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 Enemy Within" – there was so much to work with in this episode that it was hard to narrow it down to a single chapter for this series. After four days of reworking the initial draft, scrapping one ending and writing another, I finally decided it was time to let this one go. I hope I found the right balance. I found myself focusing largely on two minor characters in this episode – Geological Technician Fisher and Yeoman Rand. Both of them had exceedingly bad days, and in watching McCoy's limited interaction with both of them, I began to see him continuing his care of those crewmembers in the aftermath of the episode's events. I also began thinking of dichotomies, of being split in two halves, as Kirk lived and Spock very passionately discussed in this episode, and I thought of McCoy's own potential halves, and of his often underrepresented role as a scientist. This piece became McCoy's reflection on such splits, as well as a continuation of his role as a physician once the credits rolled. Dr. Helen Noel is, once again, the psychiatrist from the episode "Dagger of the Mind." 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!

4.

"That's the Captain's guts you're analyzing - are you aware of that Spock?"

McCoy shook his head, recalling his words with a rueful sigh. "Sure, you hollered at Spock before, but look what you're doin' now," he chastised himself, waving at the evidence on the computer screen:

"Good vs. Evil: A Genetic Analysis of Theological Nomenclature, by Paul Rogers, PhD."

In the last hour, McCoy had read dozens of similar articles – everything he could find on the debate between good and evil from every perspective he could find - theologians, psychologists, neurologists, geneticists, chemists…because, as much as he hated to admit it…..again…..Spock had been right. What had happened to Jim was "an unusual opportunity to appraise the human mind." McCoy had been furious with Spock for bringing scientific analysis into such an emotionally charged moment for Jim, yet here he was, hours later, in the beginnings of a full literature review on that very same topic.

Spock had explained himself in the end – "if I seem insensitive to what you're going through Captain, understand – it's the way I am."

"Well then, I suppose this is the way I am," McCoy murmured to the screen.

People had a tendency to forget McCoy's scientific training – as if the world of the direct-care physician was completely removed from the research-oriented lab of the PhD. What they didn't realize was that the scientist, the researcher, was at the very core of the physician. McCoy had to have very specific knowledge and skills regarding anatomy and physiology, microbiology, virology, medical and surgical treatment… and he had to have an inherent compassion for living beings, a passion for bringing health and comfort…..but at the heart of it all, he had to be a scientist: to feel the thrill of diagnosis – observing, researching, puzzling out the answer in what could end up being a long line of disappointment, but pressing on for the joy of the search. He had to have the interest, the drive, the patience to organize studies and maintain scientific objectivity – and in cases of unknown outbreaks and widespread epidemics, while surrounded by suffering, death, and the rapid passage of time that life couldn't afford….McCoy had to have the ability to control emotion without losing it, to maintain objectivity without losing sight of the ultimate goal and the life involved.

His friends weren't the only ones split in two halves.

Kirk – good and evil coming together to form an unparalleled leader.

Spock – human and Vulcan coming together to form an unparalleled scientist and second-in-command.

And McCoy – compassion and passionate researcher coming together to form an unparalleled healer.

Kirk hadn't known about the warring halves of his self until today, while Spock was at near-constant battle with his. McCoy felt fortunate – he never had to deal with full-out war – just occasional skirmishes.

Like now.

What had happened to Jim today was a nearly incalculable chance event. The issue of the soul, of the nature of good and evil, was one of the things that both modern medicine and modern thought, couldn't truly explain. Theologians postulated on creation and creators, psychologists on nature vs. nurture, neurologists on synaptic connections and cell properties, geneticists on a genetic code for the actions of theological terminology, chemists on chemical reactions dictating those same actions…..but no one really knew anything, and certainly, no one had ever seen that dichotomy in such clear display, quite literally separated out into its respective forms. As McCoy reviewed his daily log entry against the current research, he found that he was nearly as excited as Spock had been earlier. The entire situation was, to borrow a phrase, fascinating. McCoy hadn't been able to consider it at the time, as he was in the midst of the emotional firestorm that was a man split into unforgiving absolutes of himself, but now, as he sat in his office, already surrounded by notes and a budding literature review…..it would make an incredible case study. A very subjective, observational study of course, as he hadn't had the time to organize any truly objective experiments at the time, but a study enough to offer new insight into the very idea of good and evil, to propel research forward toward a potential for understanding. What had happened today had challenged the very idea that those concepts couldn't really exist – McCoy had seen them, seen what they had done individually.

