Title: Asclepius Revisited
Author: Still Waters
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.
Summary: 76 McCoy episodes. 76 McCoy-centric reflections, codas, and missing scenes.
Notes: "The Naked Time" is full of McCoy being awesome, as well as being rife with potential sequelae. The first thing that caught my attention was the uncomprehending, pleading tone McCoy used when his surgical patient was dying, and particularly, the way his accent flared after the death, when he said the wounds weren't that severe. I could see McCoy running the whole scenario through his head over and over, trying to figure out what went wrong once he had time to think after the cure was discovered and administered. I noticed how Sulu reacted to the cure by forgetting what had happened, but saw Kirk get the same hypo and still remember…..and I knew there was no way anyone would just forget what they had done under the influence of that molecule, and that it was certainly going to haunt them. So, this became a post-episode reflection and continuation – McCoy trying to figure out how the whole thing started, while simultaneously acting as therapist for a shattered crew, and trying to get past his own disbelief and self-doubt at the crewman's death. Dr. Helen Noel is the psychiatrist from the episode "Dagger of the Mind" and the only Enterprise psychiatrist I could find in my research. "The Naked Time" never stated what the causative agent was – it just called it a "complex chain of molecules" and explained how it acted, so I was uncomfortable calling it a virus. I either refer to it as "the molecule" or "the infective agent" or just "agent." I know that in the episode, the crewman is first infected when a red substance trickles onto his hand – it was hard to tell if it was blood, since the character nearby didn't show any wounds – so I took the liberty of sort of ignoring that and focusing on the surrounding ice instead. Hey, I was trying to make it make some sense :) Italicized quotations are taken from episode dialogue. As usual, please excuse any blatant errors. Thank you so much for reading and for your support as I explore this world!
3.
"Bones, I want the impossible checked out too."
In the wake of the latest medical crisis to challenge McCoy's stubborn belief that he had indeed been in full possession of his faculties when he pursued a Starfleet commission, Kirk's words pushed back into his thoughts.
McCoy leaned back from the computer screen, rubbing wearily at blurred eyes. There was an old saying in Earth medicine: "if you hear hoof beats, look for horses, not zebras." Well, Jim had wanted the impossible checked out, and so he had done just that. He chased zebras.
And found one.
Infective agents passed through perspiration were zebras in and of themselves – even in modern interspecies and interplanetary medicine, that kind of transmission was rare. But changes in water molecules? Water molecules becoming a complex chain that mimicked the inhibitory effects of alcohol?
"I sweah, I couldn't make this stuff up," McCoy half-drawled, half-muttered to the incomplete report on the screen. He could almost feel the machine mocking him and his seemingly fictional account.
He scrubbed his hands across his face. Writing the presenting symptoms, assessments, tests, and treatments….. that was the easy part. The hard part came now – in the tense lull between the initial fury of the quake and the full, post-adrenaline damage assessment later. Where McCoy put on his epidemiological hat and began trying to trace the crisis back, to find that tectonic shift, all while keeping one ear open for the whisper of sickbay doors indicating the arrival of the first aftershock.
Joe Tormolen brought the infective agent from Psi 2000 to the Enterprise – that much he knew for sure. What he still couldn't understand was how Tormolen had been infected to begin with. The science team had been dead – frozen. Dead, frozen human beings don't perspire…and he knew, from the transmission pattern aboard the Enterprise, that the agent couldn't infect through lingering perspiration, such as that left by a handprint on a console – it had to be fresh, direct contact with the source….therefore it couldn't have been even the faintest remnant of perspiration on the deceased members of the science party. The dead, frozen science party…..in an environment filled with frozen water. It must have been transmitted through the ice. Which just served to bring McCoy back to his main concern: Tormolen and Spock had been wearing full protective gear – even this mutated form of water couldn't penetrate the suit – that had been one of the first things McCoy had tested. It had to have been direct contact.
Which meant that Tormolen had broken safety protocol. He took off a glove and touched the ice.
And, impossibly, had been the only casualty in the entire, wildfire spread of the unpredictable agent.
An ultimate stupidity, no doubt. Yet, at the same time, almost an ultimate penance.
Is that what it was? They hadn't known that they were in the early stages of an epidemic at that point, but did Joe somehow know? Did a man with treatable injuries, who received prompt surgical intervention, simply give up in payment for a perceived sin, rather than the misplaced sense of survivor's guilt that he had vocalized?
Or was McCoy just reaching? Desperate for an answer to the echo of his own disbelief – "Why is this man dying?"
"I got to him in plenty of time. That man should still be alive."
McCoy sighed heavily, berating himself for permitting his own doubts to take hold again. He turned back to the monitor and wearily dictated the next section heading.
