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: "Miri" – ignoring the creepy children and Kirk's equally creepy semi-seduction of the title character, I love this episode. There is so much to work with here – so many little lines and layered expressions, and so many insights into McCoy's character. I've always felt that "Miri" is the first episode in season one where Kirk, Spock, and McCoy are really together – I can feel the friendship and the beginning of the brotherhood that strengthens as the series goes on. The three work so well together - they start displaying more of that lack of personal space, they use and know each other's strengths, the teasing is natural and spontaneous…..and of course, we get to see, for the first time, one of McCoy's core character traits – the self-sacrificing healer, the man who will put himself at risk before any other. I came to see a whole history behind McCoy's experience in this episode, a deep reasoning for his testing the cure on himself rather than waiting, and in McCoy's choice and Kirk and Spock's reaction, I saw hints of the future episode, "The Empath"…..and came to see "Miri" as setting the groundwork for the level of love and sacrifice in that later episode. Using all that, this chapter became quite a journey – following McCoy's inner thoughts and motivations from the very beginning of the episode, all the way through the end, where Kirk and Spock find that the cure worked on McCoy's unconscious form. At that point, I continued the episode, with a further look into the implications of McCoy's choice and its effect on those around him. The final part of this piece could be considered to have happened between the final scene on the planet and the tag on the Bridge. Most episode dialogue is marked in italics. Kirk's recollection of McCoy insisting that Kirk couldn't risk his life on a theory comes directly from the first season episode "The Enemy Within." Christine Chapel's fiancé, Roger, is from the first season episode "What Are Little Girls Made Of?" For those who haven't read my story "There Were Days", when I went to write McCoy's daughter, I heard her very clearly state that McCoy had named her "Johanna with an 'h'", hence that spelling here. This was written in one sitting so, as usual, please excuse any blatant errors. Thank you so much for reading and for your support as I explore this world! 6 down, 70 to go!

6.

As the tingle of the transporter faded, McCoy was besieged by an equally familiar, uncomfortable chill.

Desolation.

The unnatural silence in the wake of sudden, catastrophic, and widespread death.

McCoy had been in enough epidemic-ravaged communities to be able to smell the decay without seeing the bodies, to feel the loss even without a baseline number.

To hear the whispers of life clinging to the air beyond the relentless blows of an unmerciful, invisible enemy.

Plague.

He tried to hide the gnawing feeling behind a vague comment on antique architecture, but with Spock's analysis of centuries' worth of deterioration and a solid deduction that the distress signal was automated, the feeling only grew stronger. Automated distress signals were never a good sign, and with the painful images of every other plague-decimated world he had seen flashing through his head, McCoy knew it was just a matter of time until they confirmed that the SOS was only an echo of life long since torn from this world. The last survivors may have buried or burned the majority of the dead, but the last to die were always the first to be found – their bodies would still be above ground, broken down by time, climate, and the tooth and claw marks of the circle of life.

Finding the tricycle before the expected bone fragments was a surprise, but it proved to be the first, painful evidence in support of the ache in his gut. Jim, ever the history enthusiast, was fleetingly attracted to its antiquity, lifting the old toy and feeling the weight of the past in his hands. He passed it on to Spock's analysis, but the science officer quickly dismissed the object as being irrelevant to their objective, passing it on to McCoy. And McCoy…..

McCoy saw through the rust and broken tire – where Jim had felt old metalwork and the passage of time in the tricycle, McCoy felt the lives surrounding it – the excited parents who purchased the bike, the overjoyed child who received it, proud smiles watching tiny legs furiously pumping equally tiny petals, shining eyes and streaming hair, scraped knees and elbows as gravity overtook the fragile balance of childhood, gentle hands and gentler words repairing skin and smoothing away tears.

McCoy placed the tricycle on its side in a reverent reflection of the recovery position – his internal healer outwardly manifesting itself as he unconsciously tried to recover that long-passed life. Keeping a hand on the body of the bike, he thoughtfully spun one back wheel - a softly squeaking prayer. As the wheel creaked with use and age, the healer felt for a heartbeat - the vibration in the body of the metal. He listened for breath - for those lost voices and emotions…and continued to listen even as he deeply mourned their loss.

He hadn't expected to, quite literally, be tackled by one of those voices. And when it was all over, even as his inner scientist was calling the deceased being 'it' in lieu of solid data, McCoy knew it was a child. No outward deformity, no internal madness, could imitate the truth in that sobbing voice – the anguished panic of a desperate, crying child.

