CHAPTER TWO

Len took a moment to check that he'd made it through the transportation cycle intact, surreptitiously wiggling his fingers. Reassured that he had been correctly reassembled, he blew out a gusty breath of relief, before stepping off the transporter platform.

"Good evening, sir." The tech manning the console picked up a PADD and held it out to him. "Dr. Yang said to give this to you when you arrived. He apologizes. He would have been here to meet you but he got paged to see another patient and couldn't wait."

"I understand. Thanks," he said, accepting the device.

The transporter room was just a short walk from the heart of the emergency room. Leonard made his way briskly down the brightly lit corridor, pushed through a set of double doors emblazoned with large red letters that warned "Emergency Personnel Only," and made his way to the busy hub of desks and monitors occupying the center of the room. Starfleet General's Emergency Room was never a quiet place; tonight, it was a buzzing hive of activity.

Len grabbed the nearest empty chair and sank into it, ignoring the purposeful chaos around him. Several staff cast him curious glances, obviously puzzled by his civilian clothing, but he kept his head down, focusing on the chart Yang had left for him, and they returned to their work without bothering him.

Pressing his finger to the logon icon on the screen, he waited for the PADD to cycle through its security protocols, then began to read

STARFLEET GENERAL HOSPITAL

MEDICAL RECORD

PATIENT: James Tiberius Kirk

DATE OF BIRTH: 2233.04

AGE: 22 years

CHIEF COMPLAINT: Patient is one of multiple victims involved in a campus building collapse. Requesting discharge without treatment.

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS: 22 y o male arrived via air ambulance. He was conscious, alert and oriented x 3 upon arrival. Ambulance techs stated he refused a cervical collar or exam at the scene. A stasis bandage has been applied to the patient's forehead for a reported "moderately severe head laceration". No medications were administered at the scene. EMT states patient reported possible medication allergies.

SURGICAL HISTORY: Unknown

MEDICAL HISTORY: Unknown

SOCIAL HISTORY: Single. No emergency contact designated in Starfleet Academy records.

FAMILY HISTORY: Based on patient's admission records, Father is deceased in the line of duty. Mother is currently on active duty aboard the USS Magellan.

ALLERGIES: None listed in Starfleet Academy records.

MEDICATIONS: None listed in Starfleet Academy records.

REVIEW OF SYMPTOMS: Patient refuses exam or bio-bed monitoring.

PHYSICAL EXAM: Patient refuses exam or bio-bed monitoring.

GENERAL: Difficult to assess. (see above). Patient appears wet, with hair and clothing littered with debris.

EYES: Unable to assess.

ENT: Unable to assess.

HEAD AND NECK: No visible swelling, redness or rash around throat. Face appears to have multiple bruises and scrapes. A stasis bandage is in place on the patient's forehead.

LYMPH NODES: Unable to assess.

CARDIOVASCULAR: Unable to assess.

LUNGS: Unable to assess.

SKIN: Patient appears pale. Patient appears to have multiple scrapes and contusions on his hands, and an apparent wound of unknown severity on his forehead.

BREAST: N/A

PSYCH/SOCIAL: Patient is uncooperative, refusing multiple requests for an exam. Uncommunicative.

ABDOMEN: Unable to assess.

GENITO-URINARY: Unable to assess.

RECTAL: Unable to assess.

EXTREMITIES: Unable to assess.

MUSCULO-SKELETAL: Suspect injuries due to patient's stiff body movements. Patient is also favoring his left shoulder.

NEUROLOGICAL: Alert and oriented x 3. Cranial nerves appear to be grossly intact.

DIAGNOSTIC TESTS: None.

ASSESSMENT AND PLAN: Patient continues to refuse medical exam despite repeated warnings of possible negative consequences. When informed he is required to allow exam and accept prescribed treatment as a Starfleet cadet, he requested Leonard H. McCoy, MD, as his personal physician. Dr. McCoy was notified at 1809 and is in route.

PHYSICIAN ON DUTY: Glen Yang, MD

Well.

Leonard pursed his lips, his irritation at being called out fading. He was puzzled. How the hell had Kirk managed to join Starfleet, an organization that prided itself on being a stickler for rules and processes, without divulging any useful medical data?