Epidemiology.
How it all began.
How to be factual and concise without tarnishing the memory of a good man.
Seemed damn near impossible from where he was sitting.
McCoy worried his lower lip, twisting his ring as he searched for the words, listening for some fit of inspiration that would allow him to both do his job and prevent further outbreaks while simultaneously holding up the good name of Joe Tormolen for his wife and children.
Silence.
Until…there.
The whisper of sickbay doors.
McCoy looked up into the overflowing eyes of Christine Chapel, and saw it.
The aftershocks were beginning.
He stood up, wrapped a gentle arm around Christine's shoulders, and guided her to his chair.
The tears spilled over.
And he suddenly remembered, with stunning clarity, that Joe wasn't nearly the only casualty.
McCoy handed Christine one of the old-fashioned handkerchiefs she was always teasing him about, perched on the edge of the desk, then thought better of it and pulled up another chair. He sat knee-to-knee with his head nurse and leaned forward. "Go on, now, tell me," he said softly.
Christine sniffled, swiping desperately at her eyes with the worn cloth. "I'm sorry," she choked out, sweeping one free hand in a wide arc around her disheveled self.
"For what?" McCoy asked, eyebrows raised. "Cryin'? There's nothin' wrong with that and you know it. It's a perfectly normal, healthy response to the kind of day we've had 'round here."
"It's not that…." Christine hiccupped. "I….."
"What is it Chris?" he moved a gentle hand to her knee.
Christine looked up at the touch. "I gave that disease to Mr. Spock," she pushed through the tears. Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. "And I hurt him. I hurt him so much."
McCoy's eyes clouded with confusion. "Chris, you couldn't have known that you were infected…..and we didn't isolate the mode of transmission until the very end. You didn't know, so you certainly didn't mean to pass it on to Spock."
"No," Christine shook her head at his misunderstanding. "I told him I loved him," she burst out with a desperate laugh, an edge of self-chastising hysteria sharp along the slowing tears.
McCoy's eyes widened for a split second in shock before closing wearily.
So she remembered.
Damn.
He knew the amnesia was going to be short-lived. McCoy had been encouraged when Sulu came to his senses in sickbay with no recollection of how he had gotten there, and thought that maybe the serum would grant the peace of erasing the memory of that loss of control. So much for that hope. In reality though, as much as he hated to see the pain in Christine's eyes, he knew it was for the best, because even if the infected crewmembers never remembered what had happened, it still happened. It was in the unaffected crew's eyes, it strangled the close air of the corridors. And, in the long run, facing the memories head-on in a rush of emotion was better than being haunted by the feeling, just on the edge of every waking moment, that you were missing something. Something terrible. Something everyone else knew but wouldn't tell you. Something that had you missing time – a blank space where memory lurked in the shadowed faces of those around you.
McCoy took a steadying breath. "Go on," he prompted quietly, giving her knee a reassuring squeeze.
Christine gulped a rush of air as she swiped at her eyes again. "I….it's like looking back at myself from outside my body," she bit her lip. "Like I can't understand why I didn't see what I was doing when it was happening." She forced herself forward. "I….I touched him. Took his hands and kissed them, told him that I loved him, both parts of him…..insisted that he had feelings because I see them every time he's in here with you and the Captain…I forced emotion on him, Leonard. I embarrassed him, threatened his control, and then ended up giving him something that stripped it away completely. How could I do that? How could I hurt him like that? How am I ever going to be able to work with him again?" she pleaded.
McCoy was quiet. "Lord, give me strength," he whispered silently, before taking Christine's hands firmly. "Christine, you are not at fault here. You were drugged, without your knowledge and without your consent." He held up a hand as she went to protest. "And don't you start arguin' science with me, young lady," he said, his accent flaring with emotion. "It doesn't matter what kind of compound it was or how it all started, the end results were the same. You were not at fault because you were not in control. That mutated molecule took control from you, so if anyone should be blamed, it's that blasted thing."
Christine swallowed hard, eyes red as tear tracks stiffened. She considered McCoy's words for a long moment before seeming to accept them, even as she added, "But how can I face him again?" Her cheeks flushed briefly with embarrassment. "How could he trust me again after that – as an officer? As a nurse?"
McCoy dug up a quiet smile. "Spock's not really the type to hold a grudge for somethin' like this. There's someone whose every wakin' hour revolves around maintaining strict control….so he's pretty sensitive to how much it hurts to lose that control. His human half will sympathize with the fear inherent in that loss, while his Vulcan half will study the chemical effects and conclude that, logically, nothing that was done while under the molecule's influence could be constituted as anythin' other than what it was – a forced reaction. If there's one thing I'm sure of with Spock, it's that he won't let something like that affect his respect for you."