McCoy mourned anew for finding the voice he had sought. His head bowed as a witness to death, the harsh memory of children dying in his arms as supplies waned, bewildered voices asking him why it hurt, strangled cries for parents long since taken by the same bacteria, trying to soothe with words distorted through a face mask, with hands and arms encumbered by isolation gear.

McCoy shook his head, forcibly clearing his thoughts. Finding this child, finding life was no relief – in fact, it increased his concern. Because the plague needed a host – and so where the child had life….

So did the plague.

His mind was whirling with possibilities, working the idea of that impossibly fast metabolic rate over and over, when they found Miri. And more tears. More anguished panic. And with the passage of years toward adolescence…more fear.

The fear of increased understanding.

"I wonder what happened to her, that she should be so terrified of us," McCoy murmured to Jim's own pained focus. But he knew. If Miri's own words weren't enough – desperate pleas not to harm her, shrinking back from touch – her later validation of a sickness was. Being surrounded by sudden, unexplainable death was terrifying enough for an adult, let alone a child. When parents stopped acting like themselves, children struggled to understand why. And when parents became violent…children felt at fault, unable to process the concept of madness. McCoy could rattle off a dozen plague organisms that caused psychiatric symptoms…..and knew, with gut-wrenching certainty, that he was about to discover another.

When the first lesion appeared on Jim, McCoy's mind raced anew as the worst of his concern was recognized. Where there was life - the 'creature-child', Miri, the other children - the plague organism also had life. And now the landing party, and potentially the entire crew, were new hosts, new transmitters…new victims.

McCoy could never abide that word – 'victim.' In the medical sense, he always felt that it implied that nothing could have been done, nothing tried.

And oh, was he going to try.

Because a plague was never just a microscopic organism and attached symptomatology. It had a face and a voice – that creature-child sobbing for his broken toy, Miri pleading for her safety, a hidden host of children somewhere nearby forced to rename themselves 'onlies' for the devastation around them, and now….his friends, the most familiar faces and voices of all.

And so the rush to the laboratory became less a search for answers, and more the first sprint toward the long, hard race for a cure.

As McCoy took up residence in front of an ancient light microscope, diving into his particular specialty, Kirk and Spock moved into theirs. Kirk liaised with the ship while assisting Spock in a records analysis, both of them posing questions, relevant finds, ideas and observations. Even in the stress of the moment, McCoy couldn't help but bask in the satisfaction of working so closely and so smoothly with these two men – the unspoken dance where each knew what the other needed and all worked toward one goal. Their customary, gentle teasing wove through the frantic research - a bright comfort amidst the lingering fear.

It was after another light bickering session with Spock that McCoy noticed it – the lesion on his hand had grown. The fact that they had all shown skin symptoms so rapidly was distressing enough, but the significant growth on his hand in just a short hour was alarming. Miri took his hand – "it spreads real fast, I know. When you're old it covers you like anything."

And that's when it all changed.

Not counting Spock and his combined genetics, McCoy was the oldest member of the landing party. The oldest, symptomatic member. And he could feel Spock's raised eyebrow at Miri's declaration, felt Jim's lingering gaze as the Captain failed in an attempt to filter some teasing humor into his face at Miri's discernment, instead radiating an almost preemptive grief, his trademark refusal to give in, and underneath all that…the faint whisper of fear.

The fear in Miri's eyes upon first seeing the landing party. The fear the other children displayed by virtue of their hiding. The fear in the eyes of the dying children of Viridian II as his mind cursed the delay of the supply ships while his lips tried desperately to soothe an inconsolable loss.

And now McCoy's own, new fear – the fear that the plague would take him out before he could discover the causative organism and find a cure - leaving Kirk to die and Spock to linger in isolation without the hope of a chance. McCoy wasn't one to think overly highly of himself, but he knew that his particular education, experience, and skill set were vital right now – Kirk was relentlessly focused and Spock was an outstanding scientist, but McCoy was the physician, the one with the background to be able to pull it all together. They needed him in order to have a chance.

And McCoy would be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to give them that chance.

