Everybody who is interested can read up an account of the so-called Narada Incident in Starfleet's archives or in any of the half-dozen scientific papers and dissertations that have been written on this topic so far.
My part in it was actually pretty small. I could not prevent Jim or Spock from pulling of those stupidly reckless stunts that saved us all, nor could I do much to assist them. I treated the wounded as best as I could, and when they brought me Christopher Pike's tortured, broken body, I treated him, too.
I suppose I was deeply in shock by then. I shed no tears, I did not cried out, I did not despair. I went through the motions carefully, mechanically. I think it is safe to say that I felt nothing when I killed the Centaurian Slug that had been in the process of killing the man I loved.
I did not witness the actual end of Nero and his ship, but Jim told me about it and I later watched a recording of the events. It did not provide me with the satisfaction I had hoped for. I felt relieved to see the threat destroyed for good, but there was no joy to it. And whenever I returned to sickbay and looked down at Chris, I felt a sudden, helpless rage and the conviction that Nero had died a very quick death indeed.

I was called to the bridge shortly after the destruction of the Narada, called by Jim who wanted a status update on Captain Pike and my other patients and the overall situation in sickbay. We had taken some damage in the bombardment and had to make do with cramped compartments. After Dr. Puri's death, we were also one doctor short. I felt annoyed at Jim, since I could have easily given him that update via intercom. When I got to the bridge, I quickly realized that it had only been the ostensible reason for his request.
Jim sat slumped in the captain's chair, looking more exhausted than a human being should without dropping dead to the floor the next moment. The skin of his face looked sallow, his eyes were lined with deep, violet shadows and I noticed that his hands were trembling slightly.
"Bones," he said wearily, attempting to smile, but that smile was only a shadow of the one I knew. "Thanks for coming."
"You look horrible," I told him bluntly.
He didn't even try to deny it, which was certainly a bad sign. "You, too."
I was tempted to say well, I feel pretty damn horrible, too but instead I said: "I'm serious, Jim. You need to get out of that chair, take a shower, get your injuries treated and go to bed. Where's Spock, by the way?"
"I sent him away. He needed to get some rest and talk to his father."
"Good thinking. And now I will do the same for you."
He shook his head. "I need to stay here. Technically, I'm the captain now, and I have to…"
"You're no use to anyone if you drop dead with exhaustion," I interrupted him. "They don't need you to steer the ship, or to navigate, and your engineering skills suck, so they don't need you there either."
"But…"
"Bed, Jim," I insisted. "Now."
To my surprise, he got up groggily. Maybe he was too tired to argue, or maybe his encounter with death, destruction and mass murder had suddenly turned him into a reasonable adult. I rather doubted the latter, though. I followed him off the bridge, just to make sure he wasn't trying to trick me. When we reached the elevator, he suddenly stopped.
"What is it?" I asked wearily. "You are not going back; don't even think about it."
Jim looked at me sheepishly. "There's a little problem," he confessed, "since I was not originally supposed to be on this mission, I have not been assigned a cabin, and therefore, I don't really know where to go…" He shrugged apologetically.
I rolled my eyes. "Really, Jim, on a ship this size we ought to be able to find you a bed."
"We've taken some serious damage," he reminded me. "Several compartments had to be sealed off. Besides, we have guests aboard. Don't forget the Vulcan survivors."
I really had forgotten them for a moment or two.
"Okay, then. Since you are acting captain, we'll put you in Pike's quarters. He isn't using them at the moment, and I don't think he'd mind."
Jim shook his head. "No. I already had those quarters assigned to Sarek. He's the Vulcan ambassador to the Federation, after all."
"Well… what's left of Vulcan, anyway," I replied darkly. Then I shook my head, sighing. "Alright, Jim. You can come with me." It seemed the simplest solution. I did not tell him that I really needed the company right now, but I think he understood, and he accepted gracefully. And maybe, he, too needed a shoulder to cry on.
"Stay," he pleaded in a sleepy voice when I had tucked him in like a small child. He pulled me down beside him and I was too weary to object. We went to sleep in each other's arms. They would call us heroes later, but in that hour, we were miserable creatures; frightened, exhausted and hurt.

Jim and I woke up the next morning, and the one after that. Chris Pike didn't. He was still on life support, terribly weak and barely breathing, and a constant reminder to the fact that miracles usually come at too high a prize. I had been intimately acquainted with his body for years, and now as his physician, I was intimately acquainted with every injury Nero had inflicted upon him.
From a medical point of view it was rather surprising that he had survived the treatment at all. There was extensive damage to his brain and central nerve system, and all I could do about that for the moment was to stabilize him and to try and keep him alive with what limited resources I had. I was no neurosurgeon and I knew that Chris would need highly trained specialists, if there was to even be a slim chance that he would ever open his eyes, talk and walk again.
