A/N: Ok, first off, I'd like to apologize for the extremely long wait. I know that this chapter is long overdue (if you check on my profile, you'll see that I posted an "update" a really long time ago promising to have this done by the end of the week, and I also promised at the end of the last chapter to have it done in less that 2 weeks, but obviously that didn't happen), but life just got in the way. My grandpa recently passed away, and it's been a hard time, especially for my mom, and I've been busy helping her get his house cleaned out (we're renting it out to some people we know). So long story short, I am just now getting around to writing/posting this chapter and am very grateful to be back and have writing as an emotional outlet. The next chapter also ties into this one, so I should hopefully also have it up very soon. Also, you may want to go back and re-read the last two chapters, at least the first one, because I re-wrote some parts to include new details about the outcome of Zoellner's previous mission that are mentioned in this chapter.

Also, you may have noticed I've changed my penname from Leanne Was Here to ImaRocketDog. Yes, I am still the same author, this is just a change to match my usernames on other sites.

Just really quickly I'd also like to send a big thank-you to Lifeclaw, Sasha-Brooklyn-Eleanor-Freaket, viola20, Faded Feathers, and silver11 for subscribing to this story, writestyle and Sensara for leaving a review, and Sensara for favoriting. Thanks so much for being so patient in waiting for this chapter to happen, this one's for you! Now, without further ado, ON TO CHAPTER THREE!

(Oh, and if anyone is up for a challenge, see if yinz guys can spot the Pittsburghese phrase in this chapter!)

Chapter Three: A Rocky Start

The few months between the part in June and the Launch Date for the Enterprise's mission in mid August was hardly more than a blur of activity. For me, each day was hardly different that those of every other doctor currently dirtside at Starfleet Headquarters: my time was mostly spent cover shifts at the Training Hospital and little else. It was in these months before that mission that I could really see just how understaffed Starfleet Medical really was back then; most doctors and nurses were either overworked or were operating at maximum efficiency, and I'm pretty sure that in the span of about two months alone I had logged more on-call hours and performed or assisted with more surgeries than I had in my two previous years of service. Had I had more time to be excited for the mission, I probably would have, but, well, I just didn't.

That all began to change in the last month or so before the mission. Since officially accepting my new post as his AMCO, Dr. McCoy and I had been having lunch together in the hospital cafeteria almost every day, essentially the only significant change to my typical dirtside daily schedule (besides the increased workload, of course). It was a great opportunity to get to know each other better, and I'm sure even more so had the conversation been less "strictly business." Oh sure, we might've shared a few jokes and the barest minimum of small talk, but as it was most of our lunch break was spent discussing staffing, supplies, and recent changes in sickbay protocol.

It didn't take long for the mutual grumbling over such matters to begin. Example: the first quarterly physicals of the mission were to be done over the first two weeks of September, despite the fact that the mission didn't even start a month before that and all crew members were required to submit to a physical prior to the start of the mission anyway. There was really no point to scheduling the September physicals, and the only point seemed to be to make sure that the medical staff got used to protocol early on (That, and infuriate those of us involved. Try performing physicals on a crew of 400+ when you're barely even acclimated to the ship yet and then we'll talk.).

But the biggest issue, without a doubt, was that of our new medical staff. Of course, all appointed medical staff had to be approved by us (and by that I meant McCoy; the CMO is really the one who has the final say in any matter), but that didn't mean that we still had much of a choice in the matter. Some, like Head Nurse Christine Chapel, were ship mainstays that McCoy had worked with before, but most others had been personally selected for the mission by some of the higher-ups in the Starfleet Med hierarchy.

Other still were replacements for first choices who were… unavailable. Psychiatrist Dr. Helen Noel was an example of this. "Oh, Christ," I heard McCoy mutter as he stared wide-eyed at a PADD one day, "Zoellner, you're not gonna believe this, but Tabor just died."

I looked up from my salad, startled. "My God, really?" Dr. Sam Tabor had been getting on a bit in years, but he was one of the most trusted psychiatrists in the Fleet; we had been lucky to have gotten him to sign aboard.

"Yeah, just had a heart attack and keeled over right in the middle of a lecture this morning. It's all over the Fleet news feed; you probably got something, too."

I checked my own PADD and sure enough, there was a new message waiting for me. I shook my head in disbelief. "You'd think someone would have the decency to tell us sooner. Who's gonna replace him?" No sooner had I said it than I heard a chime and found my answer waiting for me in the form of another message. I read it and silently imitated the exasperated noises McCoy made in response to it.

" Dr. Carlton Conroy, from Starbase 12, who apparently won't be joining us right away 'cause we've got to pick him up there first. Oh look, he's even got an associate, too; a Dr. Helen Noel, recent graduate of the Academy, specializing in rehabilitative therapy," he paraphrased from the message. I frowned and cursed under my breath; as if we were going to have a high demand for a relatively untested doctor specializing in criminal rehabilitation. Noel, at the very least, wouldn't be joining us until December, so I supposed we would have some time to see whether or not any crewmember was in need of her particular type of services.

