"How's your patient doing?" Jim asked the next night. He'd invited the beleaguered doctor for a drink and a sodium-laden meal in his private quarters.
"A confounded, frustrating mystery, wrapped in a boat load of parental concern. Thanks for asking. Is that a bacon cheese burger?"
"You don't doubt it."
"...And fried eggplant?"
"With mac and cheese."
"You're going to kill me, ya know that?"
"Oh a little cholesterol won't kill you, every now and then. The trick is moderation."
"This is a four course meal for six people!"
"With whiskey on top. Here, grab a glass."
"Jim, I can't let myself-"
"You will. And you're going to get some sleep. Uhura is staying up with Robinson for his shift. You are officially off-duty until tomorrow morning. Take a seat and grab a burger. Captain's orders."
McCoy groaned at the first touch of grilled, ground beef on his tongue.
"Did Chef do something with the patties?"
"Mixed provolone right in with the meat while he ground it. Goat cheese and some more provolone, then comes the ketchup, mustard, mayo, onions, mushrooms on top. Can't argue with this little bit of heaven, hm?"
They ate in companionable silence for a while.
"So, any leads on a home planet?" McCoy asked, when he came up for air and a handful of mixed fried veggie slices.
"Scotty's been searching for any warp trails that might give us a lead. Apparently the only ones coming up are old and dissipated. Spock's got several possible systems that show signs of habitable planets, but insists on a methodical search. It'll take a bit more time. Can't argue with the man. I can't help but wonder if he's giving you a little time to get your friend back in better health. That first image was... rather shocking. Last thing we need for first contact is a whole planet to think we were the ones that did that."
"To be accurate, I did. I see your point, though. I'm itching to get some facial reconstruction done. Some more protection to the cranium, eyelids, vocal cords..." McCoy plucked up more of the fried zucchini, dipped the slices in the accompanying sauce and popping one after another in his mouth while he talked. "It'd be nice to have some qualifiable, quantifiable recovery. Why, today we had to amputate what I'd been hoping would be the healthier hand. Clean off, right at the wrist." He drew a line across his own to demonstrate. "Doe hadn't been using that hand at all. We were hoping it was because it was hurting too much, that maybe some nerve clusters were intact, but no. Gangrene. Completely lost. Are you going to eat that?"
"I... erm... no. Please."
McCoy reached over and snatched up Jim's pickle, ignoring the Captain's abandoned burger.
"Wait... did you call it? Doe?"
"As in John Doe. Or Jane Doe, as Uhura keeps suggesting."
"That point sticks in your craw, doesn't it," Jim said. No doubt, wants to avoid the medical talk.
"Of course it does, Jim. It's like everyone keeps assuming that just because what's keeping Doe alive is the need to keep those eggs safe, that makes Doe the mother. How many species in the Federation have more than binary genders? No, don't give me that look. Seven with more than two genders required for reproduction, another thirty, to different degrees, depending on how a doctor defines it. Hell even humans-"
"You're thinking about Joanna, aren't you?"
"Damnit, Jim. Am I that obvious?"
A warm smile answered enough, before he poured them each a couple fingers of good whiskey.
"That damn divorce. The moment I think I've gotten over it, it rears its ugly head right back up again. Do you know she is screening my messages to Jo now? My own daughter! I didn't have this problem when the subspace messages were a couple hours there and back, but with it over a week to get home now, and growing, its not like our usual Thursday night 'chat' can be predicted anymore.
"She asked if I still loved her, in the last message that got to me. Can you imagine how that hurts? ...No, I guess you can't."
Jim shrugged and shook his head. "No, I can't. But I know that, regardless of the bitch back home, you're an amazing doctor. You'll help Doe get back in good shape. I'm sure we'll all be bouncing little hatchlings on our knees and taking turns playing babysitter before we know it."
"I've already lost five of the original twenty-one. Two more in critical condition, that I can see. I've lost a quarter of my patients, Jim. And no idea if I'm going to loose their parent too."
"I'm not quite sure what advice I can offer you, Bones."
"Well that makes two of us." McCoy scooped another large helping of mac and cheese onto his plate. "But... this helps. Thanks, Captain."
"Anytime, Bones, anytime."
Talk switched to more amicable things, gossip from Starfleet, news from the border of the demilitarized zone, Ambassador Selek's monthly call.