So he took his beamed-down equipment, focused his mind, and doubled his efforts. The race was truly on. McCoy wasn't the only one who began to work harder – the teamwork between Jim, Spock, and himself only became smoother, more focused – a perfect give and take of information and speculation that finally led to the first of the answers: a post-pubescent death sentence, with young Miri nearing execution. Confirmation that the 'creature-child' had indeed been a child just days ago. McCoy's heart ached. He hadn't been surprised to find the initial plan – life prolongation. It actually made perfect sense – no good ever came of trying to play God.

And here was further proof.

Jackasses.

McCoy sighed heavily, tearing his gaze away from Miri, and wincing as he saw Jim rubbing nervously at his own lesion-marked hand. But Jim characteristically pulled himself back together and, bless him, decided to attempt to reach the children. So, taking his gift with kids with him, Jim and Miri left – leaving Spock and McCoy to their gifts – science and research…..so that they could have a way to save the lives that Jim brought back.

One hundred seventy hours.

Another dead child. Louise.

And now, verification of what would happen to them.

"Only a matter of time before we all go mad – destroy each other until the last of us finally destroys himself."

Even as McCoy voiced those words with the calm, clinical understanding, his grandpappy's stubborn Southern fire swelled in his gut as the implications became suddenly, frighteningly clear.

And then Spock reinforced Miri's earlier declaration – "the older the victim, the more rapid the progress of the disease."

At the word 'victim' the fire raged.

At the reminder of his earlier fear, he burned.

And as yet another new fear formed, he exploded.

McCoy was already racing against time and the implications of his age on the disease progression, but now, with the verification of yet another madness-inducing plague in existence….

They would all go mad, destroy each other…..and being the oldest, and therefore the first to go, meant that McCoy would attempt to kill Kirk and Spock. McCoy didn't care how distorted his thought processes became – he knew that he would know what he did, both now and in whatever lay beyond this life – and he could not, would not live with that. What was worse was what would happen if he didn't succeed – because it could only go one of two different ways. Kirk and Spock might resist harming McCoy, trying to protect him instead of protecting themselves, and while McCoy was not a strong physical fighter, if he retained any of his medical and pharmacological knowledge in that madness, he could kill either of them quite easily. So, Kirk and Spock could still die by McCoy's hand, in their sheer reluctance to harm their friend. Or, they would kill McCoy, either accidently or by necessity to protect themselves, or God forbid, to protect Miri or one of the other children – and then Kirk and Spock would have to live with the memory of having killed a friend with their own hands. And McCoy knew they wouldn't survive that – impending madness or not. It all came down to the fact that, in the end, McCoy would kill his friends – whether directly or indirectly, it didn't matter. He would take two lives.

And that would not stand with Leonard McCoy.

His determination grew, the seed of a plan forming behind the rapidly moving hands sifting reports, the blurring eyes scanning data. Because McCoy had been here before – in the storm of plague, all last-ditch efforts exhausted. They weren't there yet and McCoy was adamant that they wouldn't ever reach that point, but he also wasn't naive enough to believe it couldn't happen. When all hope of cure was gone, there still needed to be a plan – and his mind was desperately redistributing its resources to devote some attention to that truth.

And then he found it – a chain of viruses, something to concentrate the search. McCoy couldn't help but smile at the sheer joy of that small step toward their goal, at the incredible thought and research that went into the project, even as he simultaneously cursed the scientists for their stupidity. Then Jim, in his typical semi-naive view of science and medicine, told McCoy and Spock that they'd need to recreate the researchers' thinking, identify the virus, and develop a vaccine.

McCoy almost grinned as Spock met his eyes with an identical, disbelieving sarcasm. McCoy gave their mutually raised eyebrows voice – "is that all Captain? We have five days you know."

Kirk's chuckle and subsequent understanding of the nature of his request eased the tension considerably.

McCoy looked from a bemused Spock, eyes scanning the literature once more, to a chuckling, worried Kirk already planning his next move…..and he felt a renewed surge of affection for these two often infuriating, but incredible friends he had found.

Yes, he would do whatever necessary to fight the disease, to give them that chance…..and to spare them the end of madness's road.

He fought it…but his own responses slowed so insidiously that McCoy didn't even realize he was slipping until he caught the mistake that led him to miss the virus the first time. Fear surged at the very real possibility that he may not be able to keep his promise, but the joy overtook it because he had found that chance – he had one to give them. He just had to hold on.