Intrigued, he rose and headed to Trauma Bay Six, dinner and the evening's annoyances forgotten.

Gripping the PADD, Len stopped at the entry to the room. The trauma bays were set up to allow personnel to log in before entering, in order to facilitate record-keeping. Unless the patient was critical and a medical override warranted, it was worth the slight delay in initiating treatment caused by the log-in process.

He touched the keypad next to the door, placing his finger on the lighted red circle. It immediately flashed to green upon recognizing his fingerprint and brought up the familiar screen and voice prompt.

"State your name, identification number and position."

"Leonard H. McCoy. Medical ID 773691-MD. Now assuming primary care for patient James T. Kirk."

"You are authorized to proceed, Dr. McCoy."

The familiar routine triggered a mindset ingrained since med school and he strode confidently into the room.

"Well, don't you look like something the cat dragged in," he drawled, getting his first look at his recalcitrant patient.

"TGIF to you, too, Bones," the kid responded, not even bothering to open his eyes.

James Tiberius Kirk slumped wearily in the chair intended for visitors, his head tipped back against the wall. His hair, dark with moisture – a mix of rain and blood apparently – had left a red smear on the pristine white paint.

Someone, probably one of the emergency personnel in the field, had gotten him to cooperate long enough to put a stasis bandage on his forehead. It covered him from hairline to eyebrows, the bandage partially obscuring his left eye. His uniform was saturated with water and God-knew-what else, so dark a red it looked nearly black, and it hung heavily on his frame.

"Why aren't you on the bio-bed?" Leonard snapped.

He was going to have a serious conversation with young Dr. Yang. It was inexcusable to leave a patient in Jim's condition alone in the room, crisis or not. Good God, the kid clearly had a head injury; what if he had lapsed into unconsciousness from undiagnosed complications?

His eyes still closed, Jim waved a self-deprecating hand over his torso. "I'm wet. And filthy. And really, really tired."

The kid flinched when he moved his shoulder.

"Just sign me out of here, Bones, and I'll go home."

"You're joking, right?"

Apparently, his sarcastic tone succeeded where his earlier words had not. Jim's lids lifted to half-mast, affording him a glimpse of dull blue eyes.

Despite Kirk's nonchalant manner, he was clearly in pain.

"Okay, let me explain how this is going to work," Leonard said in a low voice, a concession to the headache and other body miseries he could see. "You're going to take your clothes off. Next, you'll lie down on the bio-bed. We'll deal with the necessary red tape and I'll take a history while we run the scans. Then I'll provide whatever treatment those scans and your answers to my questions indicate are needed. All of that will happen before you go anywhere. Is that clear or do you have any questions?"

"Your bedside manner is for shit."

"You asked for me," Leonard reminded him.

"I'm blaming the blow to my head. Maybe I should just see the other guy after all."

"Too late. He's busy," Leonard said. "You made me leave my warm, dry room, with my dinner prep still on the kitchen counter. The least you can do is cooperate."

Kirk sighed heavily. "Alright, Bones," he conceded. "Do your worst. It can't possibly compare to what I've already been through, today."

"Wise choice. Clothes first."

"Everyone wants my body," Jim groused, his attempt at humor ringing hollow, given his appearance. He got to his feet, using the arms of the chair for leverage. Once vertical, he swayed unsteadily, reaching out blindly for the wall.

Leonard hastily dumped the PADD on the nearest counter. "Whoa. Take it easy." He gently guided Kirk to the bio-bed. "Lean on the bed for a minute. I'll help you get your clothes off."

"Best offer I've had in a week," Kirk quipped but his face was white and his legs were trembling. Shivers wracked his frame.

Leonard reached to unfasten the man's uniform jacket, shocked by the feel of the cold, saturated fabric.

Shit, the kid's probably hypothermic.

When the zipper on the sodden fabric refused to cooperate, Leonard cursed under his breath and grabbed a laser scalpel from the tray of instruments next to the bio-bed. "Hold still." He quickly slit the uniform up both sides and carefully peeled off the wet halves before doing the same with the even-wetter pants, leaving Kirk in only his undershirt and briefs.

The young man began to shiver harder, giant goosebumps stippling his arms and legs.