"Can't believe I missed this one!" McCoy said with a laugh. "Now that's one Vulcan I can appreciate. You know, last time we passed by New Vulcan, he invited me to the clinic? I thought there was some medical emergency, suggested M'Benga, of course."
"Of course."
"And there he met me at the transporter pad with a bottle of brandy. Pretty as you please. Bow and all. Another couple fingers, by the way, if you don't mind."
Jim supplied each glass with another generous shot.
"Of course I visited the clinic and did the rounds. It does a soul good to see the recovery efforts, of course. Never saw such a scientifically minded diplomat before. And so... warm too. Quite strange. We ended up taking up a table at a tea shop, putting in a good dollup with each cup mind you, and spent several hours discussing some of the most outlandish medical theories I've ever heard. Well, perhaps not too outlandish. Just odd for a Vulcan to think of.
"You know, I know you won't believe this, but the man was smiling. Whole time. And drinking. Couldn't believe it. Well, a hot toddy isn't much of a drink, but for a Vulcan! Now if we could get someone like that to tutor our good science officer. Loosen up some of those stiff buttons. Hey there, easy on that whiskey! No use wastin' it in your lungs!"
McCoy got up to smack his friend smartly in the back to help expel the drink.
"Geeze man. It's like you've never touched the stuff before."
"Sorry Bones," Jim gasped, still coughing and laughing at the same time. "Just the... ah... thought of one of those stuffy Vulcan Ambassadors smiling. Quite the shock."
"You're telling me. You know, when I decided to send out an all-points info request, I even sent one to that Ambassador too. Even though I know he's never seen anything like it. I just get this feeling like... damn, this is going to sound a bit weird. But conversations with that Vulcan are familiar, comfortable. Like I've bounced ideas between those pointy ears for years. Decades."
"So!" Jim emptied the last of the bottle between them. "Have you got any responses back yet?"
"We're out in the middle of nowhere. A couple have had time to get to their respective folks, Jim, but I'm not going to see any messages back for days yet."
"What's the next step?"
"Given another day or two, the last of the radiation will've come ta the surface. I'll know if I have to cut off any more. Once the burns are stable, I can start surgeries to replace tissue, do deep regeneration. Muscle, skin, nerves, that will be easy, really. Organs... a little more difficult. At least not much internal was effected. As long as the brain and the spine are intact, we've got a chance. Perhaps not full recovery, but I'm hopeful.
"The hands..." He sighed. "Well. It will take longer to vat-grow something that complex. A prosthetic might be more practical, for now. I'm hoping we'll be in contact with Doe's people at that point. Hell, without a visual record of what Doe's supposed to look like, everything's guess work. I could use an artist's hands. A sculptor's. Like those old twenty-first century forensic artists. Someone to trace where the muscles attached and show... Damn! Jim! That's exactly what we need!"
McCoy downed the last drop of whiskey.
"I'm going to find Uhura. Gotta get a subspace out. Maybe if I can find-"
"Bones."
McCoy turned back from the open doorway.
"Another thought."
"Hmm?"
"There's a couple artists on board too, hobby artists, but you never know. And I had another thought. Have you tried candling?"
"...Candling, sir?"
"Yes, Doc. Not sure how much of a farm boy you were, but I found it was a great way to get a gander in. Maybe your patient would appreciate a little look, considering?"
McCoy grinned. He could kiss the man – well, not really.
"You've got a good brain sometimes, kid."
"...Thanks?"
McCoy laughed and headed out for the bridge, remembering once he got there that Uhura had said she'd help Robinson with communication in sickbay.
"Uhura! I need to do a subspace-"
Rough grunts and frustrated chitters got him wobbling towards the sterile tent. He pulled back the sheeting, before cursing for letting himself get drunk enough to violate his own Laws of Cleanliness.
The wrestling match on the other side, however, kept him there. Uhura and Robinson struggling with the leftover pieces of a determined Doe.
"Uhura! Robinson!"
"Leonard! Uh, let me..."
"Damn, just hold still."
He turned around in a huff, the pleasant buzz turning quite sour in his mouth as he scrubbed raw flesh and donned all of his usual garb. In the background, he could now hear the tinny voice of the computer spouting words at random: somehow the PADD got caught in the fray.
The automated clock went off with its regular precision in his office, giving him an idea of what the struggle might be about.
"Alright, coming in," McCoy grumbled as he shoved his way back in. "Now then, let's all just settle down, will you?"
