For Author's Note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 21

The lab was colder, and the oxygen mask was barely enough anymore. Realistically McCoy knew the temperature was the same, that it hadn't changed since the first time he went up and that it was the same as when Jim went with him. Realistically he knew he shouldn't have gone up alone and that Jim might not be entirely happy with him for doing it after his statement that no one was to do so.

Well, if their fearless captain was allowed to build himself a career on reckless selfless stupidity he should be able to do the same on occasion. It would be a cold day in hell before he subjected his head nurse to this, and hell was what he was in.

Hell was being in a small ice cold room, closed in between the thin bulkhead and the deadly emptiness of space. With only an insufficient oxygen mask to give him the oxygen he needed. He knew that the oxygen mask delivered the same amount of oxygen regardless if it was the first, second or fifth time. He had used them on countless missions, in training and in one or two God honest real emergencies.

Spock insisted they were perfectly safe and sufficient and they were, when they were. For a Vulcan, annoyingly logical and calm they were perfect every time. For a wonder Captain full of bravado and genius tactics there were no doubt they worked. For a slightly panicked and aviophobic doctor who had no danged business being in space in the first place they were only of so much use. For crying out loud, even the blasted probe who thought Jim Kirk was his mamma thought he was irrational and he knew he was.

Knowing that it wouldn't happen did not assure him that the bulkhead wouldn't collapse from the pressure.

Knowing that the oxygen mask was supplying him with sufficient oxygen did not make him feel less like he was suffocating.

The damndest thing was that the equipment wasn't much good in less than perfect conditions. It was not designed to work while under prolonged exertion. Sitting waiting for tiny little vials to come out of the synthesiser did not count as a real exertion and was therefore safe.

Sitting half panicked and struggling to get ones breathing under control was more of an exertion and placed a heavier strain on the equipment to the point where there were times he could not draw a full breath. Sweat broke out on his chest and back as his body struggled with the panic, sweat that in the near zero temperature of the lab threatened to freeze on his skin. Hypothermia was a real danger, it should not be for the short period but it was with the way his irrational fear was threatening to claim complete control over him.

He was glad Jim wasn't there with him because it would only have taken their Captain so long to notice he was starting to lose it.

Not enough food in spite of all the nutrition and vitamin shots he kept distributing, not enough sleep because he found it hard to get a full nights rest. He kept waking up, wondering when the next blow would fall and it wasn't Jim's fault. It was old memories that haunted him more than their Captain's annoying habit. Jim wasn't really hurting him, there was no malice in the act. Plenty of annoyance on his own part, regret on Jim's, but no ill intent. It was all down to old fears he never fully seemed to be able to quench.

He had left for space rather than allowing Joanna to find out just how badly matched her mamma and papa had been in the end. How truly messed up things could get between them because Jocelyn had no patience and no compassion for what she considered to be aggravating. An old fashioned southern bell who did not believe in holding her tongue or temper in check when it was between husband and wife within the four walls of their home. She did not cotton to what did not suit her and she believed what was said and done in private should stay that way and he still found himself giving in to that.

She had claimed he was weak and pathetic and he wasn't sure she hadn't had a point. Sure seemed like it back in the academy.

His instructor claimed he had no business being where he was, and he sure managed to bring the point home. One training exercise, a real life application of what they had learned. Flying a shuttle from the Academy in San Francisco to their facilities in the Sierra. A five hour exercise to give them hands on experience and judge them in the field. On the paper he thought it was a good idea. On paper he applauded that they took the time and care to do it.

Load everyone up, ship them up, and let them deal with a staged disaster acted out by other cadets. More unpredictable than a holo training and a chance for them to see what it was all about.

Their pilot was in training to, he failed to calculate for the wind allowance when he landed. No one was really hurt, nothing serious, a couple of cuts and bruises, minor accident of the kind that happened every now and again.

Only the pull when they were slammed forward placed too much strain on a worn out safety harness buckle. His leg got pinned between the seat and the bulkhead, no real damage. Soft tissue damage, and he couldn't unbuckle the harness that was tight across his chest. The release on the front wouldn't budge, the others were free and he couldn't move.

"Ah'm stuck, y'all gotta help me loose!"

Their instructor came rushing in just as he cried out, struggling with the broken buckle, pulling at the straps with all the strength he could muster. The others were getting to their feet, checking themself and each other over. He came just in time to hear the accent thick with panic. He smiled.

