Within the ward's sterile confines, the air now seems a little less heavy, with relief outpouring from the souls situated throughout. A collective sigh of relief, so to speak. And yet, the trial still may not be done. The monitors show that yes, the Vulcan's vital signs have returned, the lungs taking in oxygen, the heart pumping. This latter part, however, is not quite as it should be; the organ's rhythm is slower than its norm, having just been restarted. It may be some time yet before its tempo is properly restored.
All in all, the patient lives. Hope had reclaimed its place as victor.
The oxygen mask is once more secured onto the mouth of the patient, in the same moment as the tiny infant is carefully removed from her placement upon his chest. Safe in the arms of the relieved McCoy, the child is returned to her mother, whose teary eyes mark her own feelings: a mix of lingering sorrow and relief itself. Yes, those tears run still as the child is cradled in her arms.
"He's not completely out of the woods yet.", begins the physician in a soft voice. "His heartrate's a bit too low, and he'll need a while to recover...but at least he's alive."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"I'm not the one you should be thanking...", he gestures to the child, "...the little one here may have just saved her dad's life."
"Good girl...", a whisper from the Lieutenant with a gentle peck onto the child's head.
"You're both going to need a feed and some rest. I'll leave you to it."
The physician carries his speech in a soft tone, with a kind hand placed upon the mother's clammy arm. His eyes soon meet a proximate nurse, a junior comrade to the one who had performed surgery upon the Lieutenant. Upon departing from the mother and child, he utters one parting instruction.
"If she struggles with breastfeeding, give her Infant Supplement Number 1."
The subordinate medico nods in acknowledgement, and soon approaches the biobed with a friendly smile upon her face. Before their task is underway, their eyes take a moment to beam at the infant, in admiration and wonder. Wonder at how such a small form can become a beacon of hope and the bringer of life from death.
That new life from which hope begets.
The Captain soon enters the Medbay, his pace brisk as he moves through open doors. His presence here is indicative that the ship has been steered to relative safety, and gained a measurable distance from the stricken vessel. That craft it was sent as a saviour.
Not a word is uttered by him, as his friend sights him at once, with McCoy giving him a promising nod. His First Officer lives. Triumphant news indeed, and one that brings with it a breath of appeasement. Kirk, much like the others within the room, is relieved. With a closed-lip smile to match his current demeanour, he returns the nod and proceeds to the biobeds. A moment is taken to halt at the end of the Vulcan's bed, a hopeful grin is made and a glance upwards at the screen displaying his vitals and the staff monitoring him. And then, a journey of mere steps is made to the Lieutenant's bed. Joyous grins are exchanged between himself and the Communications Officer, and they both glance down at the infant within her arms.
"Hey there...", his tone is gentle, the softest it may ever be as his words are spoken to the child, "...I'm your uncle Jim."
With McCoy now by the side of his colleague and friend, he shares a glance with the good Doctor M'Benga. Both men know of what is to come for their stricken crewmate.
Soon begins a rather lengthy journey for the Vulcan. A journey of healing...