And he did. As the time ticked ominously by, he and Spock came up with a potential vaccine, but without their communicators, he couldn't confirm a dosage….and too much of a cure could just as easily kill. The cure would slow down the impossibly high metabolic rate that was the core of what killed those infected…just enough and the person would return to baseline – too much, and the metabolic rate would slow to a crawl, or stop all together. Spock was right – it very well could be "a beaker full of death."

And there had been far too much of that already.

So Jim had gone to the children, to try and get the communicators, to get them back their chance….and as time passed, McCoy felt himself slipping further and further into the darkness of what he knew was to come.

He hadn't meant to shout at Spock…..but it wasn't only the short temper of disease progression that had led to it. Their time was almost up, McCoy was nearly at the point of having to admit he wouldn't be able to keep up his internal promise…and that final plan was rapidly becoming the only option. As he sank further into the illness, his mind flew back to every other identical situation he had seen – to that last minute desperation, knowing, with precise clinical expertise, that by the time information or help arrived, it was going to be too late. Spock's logic insisted that they wait, that the cure could be fatal. McCoy's gut insisted that the disease very well would be.

That he was on the precipice.

And he would not harm his friends.

If he couldn't see them saved, he would at least do them no harm.

McCoy's voice became a dangerous growl as he demanded, "How much longer do you want to wait?" He stalked past Spock, through a fog of the echoes of long dead cries.

He knew Spock would go check on Jim, to see if he could speed up their progress.

It was only logical.

And so Spock left.

And McCoy put the final plan into motion.

They needed to know if they had the cure, and without the computers, live subject testing was the only option – and there was no way in hell McCoy was going to test it on a member of the crew or one of those children – so that left him. If the dose was too low, he would still be standing there, reworking the dosage, when Spock got back. If the dose was correct, he'd be waiting with hypo in hand to inoculate everyone who walked through the door. And if the dose was too high…McCoy would be dead, but in that death, he could do some good. Spock could determine if the medication had indeed worked, and get the Enterprise to adjust the dose accordingly. And McCoy would be beyond the impending madness and therefore beyond hurting his friends. Kirk and Spock would be safe – they wouldn't die physically by his hands, and they wouldn't die emotionally by being forced to kill him.

And Spock said he was illogical.

The hypo hissed.

Within milliseconds, McCoy had his answer.

The dose was too high.

But it was the cure.

As he hit the table, he felt the symptoms fading, even as he felt his autonomic functions grinding to a halt.

And as he fell, he shouted for Spock – to pick up where McCoy left off, to tell Jim they had a cure….

….to be McCoy's hands and deliver that chance at life.

Fourteen hours later, McCoy was surprised to open his eyes.

He was even more surprised to find himself in sickbay.

But as he struggled to focus on the sounds of his monitors, he wasn't particularly surprised to hear Christine Chapel's greeting.

"You're an idiot."

McCoy blinked sluggishly, trying to bring his brain back up to speed. "Why?" he croaked, voice much slower than he had intended.

"You know why," Christine growled pointedly, running a vitals scan and adjusting the bed controls. McCoy felt the mattress shift support from his left side to his right.

McCoy thought hard, trying to recall the answer to his own question.

Christine saw the very moment he remembered.

"Oh," McCoy sighed.

"Yeah, oh," Christine gave him a look.

"How?" McCoy asked, shifting his head to actually look up at her. He knew he didn't have the answer for that one. The dose had been too high – he had felt his body shutting down as he fell. Medically speaking, he should be dead.

"I'll let the man who breathed for you answer that question once I make sure you're actually going to stay alive," Christine's icy voice lost some of its chill with the warm undercurrent of relief that accompanied her brisk assessment. Satisfied for the moment, Christine adjusted the alarm parameters and picked up her PADD. Before turning for the door, she laid a familiar, gentle hand on McCoy's arm. "Everyone's fine and you're back to baseline. I'll fill you in later – these two have been waiting for you to wake up." She paused. "This better not become a habit," she warned him, but there was the barest hint of a waver in those hard words. She looked over the bed. "He's all yours. Tell him what you need to, but don't change those numbers," she insisted, pointing to the monitors.

As Christine left, McCoy slowly turned his head to the right and his brain finally kicked back in as Kirk and Spock came into view. "Jim! Spock! You're all right?" his breathless voice was warm with joy. "The children?" he added hurriedly.

"We're all fine, Bones," Kirk assured McCoy, laying a hand on the physician's forearm, the softest hint of a tremor in the strong fingers.

"Indeed, Doctor, we all received the correct dose of the vaccine," Spock intoned drily.