I felt helpless. I was desperate to save him, but knew that it was not in my power to do so.
During the first few days it wasn't so bad, since there were plenty of other patients to keep me busy. Sickbay had to be reorganized, the damage we had taken had to be assessed and dealt with, and there were a great many people who needed comfort and a few kind words more than I did. I dealt with broken bones, bruised souls and wounds of all kind; and I knew that many of them would need years in order to heal.
But when things gradually began to calm down, I was left with more time on my hands, time I spent sitting by Chris' bedside, looking at him, feeling powerless, hopeless, desperate. My heart was filled with regrets.
I regretted not having acknowledged my own feelings and acted upon them much sooner. I regretted never having told him, and I regretted never having heard him tell me. Maybe I had not listened closely enough.
And now…? Too late.
Better late than never, they say.
Well, not in this case.
"I love you," I told him, whispering. But the words were empty shells.

Admiral Jonathan Archer caught up with us four days after the Narada had been sucked back into the black hole it had come from. He had to have raced towards us at top speed from the Laurentian System without allowing his crew to catch their breath, but in any case, he made it before anybody else and that seemed important to him. Archer had always been something of an over-achiever, but right now, he had a mission, too. Put in the simplest terms, that mission could be described as restoring order and finding out what the hell had happened.
We gave him the facts and figures, and in return he asked for our heads. He did so very politely, to be sure, but I had the distinct feeling that he would see to it that Jim's and Spock's careers ended before they had properly started and that he would have Chris court-martialed if he ever woke up from his coma. And as for me – well, let's just say that Jonathan Archer had a way of letting you know how he felt about you without saying so outright. As he stood beside me, gazing down at Chris' still face, I felt tangible waves of anger and disappointment washing over me.
"This is so wrong," Archer finally said. "Chris Pike confined to a bed in sickbay, lost in a coma? I always thought the man was indestructible, nothing ever got to him."
I couldn't have agreed more, but I did not see how stating the obvious would help us resolve the problem.
"If anything, I'd have been willing to bet that he'd go down fighting to his last breath," Archer continued, shaking his head.
I felt my throat constrict at that. "I thought so, too, but they never gave him a chance to fight," I muttered. "He… I still don't know precisely what happened on that Romulan ship, but what I know is that they tortured him."
Archer raised his head abruptly, his stern eyes searching mine. "Did he talk?" He asked sharply.
Suddenly, I felt angry. Did it matter? Chris was dying, and all Archer seemed concerned about was whether or not he might have given away any of Starfleet's precious secrets. Which was his job as a Starfleet admiral, but there and then it seemed heartless and cruel to me.
"I have no idea. Why don't you ask him?" I snapped.
Archer stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing, stern face unreadable, then he sighed. "I wish I could," he said, sounding resigned. "There are a great many things I'd dearly like to ask him. But I fear I will never get those answers now."
"He's not dead yet," I replied stubbornly.
Archer's eyes sought out my face again. "You're his doctor," he said. "You should know best – how much of a chance is there that he'll wake up and talk to us anytime soon?"
"If I can keep him alive until we get him to Starfleet Medical, there's a chance that he'll make it. But there's no telling how much of the neurological damage is reversible. We may get Christopher Pike back – but he may not be the person he was before."
"Will he remember?"
"There's no way to tell." I lightly put a hand on Chris' shoulder, an almost unconscious gesture, but I'm sure Archer noticed it. "Actually, I hope for his sake that he doesn't."
"I believe I don't have to tell you that I feel differently about that," Archer said. "For Starfleet's sake. He is a Starfleet officer, first and foremost. He must remember, because that information could be critical."
"He's also a human being," I replied, unable to hide my feelings any longer, "and he literally gave Starfleet everything. What more can you ask? What more can you ask of any of us?"
Archer was silent for a moment, and I was unable to tell what was going on behind the expressionless façade of his aged face.
"Doctor, why do I get the feeling that this is personal to you? I meant no offense, but I'm a bit surprised at your reaction. Surely Pike isn't the first of your patients you could not save, is he?"
I silently shook my head.
"Will you tell me what is bothering you?" Archer asked, his voice suddenly kinder than before.
"Will you promise me that it doesn't leave this room?" I asked in return.
He raised his eyebrows. "Now I'm curious. But we both know that I am obliged to report anything that might be relevant to Starfleet. Unless, of course, it were to slip my mind… I am an old man after all, and a little forgetful at times…" There was a sly gleam in his eyes.
I smiled a tiny, humorless smile. "How did you get to be a Starfleet Admiral?"
"I saved our pretty blue planet a couple of times. Afterwards, they didn't know what to do with me. Spit it out, McCoy. I won't tattle. Chris is more to me than just a fellow officer. I taught him to fly."
