"Hey, Doc. How's the surgery treating ya?"
Whatever Jim saw in his bloodshot eyes made him cringe. He still took the seat on the far side of his desk.
"Bones, come on, you gotta talk to me. Even Spock's worried about ya."
"If you got that greenblooded computer to admit to being 'worried' about anyone, I'll eat my left shoe."
The past two days he'd been glued to his patient's side. The bare catnaps he allowed himself were on the next biobed over, with an ear open to the slightest blip from the computers monitoring his systems.
After the end of the surgery, when he'd been forced to awaken Cygnus to a realm of shiny new nerve endings, just waiting to tell him how much it bloody well hurt to be burned alive, McCoy kept the both of them on a scalpel's edge between coma and total alertness.
According to Selek's findings, deadening the pain now with drugs would hamper the healing process – citing that damn water bison research.
Considering how well everything had gone to hell, just as Selek had anticipated, he didn't dare chance it.
So, whenever the computer said Cyg's brain was hiccuping from sensory input, he pulled the poor guy out of the coma and gave him a little pain-jumpstart. Like shocking a defibrillating heart back into the proper rhythm.
"At least you're sitting down in your office?"
McCoy rotated the screen so the young captain could see that, in fact, he was monitoring his patient, not writing reports or catching up on the summer Olympics recordings that just came in from back home.
Jim cringed a little.
"Bones... you've got to take a break. What if there's an emergency? You look like you've been run over by a train."
"I wish I was run over by a train. At least then I'd be out of my misery." The sympathetic eye his captain gave him dragged out an annoyed puff of air. "Guess you read the reports, huh?"
"Spock's and M'Benga's, since yours is still in draft form on that computer."
"Yeah, well, mine's not finished yet."
"Just reading Spock's gave me nightmares. Is it true he really ah... shouted, for hours?"
"And clawed off a good bit of skin in the process. Should have guessed that might have happened. But we had spare and reattached."
McCoy rubbed his tricep, where one particularly nasty bruise was just getting to the purple stage. Cyg's thrashing left others, but the short sleeves of his surgical uniform showed this set off rather well.
"How long will you keep him under?"
"That, I'm not quite sure about. Selek didn't have much information on that front, and I've got little from Tisxk about that bison; apparently they don't do major surgery on them, just the usual fertility-related stuff that you see on farms. So, no extensive studies with medically induced comas."
McCoy sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his admittedly greasy hair. He needed a shower. And proper sleep in a real bed. And a drink. Oh god did he need a proper drink.
"His body is used to intravenous fluid and nutrition. If I can, I'd keep him under until he's all healed up and ready to start physical therapy."
"That can't be good for atrophied muscles, though."
McCoy sighed. Jim had the right of it. Hell, he's been in here for major stuff often enough. He knows the drill.
"Look, Bones. I know this is more your prevue than mine, but this isn't a social call."
McCoy glared up at his friend – no, his captain, by the look in his bright blue eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'm putting you on leave."
"WHAT?"
Jim hopped back as McCoy nearly lunged over his desk at him.
"Twenty-four hours. That's all I'm asking. Telling. You haven't gotten proper rest since all this started up, and now it's in emergency levels-"
"That's why I'm needed right here!"
"No. He's not at emergency levels. You are. You're a wreck, Bones. Cygnus' in stasis right now, realistically. M'Benga and the others have your research. Spock's offered to be on call and ready to assist the whole day. You, my friend, are banned from the sickbay, barring personal injury, of course, until this time tomorrow.
"You need sleep. Real sleep. And mental rest."
Jim tossed a PADD onto the table between them. McCoy glanced down, seeing the official orders ready and waiting to go to the Fleet. On his permanent record.
"You wouldn't."
"Haven't, yet, but if I need to, it's ready. Keep it. It'll give you some inspiration. Oh, the other file on there is a list of the rec activities until tomorrow. I'm doing a little open sparring session, there's a basket weaving class, a knitting class, and three different movies, all recent releases from back home. I'm not requiring you attend at least one of these non-work related activities, but I'm strongly suggesting it."
"How about a walk outside the airlock. Would that count?"
Jim shrugged and grinned. "If you want some weightless time, give Scotty a shout. I'm sure he'll suit ya up. Just remember to comm the bridge and let us know to drop out of warp, will ya? Don't wanna leave my CMO in the stardust."