The memory was unwilling and was enough to cause him to grab onto the table to steady himself. The man left him there, trapped by a blasted broken buckle and when he eventually broke down to screaming, he hit him in the face. Said he was hysterical and that they only acted according to protocol.

One of the others finally came over, he did not know how long it was, he didn't care anymore. He barely recognized the face that leaned over him. Four swift cuts with the safety tool attached to the shuttle wall, specifically made for cutting through the harness if someone was trapped. Four cuts and it was all it took. The man helped him get his leg free and hauled him outside where he collapsed on the ground, retching. He wasn't injured, but their instructor was there, leering.

'Finally decided to join us McCoy? Done with your nap? Thought you had what it took did you? I'll tell you something McCoy, I'll tell you the truth about a worthless piece of shit like you. If you can't even handle a bumpy landing you've no business here. You've failed McCoy, you worthless sodbuster. You failed this exercise, and you know what that means? Everyone will know how worthless you are. Everyone will know you can't cut it McCoy. Everyone will know just how worthless you are…'

The report said nothing about a broken buckle, it said nothing about him being left in the harness for just over two hours. The report said he had panicked and had refused to comply. In allowance for the experience which the officials granted was less than ideal they spoke of forgiveness. They had to admit it had been a crash landing so he was allowed to take the exercise again. He had to do so if he was to qualify for further training.

Buckle up, do it again or be kicked out.

He had no choice, but at least he was granted two weeks before it, got to go through it with a different instructor who said nothing about his white knuckled grip on the seat the whole flight. Nor about the fact that once it was over and they were back on the base he barely got out of the shuttle before he was retching again.

This time they said he did good to have buckled up and gone through it. Smiled and said it was all about getting back on the horse.

Horses he could do if he had to, shuttles he hated with a vengeance and what was the Enterprise but an oversized shuttle?

His breathing was strained and his undershirt was sticking to his back through cold sweat. He almost did not notice when the last vial came out of the synthesiser.

Drawing a gasping breath he closed the case and stood, his vision swimming for a moment. Squeezing his eyes shut until the vertigo faded he made his way to the door. The gage on the oxygen mask showed he was fine, but his aching lungs told a different story. He should either have got Jim to go with him, or, well, no, he wouldn't do that. Jim had enough to worry about. He had three hundred and thirty people to worry about and if he could spare him one of those it was worth it.

He owed Jim enough for that. More than so, he was the one who took the hated name they had for him, 'sawbones', and turned it into something else.

'Careful there ensign, break your leg and you know the 'old sawbones' will cut it off, probably won't take the right one either.'

The captain on that starship claimed ancestry of the old ships captains and he was sometimes a little too happy for knowing the tales. 'Whatever you do, don't take a spill on gamma shift, you know you'll wind up with the 'old sawbones' then, but you'll never know what he sees fit to cut off.'

He was resigned to it, not really caring anymore when the ships first officer instead of shunning him like the rest of the crew did sat at the same table in the mess. 'Don't mind, do you Bones?' The impish grin and easy manner and at the time Jim Kirk sat down he did mind because he didn't want yet one more person to scorn him in the long run. He minded because it was so much better to shut himself away after the meal with a textbook and forget about the space outside the window. The viral infection of Melveran mud fleas was so much better than trying to socialising with any of the crew.

The blasted stubborn and pushy first officer annoying him until he gave in and figured it was less frustrating to just be friends with the guy than to try and get rid of him. It was crazy, but he didn't mind being Bones, he didn't mind at all.

Jim who nagged him back in turn as much as he tried to get the stubborn idiot to look after himself. Who probably would not be overly happy that he fully intended to skip the stew. As much as he had argued for the food, and as much as he knew he needed it he just couldn't stomach it after the barrage of memories. Stripping down to pull off his undershirt he shivered in the cold air. It was too soaked through with sweat to be any good though. It'd just make it worse and it was better to wear one garment less.

Jim's captain's tunic, and wouldn't that have made his previous captain throw a fit to see him wear it and nevermind the circumstances. His old instructor would have blown a gasket for sure. Scrubs and the borrowed sweater was only so much protection against the chill but he shot himself with one of the vitamin dosages to make up for the meal he wouldn't eat and set up to get ready for the next group of the crew.

With a bit of luck Jim would never figure out that he was skipping out on the meal and would think he was just delaying it.

TBC

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