I hadn't known that. "Christopher Pike was my lover as well as my captain," I said. The admission hurt more than I had anticipated.
Archer's eyes widened slightly. "Oh. Well, that's not what I expected." He looked down at Pike, then back at me, shaking his head. "One more thing that's wrong with this picture. I've known Pike for more than twenty years. I knew that he would be missed and that his loss would be mourned by many. He's a damn fine officer, after all. But I never thought he'd leave somebody behind who'd grief for him."
I'm glad that Admiral Archer never learned how close I was to tears in that moment. He just patted my shoulder and left, leaving me alone with my fears, and my anger, and the dying man whose hand I held.

"Do we already know how long it'll take us back to Earth?" I asked Jim that night. He was lying belly-down on my bed, studying something on a data padd.
"Jim?" I asked again, because he didn't seem to be listening. His head jerked up. "What? Oh... how long. Right. Well, Archer's chief engineer estimates about ten days at present speed, but Mr. Scott is convinced that he can make it sooner. I listen to them argue about it for about an hour, then I decided to go and find something more productive to do."
"How are you getting along with Admiral Archer?" I asked, careful not to let my own apprehension show.
Jim shrugged. "He ignores me, for the most part. He made it pretty clear, that to him, Pike is still the captain of this ship and Spock is its first officer. Well, he got the last part right. But he has known Spock for a few years, at least by reputation, and he seems to trust Pike's judgment. He made Spock first officer in the first place. Though it might have been from lack of other suitable candidates."
"If he trusts Pike's judgment, he should trust you, too," I replied. "He made you first officer."
"Again - lack of other candidates."
"Oh? He had a ship full of cadets. Why choose you? Why not Uhura or Sulu?"
Jim rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. He looked weary. "Why not you?" He asked, shaking his head. "No idea."
"Well, I think we both know why he didn't choose me. He knows fairly well how I feel about mixing our private and professional lives. Besides, I'm not a natural leader. I could never have made the choices you and Spock made, but those choices had to be made, and Chris probably knew that it would come to that."
"Maybe." Jim looked thoughtful. "I guess we should ask him once he wakes up. Actually, there are a lot of things I want to ask him."
"You had better get in line, then," I muttered. "If he wakes up..."
Jim sat up and put a hand on my shoulder. "Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to... ah, hell, this is so messed up. How are you coping?"
I shrugged. "By watching him breathe and reminding myself to do the same as long as he does."
"Bones..." Jim put an arm around my shoulder. "We'll get through this. Somehow, we will. We didn't survive Nero and all of his atrocities to be defeated now, on our way home."
I had no reply to that, but I admired his forced optimism. Maybe Archer was unable to see it, but Jim had grown a lot during those last few days, and he really was captain material. Chris had chosen wisely, after all.
"How's Spock?" I asked, steering the conversation away from my own feelings.
"Coping. Pretty much doing the same thing you are, reminding himself to breathe. He grieves, and it's easy to see that he'll never stop grieving. But he's very strong. Must run in the family. From what I've seen and heard of his parents, they are the same. Or were, in Amanda's case."
"Is Nyota able to help him a bit? I got the feeling he truly cares for her."
Jim nodded. "Weird, isn't it? I never thought... anyway, it doesn't matter now. Yeah, I think she's doing her best to show him that he has a future to live for. And with an incentive like that..." He grinned.
I shook my head. "You aren't envious, are you?"
"Truthfully? Yeah, I am, a bit. She's amazing. But then on the other hand, I couldn't concentrate on a relationship with anyone right now. There's too much on my mind. Getting all of us home, what happens then, everything that has happened..."
I nodded. I understood. "What do you think will happen, when we get home?"
"There's going to be an inquest. Archer said as much. Some of us might even stand trial."
"Some of us? You mean you and Spock."
"Well, I won't accuse him of anything, and I'm pretty sure he'll return the favor, but it'll be kind of hard to hide the fact that he marooned me on an ice planet and lost his countenance on the bridge. Just as it'll be difficult to hide that fact that I got smuggled aboard, staged a mutiny and usurped the captain's chair."
"I smuggled you aboard. It wasn't your idea."
"Then maybe you get to stand alongside Spock an me." Jim sighed. "Pike, too, I'm afraid."
"What? Why? He didn't do anything wrong, did he?"
"It doesn't take much guessing to determine that it was he who gave Nero the codes."
I held my breath, clenching my fists, then let it out in a shuddering gasp. No. It was wrong, simply wrong. "He was tortured. Almost to the point of death, and there's a pretty good chance he'll never recover from the experience."
Jim shook his head, looking a defeated and angry as I felt. "Doesn't matter. Starfleet is a military organization. Voluntary or not, Pike did commit treason."
"Jesus. That's just so wrong."
"I promise you, I'll do my best to exonerate him, Bones. Because I know he'd do the same for me."
"He would."