Anyway, things started to fall into place in the last few weeks before the mission. The medical staff roster was finalized, as were those of most of the other departments on the Enterprise. A week or so before departure, McCoy and I shuttled up to the ship in spacedock to inspect the sickbay, and I officially came aboard what was to be my home for the next five years for the first time. Of course, all of us were required to submit to the mandatory crew physicals, which gave me a chance to say good-bye to Paul before I left.

Some would've have thought it was strange—with a lot of sexual implications—that Paul was one of few male doctors I was almost invariably assigned to for such mandatory physicals, and voluntarily went to. But it was nothing like that at all; Paul and I had known each other since college, when a friend of mine attempted to set me up with some guy she knew. It turned out to be Paul, and even though the two of us never ended up in a relationship, we became close friends. Moreover, he and I were part of the team working on That One Project while we were cadets, and he was my doctor when I ended up in the hospital as a patient because of it… but that's another story.

"Well, I can't really say it'll be strange not seeing you around, Nic" he joked as he helped me up from the examination table, "since I barely see you any more to begin with. Bet you'e glad to be getting out of this hellhole for awhile though, huh? The way they're workin' surgeons half to death these days at HQ..."

I laughed at that. "You kiddin'me? Five-year exploratory mission on a Constitution-class ship, and you think I'll be resting easy with my ass in a comfy desk chair all day and a glass of champange?" I could hear Paul chuckling softly as I closed teh curtains around me to take off the hospital gown and change back into my uniform.

"Sure as hell sounds good, though. Should be fun... for you anyway. A fresh start." He hesitated; I knew exactly what he was talking about, and I paused in the middle of puting my boots on before he continued in a more serious tone, "Well... it certainly does prove you're ready for a new challenge, more responsibility. I mean, Captain Huxley thought you were ready, which is why you're a full lieutentant, and Dr. Edbardiar must have thought you were ready, too... I guess you could say this is the real begining of your Starfleet career..."

He stoped suddenly when I pulled back the curtain, looking at my friend with as much annoyance as I could muster. I didn't want to have to think too much about my last mission if I could help it, even if it was the reason I got promoted and deemed worthy of handling the responsibilities of an ACMO.

Paul gave me an apologetic look. "You're starting to sound like my father," I told him. More like my mother, actually. We both smiled, and I hugged him, feeling that tiny twinge of regret I felt every now and then about leaving on this mission.

"See ya around, Nic. Try not to forget us poor bastards here on Earth," he said as I was leaving. I smiled at him one more time.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to do exactly that."

And so a little over a week later, I found myself finally at my own desk, in the office aboard the Enterprise I shared with my new CMO, Dr. McCoy.

Doing paperwork.

I yawned for the upteenth time and cast a glance over at McCoy, who was scribbling on a PADD with a semi-scowl plastered on his face, and began to wonder if semi-scowling was his defult facial expression. Not that I could blame him for his look of discust; three days since leaving Earth, and we were still busy checking, recechecking, and correcting the sickbay and pharmacy inventories and all of the crew's medical records. All of this information was of course already in the ship's databank, but it was still necessary for it to be re-entered manually by the ship's medical team-by which I actually mean, the two of us-for precautionary reasons.

But the necessity of the situation didn't prevent me from still hating it. As if being three days with a virtual-literally-mountain of forms left to look over, wasn't bad enough, I still had unpacking left to do in my cabin, a sickbay staff to get aquainted with, September physicals to prepare for, and through it all, McCoy and I had hardly spoken since a week before the mision. Enough was enough; the CMO and his ACMO had to communicate sometime, and I was far to fed up with the slow start to our working relationship to let it wait till the end of the current workload or the begining of physicals (whichever came first). I set down my stylus and opened my mouth to speak, but McCoy was already looking up at me, half-expectant, half-annoyed, as if the sound of my stylus hitting the desk had finally alerted him to the presence of anothe rperson in the room.

"What it, it, Zoellner?" he asked, "I'm sure you've noticed I'm a little busy..."

"Really? So was I, but it can wait. You need a break as much as I do; your hand's probably so cramped around that stylus you're probably giving yourself carpal tunnel as we speak."

He sighed, but let go of the stylus and rubbed the wrist of his writing hand gingerly. "Well, guess I could use a break. Can't see what there's to talk about, though, not a damned thing's happened to far."

I smirked a bit at that. "Knock on wood," I said.

"What?" he gave me a blank look.

"Oh, you know, it's an expression... you said nothing's happened so far, which probably means nothing bad, so now you have to knock on something made of wood so you don't jinx yourself... well, anyway, if we really wanted to get to know each other better, then we'd probably be able to talk about anything else..."

He seemed to catch my drift, but didn't know what to do with it. "Well, that's not what I meant... well... just... ok then, what's your favorite color?"

I snorted. "That's the best you can do?" But I had to think about it for a while; I never really had one cosistant favorite color. "Um, purple, I guess. And yours?"