He grabbed each garbed shoulder, separating them from his patient, before pressing Doe down as well. He watched the sharp repetitions of the ribcage. Silence surrounded him.
"Damn, I know it hurts, and I'm sorry. Uhura, the PADD please."
"Child! Child! Child!"
"I know, I know. 'Still too early.' The alarm went off. Robinson, please, give us a little space."
"Child! Child! Child!"
"Yes. Here." He brought the incubator around; thankful it'd gotten shoved away in the struggle. "Oh damn. Robinson! Back in here. The patch job. Bring the chemical sutures. The plaster isn't holding. And a detox hypo, please. I'm too drunk for this."
Doe shivered in place, but didn't distract them while they worked over the two cracked eggs. The heat had damaged the plaster; Robinson'd searched for a plaster to patch up calcium, specifically bone. Since it'd looked like it'd stuck and sealed well, McCoy hadn't wanted to mess with it. But plaster meant to harden, then remain inside where it'd stay moist, had very different properties than the dry heat of the incubator. Chips must have begun falling off just as McCoy finished up his burger with Jim.
Now they'd have to chance surgical sutures. Very small ones. Small enough to make his eyes burn and his head ache. Small enough to function as spot welds to hold in a water balloon with a membrane one cell thick.
The first one... damn. He couldn't quite tell if it worked. His brain still fuzzy from detox. He did the best "weld" he could, before tucking it back in with its siblings and grabbing the second one. The cracking here less extensive, at least. Once he had the entire surface reclaimed, he chanced a quick pass with the dermal regenerator at the very ends of the crack lines, giving the seals there some artificial time to the heal to keep the cracks from creeping any further along.
"Quick, give us a scan, would you? I want to make sure the membrane is intact."
Robinson snagged the tricorder while McCoy held out the egg.
"Just a moment... yes. Yes, it looks good. A little thickened where you hit it with the regenerator, but otherwise fine."
"Good. Open the lid for me, I want to do the same to the other one."
Where the second had minor fracturing, maybe fifteen percent of the surface, the first had more along the lines of forty-five percent fractured and resealed.
McCoy didn't like the frown that he could see in Robinson's eyes as the ran the scanner over and over.
"Readings, Doctor."
"I'm... I'm sorry, sir. I think we got to it too late."
He tilted the viewer to McCoy could read. Damn. Fluids too low, membrane punctured, albumen leaked out. What Doe had seen that started the panic.
"You know what? No, damn it. Pass the regenerator over all the cracks. Nice and smooth even cover. And get that major tear."
"Doctor, there's no chance-"
"I don't care! We've lost enough as it is. Chapel! Get your pert ass in here!"
"Sir?"
McCoy saw a wavering shadow on the tent to his right.
"The... the bad eggs are in the cabinet still, right?"
"Yes, sir. We didn't want to move them without your permission."
"Good. Break open one of the ones that's not cooked through. Extract the albumen, the clear fluid. Put it in a hypospray injector for me. Robinson... I want you to preform surgery for me. My hands are shaking too much. Uhura, go in that drawer over there, see if you can find a heat pad. Yes, that one is fine. Set it to level five, tuck it in a set of scrubs, and set it down on this instrument tray for me."
That done, he put his cupped hands down. The pad would keep his hands warm enough, and hopefully he'd be able to offer enough cushioning for-
"Surgery?" Robinson asked, his hands hovering with the dermal regenerator.
"Keep working. We're going to have to strengthen this whole side if its going to work. See that one triangle in the middle? Work around that. As close at you can get, but keep those seams open."
McCoy rotated the egg until that little triangle crack pointed straight up. The major tear in the thin inner membrane sat off to the side, so Robinson concentrated his efforts there.
"I have the... fluid, Doctor. I extracted all I could from two of them."
"Good girl. Now Uhura, if you would tap the child icon for me. Any chance you think you can whistle our to Doe that we're going to preform surgery on the little one?"
"I can say we're trying to help?"
"Close enough."
"Child. Stone."
McCoy flinched.
"No, not stone yet, Doe. I'm not giving up hope. Ms Chapel?"
"Coming. I just wanted to preform a quick contaminant scan."
"Guess it's lucky we tested the radiation wash on the bad ones, huh?" Robinson asked. McCoy nodded.
"Here."
Nurse Chapel sidled up next to him, obstructing Doe's view of the process. McCoy didn't correct her.