McCoy's eyebrow quirked at Spock's open sarcasm…until he remembered Christine's words and quickly sobered.

I'll let the man who breathed for you answer that question.

Oh hell.

"You found me," McCoy stated softly.

"Yes, Doctor," Spock replied just as quietly, "and I should appreciate if you would refrain from such spontaneous fits of illogic in the future, as I have no wish to sustain your respiratory function again."

McCoy saw the emotion radiating from those dark eyes. "It slowed autonomic function that severely?" he asked. "I felt it starting….." he trailed off.

"The dose you injected yourself with was five times the therapeutic dose," Spock said. "I returned to the room at your call and found you unconscious on the floor. Your heart rate and respiratory function were significantly depressed. The Captain came back with the communicators two minutes later and witnessed the fading of the blemishes on your face. We contacted the Enterprise for the correct dosage, and you went into respiratory arrest. Dr. M'Benga advised the Captain and myself in artificial respiration until we were able to vaccinate ourselves and return with you to the ship. You required four hours of respiratory and cardiovascular support in sickbay before resuming regulation of your own autonomic functions and remained unconscious for a total of fourteen point five hours," Spock finished, voice even under haunted eyes.

"I'm sorry, Spock," McCoy whispered tiredly.

"An apology is both illogical and unnecessary, Doctor," Spock replied. "However, an explanation would be…..appreciated."

"Why, Bones?" Kirk's whisper was raw with feeling. "You and Spock said yourselves it could be fatal…why didn't you wait for me to get back with the communicators?"

McCoy swallowed at the pleading timbre to Kirk's voice. "Jim…"

"Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you on the floor?" Kirk's growl broke on a hitch of breath. "I thought you were dead, Bones, that the disease killed you, when we were so close to having the cure. And then Spock told me that you injected yourself…..and Bones, I swear, if I wasn't so glad to see the vaccine working, I would have strangled you myself…..and then you stopped breathing, and …"

McCoy's heart clenched as Kirk began to ramble. "Jim, I….."

Kirk held up a hand. "Just….tell me why Bones," he half-pleaded, half-ordered. "Please," he added softly.

Spock's steady gaze echoed that plea.

McCoy sighed heavily. "Two years after graduating medical school, the emergency relief team I volunteered with was called to an epidemic on Viridian II."

Spock's eyes widened.

"You've heard of it, Mr. Spock?" McCoy noted the Vulcan's response.

"Indeed, I have," Spock nodded slowly.

Kirk looked between the two men for answers.

"The main village of Viridian II was nearly wiped out by an aggressive bacterial infection eighteen years ago," Spock explained.

"An aggressive, resistant bacteria," McCoy corrected, accent flaring with exhaustion and memory. "There were twenty thousand villagers on record. Ten thousand had already died by the time we got there, and in the week it took us to isolate and engineer a viable cure, another two thousand were lost. One of the necessary components of the cure was rigelin, a substance we don't generally stock much of in the emergency kits. We needed more to vaccinate the rest of the population and sent a priority request to the nearest supply ship….but they were delayed at a non-priority drop-off. They should have arrived in two days. They took eight."

"How many?" Kirk's voice was barely a whisper.

"Another two thousand," McCoy's eyes closed, the images vivid on darkened lids. "Mostly children….who died in a stranger's arms to the touch of an isolation suit, their parents long since gone."

Spock bowed his head.

Kirk was silent.

They both knew whose arms had cradled those children.

"So Miri and the children….." Kirk began to understand.

"Jim, I've been to more plague-decimated planets than I care to remember," McCoy interrupted with a weary drawl, "and I knew, from the first breath of air on that planet, that I was on another. We were nearly out of time…..I was nearly out of time. My reflexes were already slowed, the vaccine took longer to synthesize than it should have, even with Spock's help, and our tempers were short – madness wasn't far behind. We needed that vaccine, before we lost the ability to properly use it. And I know you were trying to get those communicators…but I know where that final line is, Jim… I know what it's like to wait for help that's just seconds too late…and I made the call. Without the computers, it had to be a human test, and I was already the most far gone."

"Still an illogical choice," Spock insisted, but it seemed almost half-hearted, an expected rebuttal.

"Illogical to you maybe," McCoy retorted.

"Bones," Kirk's voice was eerily quiet. "You told me once that I couldn't risk my life on a theory. Tell me how this is different."