"Almost done," Leonard said, and squatted to deal with the kid's boots.

They were a great deal easier to remove, having retained their integrity despite the conditions to which they'd recently been subjected. Jim's damp socks followed in short order.

Len rose, cast a critical eye over Jim's remaining clothing, and shook his head. "Your shirt and shorts need to go, too, I'm afraid. They're too wet to leave on you. You'll be warmer without them. Besides, I need to thoroughly look you over." He smiled encouragement. "Just a little longer and you can lay back and rest and get warm."

"Deal," Jim breathed, his pallor even more pronounced.

Despite the assistance of the laser scalpel, it took longer to remove Kirk's soaked t-shirt and briefs than his uniform jacket and pants. The wet material had molded itself to the Jim's body, and Len had to proceed cautiously while moving the scalpel so close to the young man's chilled skin, due to his pronounced shivering.

Finally, the last piece of cloth fell to the floor. "Okay, kid, let's get you on the bio-bed," he said.

"I hate these things," Kirk muttered under his breath. "You can't hide anything from them."

Leonard raised an eyebrow, startled. "Considering you're naked as a jaybird right now, I wouldn't think there's a lot left to conceal." He gently maneuvered the young man onto the bed and helped him lie back, covering him with the sheet and blanket folded at the end of the bed.

The monitor sprang to life. And immediately began chirping with multiple alarms.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, his scraped and bloodstained fingers clenching on the blanket. He grimaced and relaxed his grip.

Leonard swiftly scanned the display. "Your blood pressure is low and your heartrate is elevated. Nothing significant, so try not to worry. Not surprising, really, given the circumstances. Basically, you've dumped a shitload of adrenaline into your system and now your body is paying the price."

Leonard tapped on the control panel to heat the surface of the bio-bed fifteen degrees, then keyed in the commands to begin the standard set of body scans.

"Your body temp is low, too. Also not surprising, considering how long you sat around in wet clothes." He really was going to have to give Yang a warning about ignoring safe patient care.

"I just need to go home and go to bed. I'll be better in the morning." The firm words issued from blue-tinged lips, significantly undermining their credibility.

"Still singing that song?"

"I'm tougher than I look, Bones. I've been through worse."

Now that was interesting, especially considering the lack of information in his medical record. "Really? Like what?"

Kirk started to shrug and stifled the movement, like he had with his hands a moment ago. "Can you just finish doing your doctor thing? I really want to get out of here. Hospitals give me the creeps."

Leonard pushed all the tantalizing inferences in Jim Kirk's words aside momentarily. There'd be plenty of time to dig further, once his patient was more comfortable.

"I increased the bed temperature, so you should feel warmer soon. While that's happening, let's get the formalities out of the way." McCoy tapped on the PADD, bringing up the appropriate screen. "Is Dr. Yang correct? You want me to act as your Starfleet Doctor of Record?"

Kirk bit his lip. "Can't you just… you know… be my doctor for tonight?"

"I can," Leonard replied calmly. "But you're going to need to designate someone, and soon."

"Why? I told you I'll be fine." Kirk's jaw was set.

"Yeah, so you keep sayin'. But here's the deal. Starfleet is going to insist you have a designated physician. It's no skin off my ass who you select. I can recommend several doctors who are quite competent in the Internal Medicine Department. But you won't get an appointment with one of them right away, and you're going to need someone to check you over and sign you off the limited duty status I'm going to place you on for at least the next forty-eight hours. And I've already seen you naked, if that matters to you. Plus, I'm here and ready to proceed."

"Is limited duty really necessary? I'll be—"

"—fine. I heard you the first time. And you probably will be. But," he held up a cautioning hand as Kirk started to speak, "you don't have M.D. after your name, so no one in Starfleet Administration is going to accept your opinion." Leonard gave the man a curious look. "I'm surprised they haven't been breathing down your neck from the day you arrived, demanding that you select someone, given the skeletal nature of your medical records. They did with me."

"They have been. But I got Pike to order them to back off until the probationary period was over. I was too busy with challenge exams and classes to waste time on a visit to some doctor."

Kirk made the word 'doctor' sound like a curse word. Leonard's eyebrow canted upward. "Wow, you really don't like the medical profession, do you?"