"Alright, Robinson, you're going to have to use the laser and cut through those seals I just made. Carefully! Good, yes... alright, don't remove it yet. Go back through, and cut along two of the edges again, get in the membrane this time. If we keep the last side intact, the flap should keep everything lined up to reattach."
With a careful tweak of the tweezers, Robinson lifted the shard up and away.
"Easy, easy. Just like opening a little door. If we shatter it now, it's going straight in."
They all sighed as the curved shard rested to the side.
"Now, Ms Chapel..."
McCoy found his voice trailing off. That little piece, that little door... Inside he could see a wealth of blood vessels flowing back and forth, from fluid, to body, to airsack, nourishing the little life with precious oxygen. And... McCoy bent over the little life suspended in his hands. A bright, familiar eye peered up at him through the crack in the shell.
"Hello there."
"Doctor?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Chapel, please, the spray. Careful now, fill'er up."
The doctors both held their breath as she infused the protein-laden fluid from its siblings. McCoy leaned away, tucking his head to the side so he could view the curvature of the fluid as it clung to the edges to tell when it was full enough. No way he wanted to waste one drop of that precious liquid.
"There, that's enough."
He leaned over the egg again, hoping to catch another glimpse of eyeball, but... ah well, rotated away with the current.
"Batten down the hatches, Mr. Robinson."
"...You really are drunk, huh?"
"Oh just do it, will you? The backs of my hands are getting warm."
Chapel assisted, holding the shell shard with a careful touch of the tweezers while Robinson leaned around the edge, first sealing the membrane, then the shell itself, before sweeping the whole area again with the dermal regenerator.
"The shell is going to be too tough to break through on this side," McCoy said conversationally. "We'll have to preform a C-Section."
"...Or we rotate the egg onto the other side."
"Right. Right."
"Child. Stone." The computer suggested, after the doctors stood still for a few moments, staring at the mosaic of pale shell.
"Doctor?" McCoy asked. "Would you be so kind as to scan our little patient for me? I find my hands are a bit occupied."
"Oh... yes, of course." For once, the OB/GYN's hands shook a little as he preformed his final scan. "The seal is good. You're right, everything is thick on this side. The scar tissue of the membrane is four millimeters thick in spots. The shell-"
"The child, Robinson! Respiration? Heartbeat? Stress hormones?"
"All... normal. No rejection, that I can see. No ruptured blood vessels. Levels seem to be within the norms I've seen in the others. I think... I think she's going to make it."
"She, huh?"
"Well... it... he..."
"No, it's fine. You've got a fifty-fifty chance anyway. Uhura, can you tell Doe that I'm bringing the egg over for a touch, but don't touch the scar areas? And be gentle? We're not going to be able to do full rotations until the blood vessels settle back into place."
She nodded, and started twittering excitedly, but McCoy had a feeling it was all extraneous anyway. The reverent way those two last fingers hovered this way, then that, caressing the air over each little scar, reassured him that it was unlikely Doe would be too impulsive.
McCoy smiled as Uhura struggled, trying to find the right words in the strange language; the fact that they knew it wasn't Doe's native language meant... hell.
The gauze-wrapped bones did touch his gloved skin, before tapping the glass of the incubator with a solid thock-thock. A quick flick of the wrist demonstrated what needed doing faster than searching through that whole damn database for the words.
"Of course. Back in with brothers and sisters, who all need rotating. Robinson, if you please."
He lifted the lid, letting McCoy reach in, set the scarred little one back down in a new corner, since he had to remove the wet fabric where the shell had leaked. He checked for any other cool spots, where the fluid might have escaped to, before changing gloves – Cleanliness First! – and systematically rotated the rest of the eggs.
"Thank you."
McCoy looked up at the unexpected sentiment.
"We've been working on the database," Uhura replied shyly. "After Doe woke up from the latest surgery, and you weren't here..."
"Got it. You're welcome," McCoy said. "And now, I bid you adieu. I'm tipsey, and need to work on that before I'll be able to get a solid eight hours tonight."
"Eight hours?"
He grinned at the sound of panic in Robinson's voice.
"I'll be on the sofa in my office. The alarm will wake me, don't worry. I'll keep doing the rotations."
He retreated to said sofa, taking enough time to pull off the respirator, mostly because trying to drink with it on was blasted difficult, before tipping the bottle up to his lips, taking a healthy swig, and allowing his body to fall into an exhausted heap.