McCoy groaned. "You know that I, of all people, am not going out into zero-g for shits'n'giggles."
"Yeah, I know. Have fun Bones! I expect you out of this office in five minutes."
With a parting wave, Jim disappeared. Just before an empty glass shattered against the door.
Six minutes later, two burly folks in security red entered his office without so much as a curtsey blip from the computer.
Nine minutes, and a new black eye, later, he was outside the sickbay, pounding on the door, screaming at the top of his lungs, and being stared at by the juvenile officers attempting to avoid him as they wandered down the hallway.
The minute he gave up and turned away, the door opened just enough for Jim's PADD to follow him out the door.
"Basket weaving my foot," McCoy grumbled as he picked up the PADD.
The long, hot shower, a carb-filled meal, and a nap actually sounded reasonable.
By the time he made himself somewhat presentable and got down to the mess hall for some grub, he was even looking forward to the prospect of a movie.
Anything other than the box office big hitters came in somewhat infrequently, since Federation News and research data held priority as far as subspace bandwidth. The romantic comedy, from the looks of it another "modern recreation" of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, with an Andorian and Vulcan as the main love interests, was a little too far fetched, even for his sleep deprived brain. Aaaand... he scrolled past the epically long description of how "epically amazing" the Vlad the Impaler flick was... the last movie was... He groaned. An animated kids movie. He wasn't even going to try to figure out what the dancing balloons thing was about.
But, if it was that, or basket weaving, at least he could nap in the darkened rec room while everyone was paying attention to the projector.
He dumped his empty food tray when he realized that the kid's flick was going to play first and hurried to join the surprisingly large crowd. Cheerful music, happy pastel colors, and extreme exhaustion led right into the nap he anticipated.
A nap which was unceremoniously interrupted by someone poking him in the arm.
"Hmm?"
"Doctor McCoy, the comm's going off for you."
"Been going off for the past five minutes."
McCoy blinked, waking up enough to finally realize the entire rec room was staring at him. Someone'd even paused the projection.
"Ah... sorry. Lemme get that." McCoy scooted out of his aisle hit the comm at the back of the room. All too aware of the thirty-odd officers staring at him. "McCoy here."
"It's time, Leonard."
McCoy blinked at Uhura's cryptic message.
"Time for what?"
She sighed in exasperation. "There's pipping, Leonard. You're needed up in the sickbay."
"Jim actually gonna let me in?"
"He's already nearly wetting himself. Get up here, would you?"
He closed the comm and passed an apologetic glance to the rest of the folks who were actually interested in watching the godawful kid's movie.
"How many," he asked, the moment the sickbay doors opened.
"Just one," Nurse Chapel answered.
"One of the special cases?" McCoy asked while as he scrubbed his hands and she brought over the usual scrubs and a not-so-usual face mask. McCoy passed a grateful thought to the father finally having enough skin to take the cleanroom-level sanitation down to the usual level of complicated, live-threatening surgery, rather than biohazard status. The paper half-mask, with the strings tucked behind his ears, felt wonderful. At least, compared to five pounds of air filters leaning against his nose.
"It's the one with the more extensive cracking. It's a bit early, isn't it?"
"It happens, sometimes. Well, it did with the chickens back home. If they were a little warm and their metabolism speeds up. And... M'Benga and I have been talking about the possibility that the dermal regenerator might've sped those two up a little too."
"But there's only one showing signs."
"So far."
"Bones! Come here!"
"Coming, dear," he shouted with a sarcastic lilt. He exchanged a grin with his head nurse and headed for Cygnus' curtained area. "Anyone actually steering the ship?" McCoy asked, after he passed a look around the cramped space.
Jim grinned sheepishly.
"Sorry, Leonard. I think I kinda freaked when I saw the egg wiggle and I... kinda called everyone."
"It's alright, Nyota. I know everyone's anxious."
Scotty got up with a grunt from behind a new bit of tech. "Figured we'd need a bigger incubator for the wee 'uns. Fan 'ere fur forced warm air, wee clips to hold down the papers, a water bottle fur-"
McCoy rubbed the paper-covered bridge of his nose.
"They're eggs, not hamsters. The fan, yes, that'll probably be useful, but get the water bottle and food bowls out of there, will ya? Before I wake Cygnus up and he sees that mess?"
"Right, sorry Doc."