…..And seen what they had done collectively.

To Jim.

And that's what it all came down to.

Because, in order to publish that case study, McCoy would have to detail everything he had observed, to describe emotionally-loaded data as objectively as possible, and to put what happened to Jim out into the scientific community, to be read in that objective context. Of course McCoy wouldn't refer to Jim by name, but McCoy's name would be on the paper, and it was easy enough to find out what ship he was assigned to. What was worse was that, even in the current age of information protection, it wasn't unlikely that someone would find a way to access the ship's logs and match up the events.

To put Jim's name to the events.

And so, there were his two halves.

The compassion - the man who almost felt as if he would be betraying a confidence, who couldn't bear the thought of others looking at such a painful moment in his friend's life under the microscope of objectivity, who foresaw the follow-up questions the study would bring and, if Jim's identity was discovered, would cause him to relive that horror over and over again in the name of scientific progress…

…..And the passionate researcher - the budding psychologist fascinated with the working of the living mind, the far-reaching thinker who jumped at the chance to aid progress, who saw the potential advances, who felt it his duty to contribute such incredible data to the medical and scientific community.

Both sides couldn't win.

One would have to back down.

McCoy groaned, massaging his temples wearily. He switched off the monitor, stood up, and stretched. "No use sittin' here and worryin' at it," he decided. The answer would come to him eventually – he had the luxury of not being in a rush…..which was what was probably making the choice so difficult. Give him an emergency and he never even considered the fact that he had two halves. Give him time to think….well, he got this.

"And now I'm talkin' to myself – great," he muttered to the ceiling. With a final sigh, he smoothed out his uniform and headed for the door. He had patients to check on.

A quick bedside check and consult with Christine Chapel showed him that Sulu and the landing party were healing right on schedule. A hundred years ago, if they hadn't already been dead, each man would have lost several appendages to frostbite – thank God for modern medicine. He wrote up some new orders for Christine and told her he'd check in again later, leaving the men in her capable hands.

The action brought him back to Kirk and Spock. McCoy shared more than a mutual friendship and a tendency toward dichotomy with those two men – he also shared the ability and need to delegate. He certainly couldn't be everywhere at once, and he made sure he surrounded himself with a trusted, competent staff that he knew he could count on. He turned the landing party over to Christine and her nursing skills. And, in a way, he had turned Kirk over to Spock….for the moment at least. There was a reason he had sent Spock to check on Kirk twice that day. The first time, McCoy had been more concerned about the brandy-demanding Kirk ignoring Geological Technician Fisher's report that his hand was better – the violent grab and shout for alcohol had been a caricature of the man he knew, but the outright ignorance of a crewman's well-being was just plain wrong. It wasn't Jim Kirk. And so, McCoy delegated the task of checking up on Kirk to Spock – not because of the Vulcan's physical strength if Kirk became violent again, but because Spock was Jim's friend. He cared - and that gave Spock every skill he needed to properly perform that task at that moment, even if he didn't quite understand what McCoy expected him to do. The second time, when a sobbing Yeoman Rand stumbled into sickbay behind a bloodied Technician Fisher, McCoy had sent Spock again, but with the added knowledge that Spock would not be the best choice to stay with a crying, traumatized Yeoman – not because he wouldn't care, but because McCoy was better trained and equipped for that task. And he left Kirk with Spock at the end of it all, after the transporter room, focusing his attention on the landing party's needs, knowing that he already had someone in place for Kirk's needs. As Spock had put it so passionately that day, the Vulcan understood something of being split in two, of being at war with his selves – and Kirk needed that understanding and experience right now. McCoy would have to sit with Kirk later – both on a professional and personal level – but for now, he had others to attend to. Kirk was lucky to have a Spock.

And so was McCoy.

It allowed him to focus on those crewmembers affected today that didn't.