McCoy sighed heavily. "Jim…." He groaned.

"No, Bones," Kirk demanded. "If you're going to demand that of me, then I'm damn well going to demand it of you, understand?"

Spock's eyebrow shot up.

"That goes for you too Spock," Kirk and McCoy focused on the Vulcan simultaneously.

Spock gave a resigned, but understanding nod.

"All right, Bones?" Kirk persisted.

"Jim, I can't promise you that," McCoy said honestly.

"Just like I couldn't promise you," Kirk shot back, voice gentle.

"Nor could I," Spock put in.

"So what do you want me to say Jim?" McCoy asked wearily.

"That you'll try – that you'll talk to us and try to find another way. And Spock and I will do the same," Kirk looked to Spock for confirmation, and received it in one, firm nod.

"All right, Jim, Spock," McCoy met each man's eyes. "Agreed."

"Agreed," Kirk and Spock echoed.

"Good," Kirk nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Because I never want to see you like that again, Bones," he said vehemently, face lined with fear, the image of McCoy's unconscious form on the floor under Spock's worried guard seared into his memory.

"And I would prefer that you act as the physician, not I," Spock added. "I am glad to leave such treatments to your expertise."

McCoy's eyes widened. "Why Spock, you sure I heard that right? Almost sounded like a compliment."

"I do believe you require more rest, Doctor," Spock deadpanned. "Your hearing does appear to be in error."

McCoy grinned weakly at the sparkle in the Vulcan's eyes. "Yeah, I thought so," he chuckled softly. He looked at Kirk and Spock seriously. "I know you're not lookin' for an apology, but you're getting one, both of you," he held up a hand to ward off further protest. "I'm sorry I put ya'll through that," he apologized honestly. "And thank you for doin' what you did."

"Apology accepted, Bones," Kirk smiled, standing up with a grunt. "And you're welcome – but like Nurse Chapel said, you'd better not make a habit of it."

"Not planning to," McCoy said softly.

"An insufficient answer, as one can still 'do' without 'planning to do'," Spock pointed out.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he fixed Spock with a narrow glare. "And don't get me started on non-committal answers. Every time you're in my sickbay I sweah, asking you anythin' is like….."

"All right, that's enough," Christine came striding back in. "You get him started on that, and those monitors will never stop flashing." She glared from McCoy to Kirk and Spock. "Which they shouldn't be because I told you to keep those numbers where they were."

"Captain, I do believe we are required on the Bridge," Spock stood up briskly.

"Chicken," McCoy muttered under his breath.

Kirk grinned at McCoy before moving to Spock's side. "I believe you're correct, Mr. Spock," he agreed.

Christine rolled her eyes.

Kirk squeezed McCoy's arm one last time. "Take it easy, Bones – we'll see you later."

Spock nodded his agreement. "It is good to see you well, Doctor," he said quietly.

"Thanks to both of you," McCoy's voice was soft with gratitude.

"Thanks to you, Doctor, the Captain and I were able to return with you to the ship," Spock replied. He paused. "I must admit to a particular lack of understanding regarding the medical mind. I do believe there is logic to be found there…..however I find it difficult to pin point."

"Well, if you figure it out, let me know," Christine put in, noting the new vitals in her log.

Spock's eyebrow shot up against Kirk's burst of laughter. And with McCoy's muttered attempt at a rejoinder, they were gone.

Christine helped McCoy get comfortable, ran through another quick assessment, and answered his more specific questions. As his eyes began to close, she asked a question of her own. "You ever going to tell them the truth?" she fixed him with a knowing look.

McCoy sighed heavily. That woman and her perception…

"That was the truth," he tried to insist.

Christine didn't buy it. "Some of the truth," she corrected him. "But not all of it – because the next time you do it, and I know there will be a next time…..it won't be because of this case."

"I don't….." McCoy tried again.

"You don't want the Captain and Mr. Spock to know, and they won't," Christine filled in. "Because I won't tell them. But I want to know that there's a reason behind the next time I'm putting you on life support. A damn good one."

McCoy realized he owed her that. So he told Christine everything – how his age affected the spread of the disease, how the madness would have affected the three of them, how time disappeared and the need grew ever more critical…..and how he had to find the answer, to give Kirk and Spock that chance. How his fears rapidly approached reality. How he couldn't risk lives. Couldn't risk Kirk and Spock's lives.

