Leonard McCoy scowled. "I'm running late enough as it is." He barked at the nurse. "My wife is gonna kill me."
"I know." She said shortly. It had been a long day, and she was probably just as tired as he was. "But they insisted on seeing you. They asked for you by name."
McCoy fought back a curse. It wasn't the nurse's fault. "Did they say what the problem was?" He asked.
The nurse's lips pressed together to form a thin line. "They said it was hard to explain, and when I suggested they do their best they said it was embarrassing and that they needed to see you."
McCoy groaned. "All right. I'll take care of it." He grumbled about idiot teenagers as he walked down the hall to the exam room.
Two boys were waiting inside. The first, at a second glance, looked to actually be around twenty; the other was several years younger. The teen, pale and distraught, shot the older man a glare as McCoy entered.
"Well, what seems to be the problem?" McCoy asked.
The older man smiled reassuringly. "He's okay." He said, jerking a thumb towards the boy.
McCoy hesitated. "Then are you-"
"I'm fine." Another smile, though there was worry behind it.
McCoy scowled. "Then why are you here, wasting my time? I was told I had a patient, and all I find are two-"
"There is a patient." The teen burst out in the thickest accent McCoy had ever heard. The older man shot the boy a reproving glance; the kid ducked his head uncomfortably.
"We do have a patient." The older of the two said. "But he's not here."
McCoy glared at the young man. "Then where is he? Why didn't you-"
"We couldn't bring him here." The young man explained. "We were hoping you would come back with us."
McCoy hesitated. Something told him this wasn't a good idea. These two strangers watched him, waiting for his response. Urgency burned in the weary eyes of the teen.
Even if there were not another patient waiting for him, this teenager was not as 'okay' as the other man claimed. But if there were someone in need of help…
McCoy sighed. "All right." He submitted. "Let's go."
McCoy reassembled on a transporter pad. He swore as he stumbled and nearly fell. "What are you trying to do, kill me?" He demanded as the young man steadied him.
"We don't have time for this." A dark haired, older man leaned heavily on the transporter controls. "He is dying."
This man looked to be dying himself, McCoy thought he watched the man straighten up. He was pale, with dark circles under dull, pain filled brown eyes. He seemed to start moving only with great difficulty, as if he were utterly and completely exhausted.
McCoy's fingers itched to run a mediscanner over the man as he led them from the transporter room.
The four walked in silence through the corridors. It made McCoy nervous, as if he were on his way to his own funeral. He eyed the teenager beside him. He too seemed to be in somewhat less than perfect condition.
He walked somewhat stiffly, and around the few places where his shirt was ripped McCoy thought he could see bloodstains.
The kid caught McCoy looking at him. He tried to smile reassuringly. The kid returned the smile; he actually seemed relieved.
Trying to be friendly, McCoy leaned closer to talk. "So, what'd you say your name was?"
"No names, Doctor." The older man called back.
The kid shrugged apologetically. "He's not allowed to talk, either." The younger man added. "It could give away too much." McCoy didn't have a clue what that was supposed to mean, but figured that the kid's accent, as little as he had heard of it, would be pretty hard to miss.
Oh well. "Can I still talk to him?" McCoy asked sarcastically.
The younger man shrugged. "Sure, I guess."
McCoy turned back to the kid. "You okay, son?" He asked. The kid merely shrugged him off.
They had reached what must have been the medical section of wherever they were. McCoy found the injured man with little difficulty. He promptly forgot all the gripes and complaints that had been running through his mind.
Pavel yawned, and let himself close his eyes for just a minute. He was sore, and stiff, and confused. He had no idea what was going on. He didn't know what those people below had wanted with him, and almost no idea of who any of these people were. All he knew was that Hikaru was here, and had said that it was okay, and that they were on a secret mission for Starfleet. He also knew that Hikaru Sulu was not a liar.
He had not had time to get to know the man well at the Academy, but he had seen that honor was something that Hikaru took very seriously, and Hikaru had been one of the few cadets at the Academy that Pavel had felt he might actually be able to trust.
Pavel. Wake up." Pavel started as Hikaru sat down beside him.
"Sorry." Pavel yawned again, realizing that he had dozed off. "How is he?"
"The Captain's going to make it." Pavel wondered if the man were indeed a captain. "Are you?" Hikaru looked concerned.
"Tired only." Pavel waved him off irritably. He didn't want to think about being back there, or what those Cossacks had been going to do to him. "They rescue you also?" He asked. He was tired. It was so hard to speak English properly when he was tired.
Hikaru shook his head. "I was going to fail my final. They said if I helped them I wouldn't flunk out of Starfleet." He shook his head. "It makes me feel like a complete idiot. I've been studying my butt off all semester, and I still don't have a clue how to do this crap."
Pavel was quiet for a minute, thinking. "Vhat class?" He asked. Hikaru sighed.
"Projective geometry." He admitted. Pavel perked up. "I just don't get it."
Pavel offered a tired smile. "Projective geometry is easy." Hikaru scoffed. "Nyet, it is. Listen…"
McCoy glared at the older man. "You're hurt. Your Captain is in stable condition. I can help you if you just-"
The older man waved him off as he leaned against the wall. "Thank you, Doctor, but there is nothing you can do.
McCoy fought back a wave of helplessness. "I'm trying to help you, man. You're injured-"
"I'm dead." The man corrected wearily. "I have been for a long time. There is nothing you can do to change that." He hesitated. "The boy was hurt, I believe. You may be able to help him."
"So you're just going to keep going until you collapse, is that it?" McCoy demanded angrily.
"Yes. When that happens, you can do what you want with me."
"I'll hold you to that." McCoy grumbled. Neither the Vulcan nor the other alien would let him do anything for them either.
Kirk awakened to find himself staring in to the face of a young Leonard McCoy. "Hi." He said, not entirely sure what else to say. He had had such a strange dream. Kirk frowned. Had it been a dream?
"Oh good, you're alive." McCoy greeted him. "Are you going to tell me you don't need a doctor either? Don't sit up." He eased Kirk back down. "Somebody stabbed you, so take it easy."
It wasn't a dream, then. "How did you get here?" Kirk asked. McCoy scowled.
"Two idiot boys beamed me up here so you wouldn't die."
Then Pavel and Hikaru were both alive. Kirk's mind flashed back to Sulu, blade through his throat, and Chekov taking a disruptor blast to the chest.
"Your Vulcan and his friend are refusing to let me near them." McCoy continued. "Your menacing bodyguard is on the verge of collapse." That had to be Chekov. He didn't have much longer, then. But what about Sulu? "There was another man," McCoy went on, gently now, "took a knife in the throat." He shook his head. "Guy never had a chance."
Kirk swallowed a lump in his throat. His Sulu or not, the thought of him dead, and the memory of the look of resignation in his eyes as he realized it, hurt more than he would have expected.
Kirk sighed. This was a nightmare. A complete wreck.
Chekov returned then, and had to grab onto the doorframe as he stumbled. He was white as a ghost, and didn't even try to resist as McCoy braced him and let him to the bed next to Kirk's.
"They have to be able to get back." Chekov finally managed to protest as he fell back into the bed.
McCoy glared at him. "I'm a doctor, not an engineer. I can't work those cursed transporter beams."
"What?" Kirk demanded. What was going on?
"Those two idiots went off to 'rescue' someone else." McCoy complained. "They think they're super heroes, saving the galaxy." Kirk didn't bother explaining that that was exactly what they were trying to do. He hoped they were up for it, as there weren't many other options currently available.
"Who are they trying to rescue?" He asked.
It was Chekov who answered. "You."
Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me.