McCoy walked into the next patient bay where Geological Technician Fisher was sitting on the edge of his bed, legs swinging aimlessly, eyes far away. McCoy cleared his throat to ease the crewman back to the present. Fisher looked up wearily.

McCoy saw the storm in the young man's eyes. He mentally took a breath, walked across the room, and perched himself on the bed across from Fisher. "Quite a day," McCoy mused aloud.

Fisher let out a bitter huff of agreement.

"Must feel like the fates conspired against you today," McCoy continued.

That got a half-smile, but one with no humor in it. "Yeah – wouldn't be surprised if Zeus himself was still juggling a lightening bolt with my name on it," Fisher muttered, cradling his previously injured hand.

"That hand bothering you again?" McCoy nodded toward the action.

Fisher shook his head.

"You did good today, Sam," McCoy said quietly.

Fisher's head jerked up. "Good?" he burst out.

"Good," McCoy thought to himself. "Here we go."

"Good?" Fisher repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. "I fell off a ledge, sliced open my hand, got beaten up by an evil version of my Captain, and accused the real version of assaulting a crewmember!" his rushed words pitched up even as his breath ran out.

McCoy leaned forward, putting an anchoring hand on Fisher's forearm, forcing his focus. "You slipped and cut that hand when a bunch of unstable rocks, something I believe you are somewhat familiar with Geological Technician," McCoy's eyebrow quirked pointedly, "gave way under your feet, as they could have with any member of the landing party. The fact that you walked away with just a lacerated hand is a testament to your quick reaction to the fall…. or just plain luck – take your pick. You were beaten because you were interrupting an assault and calling for help for a fellow crewmember, and, even without the knowledge that the Captain had been split, you backed Yeoman Rand's account and had the courage to verify what you saw - to name her attacker, rank be damned," McCoy corrected. "This is a good ship, Fisher, but even here, you could bet that not everyone would've done what you did."

Fisher was silent, watching McCoy's steady eyes for a long moment before dropping them with an almost relieved sigh. "I'm just so….." he struggled.

"Emotionally overwhelmed, physically exhausted, and in need of a solid rest?" McCoy suggested.

Fisher laughed. "Yeah, I guess that about covers it." His eyes darkened again in memory. "When I went past Yeoman Rand's quarters and she shouted for me to get Mr. Spock…." He swallowed roughly, "well, Doctor, it looked like the Captain…..I mean, that man….could have….."

"He would have, had you not called for help and gotten him out of that room," McCoy finished quietly.

Fisher's face twisted in horror.

"And that's why you did good today, Sam," McCoy repeated, squeezing Fisher's arm supportively.

Fisher smiled lightly, as if finally believing it. "Thank you, Doctor," he whispered.

"No, thank you son," McCoy said before standing up and slapping Fisher's shoulder good-naturedly. "Now, go see Nurse Chapel for your pain meds," he held up a hand to ward off any forthcoming protest, "which you will need because nothing I did today is going to take away all that soreness and which you will take because tryin' to suffer through the pain makes you a fool, not a martyr, and will only slow your recovery. Got it?" he fixed Fisher with a look.

"Yes sir," Fisher nodded firmly.

"Good," McCoy smiled, helping the young man to his feet. "Now go get your meds and get some rest. Doctor's orders. I want to see you tomorrow for a follow-up, but until then you're off-duty. Eat, sleep, and come back here if you need anything. Understood?"

"Understood," Fisher said.

"All right then, stop crowdin' up my sickbay – off you go," McCoy gestured toward the door.

Fisher grinned and went to find Christine.

McCoy sighed.

One down, one to go.

Ten minutes later, McCoy was walking into Dr. Helen Noel's office. The psychiatrist looked up with a smile. "Leonard," she greeted warmly, adding a final note to the chart in front of her before standing and gesturing McCoy to a chair. "I've heard that it's been quite a day," she opened.

McCoy sat with a grateful sigh. "It has been that," he agreed with a weary chuckle. He took a breath and got to his point. "We're going to have our usual debriefing and interdisciplinary rounds later, but I was wondering if I could give you an early referral," he asked hopefully.