Christine swallowed hard. "My fiancé wouldn't have thought to protect me like that," she whispered. She cleared her throat roughly. "I hope you three realize how lucky you are, to have what you have. Thank you for telling me," her voice was thick with gratitude.

McCoy nodded quietly.

"Don't think I'm still not going to call you an idiot when you wake up though," she warned.

"I'm counting on it," McCoy chuckled. "Jo would do the same thing." He quickly sobered, wondering why he had brought his daughter, an extremely private topic, into the conversation.

Christine smiled softly as McCoy's exhaustion brought his true thoughts to voice. "Good girl," she grinned. "I'll just join her then."

And McCoy fell into an uneasy sleep with the sound of Christine's 'good girl' echoing in his ears.

Several hours later, McCoy woke with a jerk to the memory of shrieking sobs for long-absent parents and the equally desperate, low voice coming from his own lips – "shhh, it's all right now sweetheart….no, I'm sorry, Mommy's not here….no, no, you're not a bad girl…you're a good girl, such a good girl….."

Christine saw the need in his eyes and ran to get M'Benga's okay for discharge. With a promise to return in the morning for a follow-up and to call either sickbay or Kirk or Spock if he needed anything, McCoy was allowed to return to his quarters.

The comm buzzed as soon as the doors swished shut behind him. "Bones, you all right?" Jim's voice was low with concern. "Nurse Chapel said you were discharged but I thought….."

McCoy looked from Kirk to the silently concerned Spock standing behind him. "I'll be all right," he assured the two of them. "You're both all right?" he suddenly had to ask.

"We are perfectly well Doctor," Spock reassured McCoy, with an almost painful gentleness.

"Good," McCoy smiled wearily.

"Get some sleep Bones – and remember your promise…call us if you need anything," Kirk said.

The screen went dark.

McCoy sank into the chair. Kirk and Spock were fine. The children were fine –and would see a future.

The cries of all those who had lost that future re-took his memory, crowded his hearing, darkened his vision in a rush of overwhelming grief. Swaying, McCoy did the only thing he could do, the only thing he had needed to do eighteen years ago.

He toggled the comm. She had been two years old when he collapsed on the rescue ship with the echo of fourteen thousand dead constricting each beat of his heart…..with the screams of thousands of frightened children distorted through the air filter, the fevered bodies he could never properly comfort. She hadn't been able to say much, but she didn't need to. He had just needed to see her face – her blessedly healthy face.

And it had worked – he had finally slept that night.

The screen flared to life. "Hiya Daddy! I wasn't expectin' to hear from ya until later this week. You okay?"

McCoy basked in the sight of his little girl. His twenty year old brilliant nurse/researcher-in-training.

His blessedly healthy child.

"Hi sweetheart – I just wanted to see that gorgeous face," he smiled.

"Mushbrain," Johanna teased. A mirror image of his own blue eyes watched him closely from the screen. "You sure you're okay Daddy?" she asked.

"I'm okay Jo," McCoy assured her. And he was.

Now he was.

When Kirk and Spock snuck in to check on him later, he was peacefully sleeping to the glow of an idle comm unit. Afraid to wake him, they let it be.

And when Christine came to check on McCoy, she also let the comm be. But she knew who he had called.

Christine tucked that information aside, ready to guard that secret along with the new, full understanding of his actions that day. He did what he did because he was a healer – and lives were counting on him. But he also did it because he was McCoy - he couldn't harm others, wouldn't take life – the lives of innocents, the lives of friends. And Christine was keeping that secret because McCoy knew that if Kirk and Spock ever heard that reasoning, of their role in McCoy's choice that day, that they would forever analyze his future actions for that line of thought, and he wouldn't be able to make that decision again – to honor his oath, to make that sacrifice.

And he would do it again.

McCoy had as much as said so himself when he confided in her.

And Christine, torn between her own healer's oath and McCoy's trust in her understanding of his, resolved to keep that secret vow.

Because even as Christine knew it was going to break her heart, she marveled at the depth of McCoy's compassion, at the love he had for all life.

At the love he had for the protected daughter behind the darkened comm screen, the love he had for the commanding officers of this ship, whose lives he had placed above his own.

At the kind of love that she realized she never would have had with Roger.

Christine smiled fondly at the sleeping form, swallowing back a sudden surge of emotion as she turned for the door.

She hoped that Kirk, Spock, and Johanna knew the devotion they had in this man.

And how blessed they were to have it.