A slight flush painted Kirk's cheekbones. "Sorry, Bones. That was rude."

"Apology accepted. So, what's your decision?"

"Do I really need to be on limited duty?"

"If your scans don't confirm a concussion, I'll eat my tricorder. Concussion means limited duty for at least forty-eight hours. Unless you want me to just admit you for the next two days?"

"No, no way!" Jim said vehemently.

"All right. So….?"

Kirk sighed. "Fine," he said, making it sound anything but. "Just hurry up, okay? I want to get it over and done with, so I can go back to my room and go to bed."

Leonard's eyebrow twitched again. "What do you think I'm doing right now, for crying out loud?"

Kirk winced at his raised voice.

"Are you grumpy like this all the time? Or just when you're hungry?"

"I'm a trauma surgeon, not Miss Congeniality. You want someone like that, you're barkin' up the wrong tree."

"Yeah, I can see – and hear – that." Kirk gave him a measured look from beneath the bandage, his eyes tired. "But you can do it? Be my doctor?"

Leonard rolled his eyes and snorted. "In my sleep. I thought you were supposed to be smart?"

"I am. I just meant… Starfleet will allow you to be my doctor? Even though you're a surgeon?"

"Yes, if I agree to your request, which I'm willing to do. Just this once."

"Okay, Bones, show me where I sign."

A few signatures, the entry of the proper identification codes, and Leonard McCoy found himself officially responsible for James T. Kirk's future medical needs.

Years later, he would remember the moment and wonder what his life might have been like if he, or Jim, had made a different decision.

He laid the PADD aside and disinfected his hands beneath the sonic sterilizer. "This shouldn't take long. Let me know if anything I do causes you any pain or discomfort."

"I told you, I'm tough. Don't worry."

Leonard sighed. "It's not a contest, you idiot. I'm gathering data on your injuries, not on your tolerance for pain."

"Won't the bio-bed scans tell you all that?"

"Just shut up and let me do things my way."

Kirk sighed and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted. "Whatever you say, Bones."

Leonard called up the scan results, displaying them on the bio-screen above Jim's head for easier viewing. The body schematic on the bio-screen was programmed to pulse softly with light at each injury location. Jim's schematic was lit up like a Christmas tree.

A concussion, which, based on Kirk's symptoms, was a Grade 3. No skull fracture found.

Multiple contusions.

Multiple lacerations, all minor except for a deeper laceration on the forehead, 6.82 centimeters in length, through the dermal layers to the muscle beneath.

Both dermal and deep tissue regenerator treatments were going to be necessary, Leonard noted. He continued to absorb the data displayed on the bio-screen.

Jim's real-time vital signs were displayed visually, with most of the indicators glowing green.

Green was good; green meant normal.

Yellow warning indicators equaled caution, signaling the need for close monitoring, with possible intervention required.

An orange indicator meant 'get your ass in gear and do something now' or there would be an inexorable downward slide toward a situation you did not want to transpire.

Leonard thought the old Earth stories had it wrong.

In Leonard's world, Death did not appear in black robes; he wore ones the color of blood.

If the warning indicators on a patient's bio-screen went red, it meant Death had entered the room and was standing at the bedside, his scythe at the ready.

The Grim Reaper was a difficult adversary to defeat. As a trauma surgeon, Leonard knew that from bitter experience.

But he always willingly took up the fight. And, sometimes, red could be forced back to orange, or even yellow.

Fortunately, Jim Kirk was not even close to being in that kind of trouble. His injuries, while painful, were not, at the moment, life-threatening, and could be easily treated.

All the young man's indicators were a steady green except for two warnings which were a pulsing yellow.

Jim's pulse was 102, just barely outside normal upper parameters. Although, since he was seeing Jim for the first time under abnormal circumstances, he had no idea what the young man's resting heartrate was normally. 102 could mean anything from a mild elevation of his normal pulse to something more significant.

And his body temperature was currently 94.2 degrees, likely the result of the sitting around in the chilly room in wet clothing. Even as he watched, however, it ticked up to two tenths of a degree. The heated bio-bed was doing its job.

It was time to take a closer look at Jim.