Whumptober Prompt 26: If You Thought the Head Trauma Was Bad
Migraine - Star Trek: TOS

A/N: More humorous angst. Because I felt like it? Or had an idea, and didn't feel like writing pain and anguish quite yet?

OOOOO

Doctor McCoy had a headache.

That, he decided, scowling at the report he was supposed to be typing, was an understatement.

A headache he could work around. A headache was a minor irritant that might lead to a few nurses being yelled at, but he treated his patients just fine with one, and he could sure-as-southern-pie still write a report with one. This particular pain in the head was bad enough the words on the screen blurred, and if he walked out of his office he wouldn't be yelling at his nurses, they'd be yelling at him. Nonsense like "Sit down," and "I'll get the hypo," and "You're relieved of duty, so don't even think about typing up your report." That last would be Christine Chapel, and she was as stubborn as any southerner.

The ship rocked. Of course it did. A rocking ship meant more patients, and that meant a busy sickbay, and that meant he had to pull himself together. He reached into the second drawer in his desk, pulling out a hypo Christine pretended she didn't know about, and shot himself in the arm. The words on his screen cleared up, the cursor (because Spock was nice enough after Minara II to program the old-fashioned code in) blinking right after, "And then the captain, deciding words were ineffective, jumped at the native holding a spear with his fists, taking a blow to his right shoulder that penetrated far enough to crack the collar bone. That enabled Officer Spock to roll away from the spearpoint and subdue the native." The ship rocked again, the red alert lights flaring, and McCoy groaned, massaging his temples. The pounding inside, like a Klingon at a feast-table, was getting louder the longer he went. He really wanted to finish this report before he had to start another one once the patients flooded in.

Better get to it, then. He hadn't heard the doors of sickbay open yet. Ignoring the Klingon in his brain (there might be two of them now, and before long they'd be reaching for knives, he was sure of it), he added, "I gave the Captain enough pain medication to get by, immobilised his arm with good old-fashioned sticks and his already-torn shirt, and together the First Officer and I got him up the mountain, where Ship's Engineer Scotty beamed us out. Knowing the Ez'ets would soon send their hijacked Federation spaceship after us, the Captain refused immediate medical attention and returned to the bridge. I hereby note I strongly disagreed with this decision."

The Klingon(s?) in his brain went silent for a moment while his head replayed, "Jim, don't you think about going to the bridge, I know that arm hurts like-"

"Not while the ship is in danger, Bones," came the sharp reply, the Captain already turning to walk out. McCoy went to follow him but was stopped by Spock.

"Doctor, I believe the most logical step would be for you to ready sickbay for the Captain - and statistically likely other crewmen who will be injured in this firefight. If the Ez'ets have indeed learned how to use both shields and torpedoes on The Independence, we will need you there more than on the bridge." He moved a step closer, lowering his voice. "I will make sure the Captain visits sickbay afterwards."

Spock was many things (including green-blooded), but a liar wasn't one of them, and McCoy had snarled, "Fine, but get him down there soon!" before hurrying off to get everything ready.

Of course, he had the best department in the fleet (yes, Spock, he did, and no, Jim, the entire crew still couldn't match medical), so everything had already been prepped, and he was shooed off to his office to write the report by Nurse Chapel.

Probably because she could see the racket the Klingons were back to making, because she knew about the hypo in his drawer, and she also knew getting him to self-medicate was easier than arguing with him. Pity. Maybe yelling would quiet the Klingons that had moved into his cranium.

McCoy sighed, logged the report, shot himself one more time in the arm, and set his head down on the desk till the Klingons went away. They didn't like the peaceful dark, the quiet. Good, 'cause he was close to naming them, both of them, and that'd just encourage them to move in permanently.

Which, he could only use the hypo one more time before messing with his blood chemistry too much, and if he did, Christine wouldn't let him keep it in his drawer anymore.

The doors to the sickbay slid open, and McCoy shot to his feet, tugged his tunic down, and went out.

Three crewmen, one holding up the second with an arm over his shoulder. All three wearing red-shirts, engineering and not security this time. Good, security died before he got to them.

"Put him in bay 3!" he barked, already reaching back for the tools he knew Nurse Chapel would be handing him, and he got to work.

More patients poured in, but the ordered urgency and clean work pushed the headache far away, his brain far too absorbed in his task to feel any pain in his own head. Fourteen crewmen came in injured, and fourteen were set to rights, two still confined to sickbay to fully heal, before he noticed the ship had stopped shaking, the red alert lights were gone, and his nurses were picking things up and putting them away.

Crisis over. Probably, But his gut was insisting, "not quite," and he turned toward the sickbay doors just opening.

Oh, look there. His migraine just walked back into sickbay, under the name of James T. Kirk.

Bleeding from a head wound, with Spock holding him up.

Oh, Klingons.