Christine smiled slightly. "I hope you're right," she sighed, with a half-shake of her head as doubt crept back in over the hope.
"'Course I'm right," McCoy huffed good-naturedly. His smile widened as Christine relaxed. "Now, why don't you tell me what's really botherin' you?" he fixed her with a knowing look.
Christine rolled her eyes. Damn perceptive man. Of course, she was beyond embarrassed about what she had said to Spock – both for her and for him, but there was more…..and as she looked up into those open blue eyes, she found herself blurting it right out. "I left a patient!" she nearly shouted, crumpling the handkerchief in one angry fist.
McCoy's eyebrow shot up. "I never saw you…." He began.
"After you left for the biopsy lab. You told me to continue monitoring Sulu and I started to…..but then I put down the scanner and just walked off….in some sort of romantic haze," Christine spat the last two words. "I left a patient coming out of sedation! What if he had cardiopulmonary changes? What if he vomited and aspirated?" She slammed her clenched fist on the edge of the chair cushion. "Telling Spock I love him makes me a terrible person," she said, dejected, "but leaving Sulu makes me a terrible nurse, and that I can't deal with!" she ground out.
McCoy forced himself to hold back a smile. Christine was more upset about having neglected her nursing duties than she was about embarrassing herself with Spock. "That's my girl," he thought with a grin. He met Christine's eyes firmly. "The fact that Spock's emotional well-being was your first concern just now proves, pretty conclusively, that you're not a terrible person. And while leaving Sulu was inappropriate and you know that, some part of you, even through the infection, knew that it was important to stay nearby, because you stayed in sickbay. You may not have been monitoring Sulu directly, but you could have gone anywhere, and you didn't. You stayed in sickbay where you would have heard monitor alarms or patient distress…and that, in my book, proves that you're nowhere near a terrible nurse. But the real moral of this story, and I'm gonna say it as many times as you need to hear it, is that it's not your fault. You were not in control," McCoy finished slowly and clearly.
Christine's face blossomed into her first real smile since the whole mess had begun. "You sure know what to say to a girl," she grinned.
"Flattery'll get you nowhere, my dear," McCoy grinned back. He turned serious again. "You know as well as I do that this won't all go away overnight, so if you find yourself needin' to hear it again, you come find me, you hear? You did a great job during surgery today – I could keep my focus on my job because of how well you do yours. You caught that respiratory change early enough for us to at least try an' counter it." McCoy's eyes clouded briefly before he pulled himself back to Christine. "Don't let one bad day, whether it was in your control or not, take away from all the good you do. Got it?"
"Got it," she nodded firmly.
"Good," McCoy nodded with a smile. The sickbay doors whispered, and he looked to Christine. "You ready to do some triaging?" he nodded toward the sound of hesitant footsteps outside the office.
Christine stood up, smoothed out her uniform, and flashed him a familiar, steady smile. "Always," she affirmed. She stepped forward as McCoy stood with her, leaned forward, and lightly kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said, quiet voice radiating sincerity, before she walked purposefully out the door.
McCoy let out a long sigh. He was already exhausted….. yet he had a feeling his day was about to get even longer.
Five minutes later, Christine's brisk assessment came over the comm. His buzzer chimed and the doors opened to a familiar sight.
Definitely not the only casualty.
Definitely longer.
Ten hours later, McCoy decided he had his own impossibilities that he wanted checked out – namely, why the Enterprise had such a glaring lack of psychiatric support staff. They had one psychiatrist for four hundred thirty crew – and while Helen Noel was very good, therapeutic relationships just weren't based on qualifications alone. Like any relationship, there were personal factors. Some people wanted a separation between themselves and their psychiatrist – they didn't need or want that 'click', and so they would talk to anyone with the right education. Others needed to feel comfortable on a personal level, and would only talk to a psychiatrist that fulfilled that need. Some of those particular crewmembers felt comfortable with Dr. Noel and sought her out right away – others didn't, and since there weren't any other psychiatrists on board, they came to McCoy. Although he had received psychiatric training and completed several related clinical rotations in medical school, McCoy had never fancied himself a psychiatrist…..yet here he was, having seen more patients in a few hours than a civilian specialist would have seen in a month.
It started with the infected.
Sulu – mortified over his theatric swashbuckling display; terrified at the very real possibility that he could have injured someone with that sword; furious at himself for leaving his post during a critical orbit; second-guessing himself in how he handled Tormolen's threat. "I know he was going to stab himself Doc, I could see it in his eyes….but I still can't stop wondering….did Riley and I do the right thing? Did we just make it worse trying to wrestle the knife from him? Would the wounds have been as bad if he hadn't fallen on the blade? Should I have called for help when he first started acting strangely instead of trying to talk him down myself?" The dark eyes begged for answers McCoy couldn't give.
