that's what it sounded like, since most of it was in Russian, and McCoy didn't know whether to find it endearing or irritating. Listening to him, one might almost think that Chekov was the one in a relationship with Hope. Quite obviously, he was still a far way away from being over his pathetic jealousy of Chekov, the doctor thought, ashamed that the idea of Pavel being the one to bring her back really grated.
-x-x-x-x-x-
On the second day came the anger, and with it the guilt. McCoy had spent the whole night in a chair by her bed, and when Hope's condition still hadn't changed by the next morning, he started to get scared. And angry. He was furious with everyone and everything.
With Hope for being so goddamn reckless, with that man Harper for having a fit in the middle of sickbay and drawing him away from Hope at the wrong moment, with Jim for beaming down to that godforsaken planet in the first place, and mostly with himself. For failing to detect the virus right after the landing party had returned, for failing to find a proper cure in time, for leaving Hope's side at the most crucial moment when he'd promised not to. The guilt was worst.
When Kirk came to look in on Hope and found the doctor in a complete state, he all but ordered his friend to come back to the captain's quarters, seeing it as the only chance to lure him away from Hope's side. Kirk understood that Bones was filled with self-loathing and riddled with guilt. But he also knew, that his friend was badly in need of rest, sleep-deprivation not helping his agitated mind.
With all that virus business going on, Bones had hardly been sleeping at all for several days, even before keeping watch over Hope all of last night. But the captain was also well aware that Hope had basically been living in McCoy's quarters for some time now, and that the doctor probably couldn't bring himself to go back to sleep in his bed without her. So he offered his friend to crash on his couch, if only for a couple of hours, and McCoy reluctantly accepted, acknowledging that in his current condition he was of no help to Hope or anyone else.
Kirk stayed in his quarters, catching up on some deskwork, the whole time Bones slept, repeatedly glancing over at his friend and wondering why this amazing man, this kind and generous soul, had to endure so much pain in life. All the doctor ever did was give, always taking care of and looking after everyone. Under all the snark, the sarcasm, the grumpiness, he had so much love to give, and now that he'd finally found happiness, found someone who was giving back all that love and more, was it really too much to ask for that happiness to last?
When McCoy woke up again, the captain had a coffee and a sandwich waiting for him, and they shared a quick meal. The doctor couldn't wait to get back to Hope's side, but was also grateful to have someone he could talk to about her. Someone who knew about them, knew what she meant to him.
"Why did she do it, Jim?" he asked despondently, desperately needing answers while aware that Kirk was hardly the one to give them.
"You know why, Bones," the captain answered softly. "She's like you."
"The hell she is!" McCoy burst out, all the pent-up hurt and fear clearly visible in his eyes. "She betrayed me, Jim! She knew the risks, yet she manipulated the readings. Or the sensors, or whatever. I blame Scotty, too, for teaching her how to do things like that!"
"She did it because she felt she had to. If she hadn't, someone else might have died, and she wanted to save everyone. Just like you always do," Kirk continued calmly, ignoring the doctor's outburst.
"But did she ever think of me?" McCoy muttered, looking resentfully at his friend. "What losing her would do to me?"
"I'd say she thought of little else but you," Kirk replied gently. "She couldn't have lived with herself, if someone else had died, and she trusted that you of all people would understand. Because she knew how guilty you felt for not having found another cure, and that you were forced to rely on her blood to do the job. She didn't want to let you down, Bones."
"Jesus, Jim," McCoy hung his head, "thanks for the pep talk. Now I feel even worse. As if I didn't have enough to feel guilty about already."
Kirk sighed as he watched the doctor stomp out of his quarters, leaving an unfinished coffee and half a sandwich behind. Of course, he hadn't meant to make Bones feel any guiltier than he already did. But he still thought that, at the end of the day, understanding that Hope had done it for him, too, would make her sacrifice more bearable for his friend.
-x-x-x-x-x-
The third day brought grief and despair. Still needing to stay as close as possible to Hope after another night spent slumped in a chair by her bed, McCoy delegated most of his duties and only dealt with emergencies that absolutely required his presence or skill.
What if she didn't wake up? What if he'd ruined her young life, her promising career? What if he'd lost her forever?
Without her, he realised, he wouldn't know what to do with himself anymore. His whole life revolved around her now. Had revolved around her for almost two years, if he was honest with himself. Hope was his life, the centre of his universe. The reason he got up in the mornings. Until now, he hadn't even been aware of how much everything had changed since he'd met her. That he was an entirely different man now. He thought of all the things she'd done for him, like bringing Joanna back into his life. But she'd also brought back love, and trust, and happiness. He was a better man because of her. Without her, his life felt dark and empty, and utterly meaningless.
Two years ago, McCoy would have laughed at anyone who suggested that he might fall in love again, let alone so deeply, so completely. But it had happened. Even though God knows how hard he'd tried to resist. And now he found that, if Hope wasn't there, or at least on some other starship or even a planet lightyears away, life held no meaning for him. He might as well end it, the doctor thought morosely. But, of course, he couldn't. Wouldn't. Not as long as there was still a chance of her waking up again. Because then she might need him. To care for her and any mental limitations she might be suffering from.
When he was done being morbid, McCoy began to pray, made deals with whatever God was listening. It was his fault, he should never have let her do this, and he was willing to take all the blame, any punishment. If only she woke up, he'd deal with any consequences. No matter what state she was in, if her brain was damaged, or if she was even coherent, he vowed to do everything to make her feel happy, safe, and loved.
He also pleaded with Hope, begged her, assured her that her body was in perfect health, that all she needed to do was open her eyes. Holding her hand to his lips and tenderly kissing her fingers, he promised to always love and take good care of her, no matter what.
When it all got too much, and just holding her hand or caressing her face wasn't enough anymore, McCoy brought his chair up as close to her bed as he could, then buried his face in her shoulder and shed the tears he no longer had, his medical mind all the while trying to come up with a single physical reason for her condition. Something he could treat, something he could heal.
So, desperately needing to do something, anything, he started to check her with a tricorder, running all kinds of tests on her. Over and over again. And when he really couldn't find anything physically wrong with her, he started to fret about any emotional reasons she might have for wanting to stay under.
Something he'd done? McCoy honestly couldn't think of anything. He really believed that she'd been genuinely happy with him. Something to do with Starfleet? Maybe there really was another secret they'd burdened her with? The doctor felt the familiar suspicions and anger at Starfleet welling up inside him.
He tried to recall all the instances Hope had had nightmares or mentioned moments of déjà vu. He'd been worried then, but had always been able to pin them to some recent event or trauma. Had he been wrong? Had he been put off the scent too easily? All his old doubts came up again. What about the fact that Spock hadn't been able to find anyone fitting her name and description in the historical archives? With her clearly believing Starfleet's story and being so happy in her current life, he'd not followed up any of the inconsistencies. Had he failed her there, too?
McCoy was so absorbed in his theories and self-pity, he nearly missed the change in the readings of her brain activity, indicating that she was about to wake up. It was only when he felt her fingers twitch in his hand, that he looked up to see the colour flooding back into her cheeks, hardly daring to believe it, when he saw her eyelids flutter and her eyes slowly opening.
Giddy with joy and relief, he quickly wiped his face with his hand and tried to school his features into a calm, reassuring smile. Then he got up and bent over Hope, ready to welcome the love of his life back into the world.