"Of course," Noel assured him, reaching back toward her desk for a PADD. "Critical?" she clarified.

"I think so," McCoy nodded. "I don't have much of an assessment for you," he apologized in advance, "but what I did manage to write up is in the record – Yeoman Janice Rand."

Noel pulled up the record and scanned the note. She looked back up with a sigh. "Physical assault, attempted sexual assault," she shook her head, closing her eyes wearily. "All right, what do you have?" she asked, leaning back to listen to McCoy's full observations.

McCoy proceeded to fill Noel in on his brief conversation with Yeoman Rand before Kirk and Spock's arrival in sickbay. He detailed several concerning word choices, relating how the Yeoman had appeared to believe a Captain could have ordered her to submit to such an attack, and of her worrying about getting Kirk into trouble. "Honestly, Helen, I'm pretty sure that, had Sam Fisher not been injured when the Captain's duplicate ran out to stop him, that she wouldn't have identified her attacker at all."

Noel read the continuation of that thought in McCoy's face. "You think this has happened to her before – prior to her assignment here," she stated.

McCoy nodded. "I'd bet real money on it," he sighed heavily. He scrubbed his hands across his face tiredly. "I'd rather she see a proper psychiatrist first for this," he said, "and I think she'd probably be more comfortable with a woman at this early stage. Now, I know this isn't your particular area of expertise, but you've got a better background than I do. If you're not comfortable continuing sessions beyond an initial assessment, let me know – I have an old colleague at Atlanta Gen who specializes in traumatic violence cases and she's open to conducting video sessions. That's assumin' you don't have your own people to consult of course," McCoy finished sheepishly.

"No offense taken, Leonard," Noel reassured him. "I'd never turn down a new potential consult and you know that – or would, if you weren't dead on your feet yourself," she chided.

McCoy's eyebrows rose in agreement as he nodded with a weary half-chuckle. "I know," he sighed. "I'm almost done," he promised.

"Well, you're done here," Noel insisted, standing and dropping the PADD lightly back on the desk. "I'll set up a session with Yeoman Rand in an hour or two, once I have the chance to sit with her situation."

McCoy stood as well. "Thanks, Helen," he smiled.

"You're welcome," she returned the smile. "I'll see you later for rounds – but if you think of anyone else in the meantime that needs an immediate consult, you know where I am."

McCoy nodded appreciatively, the doors swishing softly behind him as he headed back to his office.

McCoy sank into his desk chair and leaned back with a heavy sigh, trying to will more energy into his rapidly depleting body.

Assess and regroup.

The landing party was medically stable. Fisher was resting with proper pain medication. Rand was assessed and referred out to psychiatry.

That brought him back to Kirk.

Spock was with him now – McCoy could worry about a proper assessment, masked as a brandy-assisted discussion with a friend, later.

And so, with the compassionate half knowing that Jim had immediate emotional support, the researcher brought him back to his scattered notes, and his earlier debate.

The study.

Both sides couldn't win – he couldn't be both the compassionate friend shielding the incident from the scientific community and the passionate researcher exploring new facets of the human mind at the same time.

One would have to back down.

McCoy switched the monitor back to his earlier literature review. The next study popped up: "How A Dichotomy Was Born: A Genetic History of Good and Evil."

How.

"How do you feel Jim?"

With a burst of newfound energy, McCoy refined his search.

And suddenly understood.

He was never at full-out war with his halves because he didn't separate them – they only skirmished when he actually thought about the dichotomy. Like Jim before today, McCoy didn't tend to think about it.

He realized that he didn't have to choose – he could be both the compassionate friend and the passionate researcher – a full healer for Jim. One part didn't have to back down – because if it did, McCoy wouldn't be the healer he was.

The healer Jim needed.

Emergency measures kicked back in, all thoughts of a dichotomy erased as the two sides moved back into a seamless integration.

It wasn't about the study.

There was a greater priority.

"How? I've seen a part of myself no man should ever see."

The compassion had seen beyond those words, to the unspoken question in Jim Kirk's eyes:

How do I deal with this?

And so, the researcher dove purposefully back into the literature.

Because McCoy didn't have an answer for that.

Yet.