Riley – horrified at having taken over Engineering and preventing the crew from acting in a critical situation; utterly convinced the Captain would never trust him again. "I could have killed every last one of us," his whisper was harsh, disbelieving. And on the edge of all that suffocating self-blame…..the sudden, crushing weight of grief as he fully comprehended his friend's death. "He's dead. Joe's dead," he crumpled.
Crewman Moody – disgusted with himself for harassing Yeoman Rand as she, at least, tried to attend to her duty. "I acted like a child – stopped when Mr. Spock was there, then got right back in her face as soon as he was gone."
Crewman Talman – twisting a broken paintbrush in his hands as he berated himself for deserting the lab. "I was laughing like a madman…..and painting graffiti on the walls. Graffiti. What does that say about me?"
McCoy had seen neither hide nor hair of Kirk and Spock, but he wasn't really worried. He had seen the look those two shared on the Bridge after the successful implosion – they had seen each other at their worst during the infection, and they would see each other back to their best in the wake of it. McCoy had a pretty good idea of each man's reaction – Spock may have thought he had erased all signs, but McCoy knew when someone had been crying…..and Kirk – well, McCoy hadn't missed the pained, longing look split between the walls of the Bridge and that half-raised hand toward an unsuspecting Yeoman Rand. He knew those two like the back of his hand, inside (unfortunately), and out….and he knew that they would take care of each other and that if they couldn't do that…..if they needed help…..that they would come to him. For the other, of course – not for themselves – but McCoy would take what he could get.
Kirk and Spock's inter-reliance was a good thing at that moment because McCoy was already supporting more crumbling crewmembers weathering seemingly unending aftershocks than he had time for.
It had started with the infected, but it didn't end there. One didn't have to have been infected to have been affected.
Uhura – drowning in the emotional aftermath of fighting to maintain communications; standing up to her over-stressed Captain's slips of temper; the desperate attempt to disarm Sulu; taking over the navigator's station with only a basic knowledge of how that station worked….all while having a front-row seat to the image of the Enterprise hurtling toward the dying planet. "I know the Captain didn't mean it, but it wasn't like I wasn't trying and I just felt so….."
Scotty – kicking himself for having gotten kicked out of Engineering; feeling like he had failed the Captain when he couldn't live up to his earlier promise ("we'll be warping out of orbit within a half second of getting your command"); the fear of electrocution, or worse, of damaging their only chance to get to Riley, when having to cut through the bulkhead without a safety factor; the shock at the state of the engines; the war between his knowledge of the laws of physics and the one desperate chance that he both would normally suggest while simultaneously knowing how wrong it could go. "Aye, my beauties got us out of it, but it was close. By all accounts we should have gone up like a…."
Yeoman Rand – shocked at having been told to take the helm. "I haven't touched helm controls since training exercises at the Academy!"
Lt. Brent – shaking with post-adrenaline nerves recalling his assignment to the helm and the subsequent loss of control and engine power. "Doctor, all I could think about was that planet in front of us…..and how I couldn't do a damn thing to keep us from dying with it."
And so, ten hours later, McCoy was bemoaning the lack of support even while knowing that he couldn't possibly have been anywhere else. He was dead on his feet, the casualty list had grown beyond measure, but the foundation was still intact, each individual piece that came to him supported through the aftershocks. They may have been cracked, but they didn't collapse. That was the Enterprise – go through hell, saddle up, and keep right on going.
A ship of survivors.
McCoy didn't think he had the energy to even blink at that point, let alone ruminate, but as his eyes closed, head dropping wearily into pillowed arms, he saw Joe Tormolen. He saw those indicators go dark, heard himself telling Jim Kirk that he had lost a crewman.
The office doors whispered.
McCoy struggled to pull his head up. "Who's next, Chris?" he asked, voice rough from use.
Christine took in the weary, worn lines of his face, the haunted eyes….and she suddenly saw McCoy back in that moment in surgery, saw the heartbreaking combination of surprise, frustration, incomprehension, and 'sad resignation in the knowledge of what was coming' wash over his face. She heard the plaintive words - "Why is this man dying?" She heard the shocked, harsh finality of her own - "He's dead Doctor." She heard McCoy's accent thicken with emotion as he insisted, "The wounds were not that severe."
Christine sat down, mirroring McCoy's position from earlier, knee-to-knee, leaning forward. She handed him the handkerchief with a lightly teasing comment about having had it cleaned. McCoy wrapped the material around one hand as his mind raced, cloudy blue far away.
She met his eyes. "Go on now, tell me," she repeated.
His eyes snapped back into wary focus.
Christine smiled softly. "Your turn."