"Hmmm, I'd have to say blue for me."

"Blue? Thought you'd be tire of that by now, uniforms n'at." But I had to admit, blue really was his color. I looked at the objects on his desk, tring to think of something else to ask him. A picture cube near the corner caught my attention; on the side facing me, the picture slowly transitioned from what appeared to be a wedding photo, to one of a slightly younger-looking McCoy and a smiling little girl probably no more than three or four. I was suddenly reminded of the wedding ring I had first seem on his finger months back, and that feeling of curiosity returned, now tinged with a vauge sense of longing, an old feeling I was used to supressing...

"What about your family?" I asked before I even really thought about it. He seemed a bit taken aback by my question, which surprised me.

"What'dyou mean by that?" he asked a bit gruffly.

I blushed, hoping I hadn't upset him somehow. "I mean, I was looking at you pictures ove there, and I couldn't help but notice.. is that your daughter? She's very cute." I stumbled over my words, the look he was giving me making me wish I hadn't brought it up. McCoy sighed heavily, turning back to his work.

"I'm divorced, in case you haven't figured it out yet," he explained coldly without looking up, "My daughter's 16 now. Hardly see her at all; last time was my dad's funeral a few months ago. Don't think I'm being insensitive, but you probably wouldn't understand unless you've been through a divorce like mine."

I sat there staring at him, surprised and more than a bit hurt at the turn our conversation had taken. Sure, I did feel bad for him, but he was right, that last comment really did make him seem insensitive.

"Well, maybe I haven't, but I was engaged before," I said. McCoy paused again and looked up at me, probably not sure how ( or even if) to answer to that.

"'Was?' Oh, it, um, didn't work out for you then?" his voice was soft, sympathetic, but I didn't care much anymore. I didn't much feel like talking to him anymore, either. I got up to leave.

"Guess not, or else he wouldn't have left me. I'm going to get some coffee, want some?" He nodded and mumbled something, but before I heard what it was I was already out the office door and headed to the nearest rec room.

When I got there, I saw only Mr. Scott, the Chief Engineer, attacking the hot beverage replicator with his fist. I smiled, glad to have someone else to talk to.

"Machine eat your dollar, Mr. Scott?" I joked. He laughed, apparently giving up on trying to bully the replicator into submission and instead taking some kind of tool out of his pocket and proceeding to pop off a small panel with it, expossing a mess of wires.

"Aye, but I'll have a nice steaming cup of coffee for ye in a minute, lass," he said, and I had to supress a giggle, which I had seemed to be doing every time we had spoken since meeting. Gotta love that Scottish accent, I thought, absently staring at some trash left on the table while he worked.

It happened so suddenly I had no time to react. I felt the entire ship move around me as I learched forward, my abdomen slamming with unbelievable force into the edge of the bolted-down table. Breathless, I didn't immediately feel any pain, but felt and heard and kind of sickening crunch before landing hard on my back. Only then did the red-alert klaxons start wailing and the lights start flashing. The second hit rocking the ship less violently, so I knew that the shields must be up. I gasped for air, now acutely aware of a shooting pain in my left side every time I tried to take a breath. I ignored it for the time being and somehow managed to sit up, only to nearly fall down again from dizziness.

"Mr. Scott?" I stumbled over to where he lay in front of the replicator, clutching his head and looking disoriented. "Can you stand up? Shit, you're bleeding, here, I'll get you to Sickbay..."

He put his arm around my shoulder just as the floor trembled, not from a hit, but from our own fire; whatever it was that was attacking us, we were now fighting back. I winced and saw spots as he leaned into me, and the pain was making me feel dizzy again. Together we stumbled back down the hall to Sickbay and hurried in.

"I-I got... M-MrScott," I gasped out, hurredly handing off to a nurse before I could collapse. All around me, people were running about, saying something about Klingons, but they all passed by in a blur. Someone asked if I was alright, but I pushed past her. Dimly I heard Nurse Chapel calling to me, telling me to prep for emergency surgery. I clutched my side, the spots coming back and clouding my vision... I was at the sink now, but my hands slipped and couldn't turn the water on... a voice called to me, blue eyes flashed, a hand on my arm... I shook him off, turned away from him, but the world seemed to keep turning even after I had stopped... I couldn't breathe, couldn't shake those damned spots... I coughed, saw something red in my hands as the blue eyes came back... then melted away in a rush of sound and spots and blood and color...

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUN! I know you're all probably on the edge of you seats right now, wondering "WTF, they got attacked by Klingons 3 fucking days into the mission?" But yeah. Also, I was wondering, do any of you think I should make Zoellner's friend Paul gay? I mean, just because they're "just friends" and nothing more doesn't mean he HAS to be gay, but the way he's turning out so far makes me think he's probably gay. He won't be such a major character for a while, but he show up every now and then and probably be pretty important for what I have planned for into the "Good Doctors" future, so it might be kind of important later on if he's gay or not. Please let me know what you think! ~Leanne