Jim and Uhura ducked out of the way to give Scotty space to undo his modifications.
"What tools will we need, Doctor?"
"Should I go help boil water?"
McCoy playfully punched the captain in the shoulder with his elbow.
"Find me something to clear the fluid from their nares, Chapel. Smallest clamps you've got, towels, saline..." He rambled on, listing items he'd been thinking about for a couple weeks now, and hadn't been expecting to need for little a while yet.
McCoy lifted the lid on the incubator, realizing in a moment if he kept it open to assist the hatching process, he might be bringing the temperature down too far for the rest of them.
"Damn. Scotty?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Go get a cutter for that glass of yours. I'm going to take that incubator you made and turn it into a hatcher. I'll need four holes, two for my hands and two for an assistant, on the other side. Nyota? Think you can help him find some sterile sheeting to set up a curtain so we can minimize the drafts?"
"I know just the thing."
The two of them disappeared, leaving a bouncing Jim on the far side of the incubator and Spock hovering around Cygnus' bed.
"When do you intend on awakening your patient?"
Jim looked up at Spock's question. "You can't be thinking about waking him up! You said it yourself, he's totally without painkillers! He's going to be in agony!"
"I know, Jim. But he specifically said he wanted to be awakened for their hatching." A certain glumness clouded the happy anticipation that bubbled in his veins. "I think we'll wait until the last minute, though. We'll see how coherent he is for the first one. If he's in too much pain, I'll put him back under until they're all hatched and he can meet the whole group."
"A prudent decision."
"Yeah. Lemme go see if Scotty needs any help with that cutter."
Jim disappeared, leaving the two science officers in relative quiet. McCoy too engrossed in his tricorder readings to pay much attention to anything else.
"I will offer whatever assistance is necessary," Spock spoke into the silence.
"Thanks. I think I've got enough hands in the pot as it is."
The Vulcan cleared his throat. "I believe I have some talents that others are incapable of."
McCoy blinked for a moment, realization settling in as to what the First Officer offered. "Last time you nearly went into synaptic collapse yourself."
"The chance of cascade failure is nearly nil at this point in his recovery. I do not expect the sensation to be a pleasant one, but the expected duration is short, and it will allow... are you crying, Doctor?"
"Nope. Not at all. Just something in my eye. Arg, damnit!" McCoy huffed in frustration when he realized he'd just wiped said incriminating evidence with his sterile gloves. "Nurse! New gloves please!"
A fresh set of gloves got tucked over his hands and his friends puttering in and out to get everything ready.
"Get a nap in at least?" Jim asked, as he helped wheel the modified incubator back in.
"Couple minutes during the opening of Balloons Galore. You'll probably get notices of some death threats on that one."
"Bah. Once folks figure out it's 'cause of the eggs, you'll be fine. Especially when the folks running the betting pool figure start spreading the good news."
"Aye!" Scott pipped in with a grin. "I've got a few credits on an early hatch. Not quite this early, mind ye, but I think it'll count if they take a wee bit."
"God, what won't they bet on," McCoy grumbled.
"I've got ten credits on all girls," Jim admitted with a chuckle.
"Don't tell me you've joined this insanity too, Mr. Spock."
"No, I have not. I have seen the medical scans. It would be dishonorable to bet, when I know the outcome."
"Ditto for me," Uhura added. "But I did put a chip into the pot, that they'll all hatch safe and sound."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Easy to bet on a sure thing."
"Alright, secondary incubator is all warmed up and ready to go."
McCoy grinned. "Excellent."
With more help than room for it, he transferred the pipping egg to the new box. Chapel ready on the opposite side with all the tools neatly organized on a tray.
"So... do ya just pop her out of the egg?" Jim asked, leaning over the clear glass to get a better look at the tiny hole in the shell.
"Nope, that might hurt the wee one."
"Did the chicken thing as a kid to, Scotty?"
"Naw, homing pigeons. If ye break the shell before they're ready, they can bleed out. Or the shell can hurt 'em."
"What, did everyone do this as a kid except for me?"
"Guess so, Jim," Uhura said with a grin. "We had geese in school. Smarter than chickens. And they're sooo cute and fluffy! Ya know, once they dry out."
"How about you, Spock?"
"Hatching eggs was not a requirement in my schooling."
"Good! See? I'm not completely alone."
"But I did attend a research facility that-"
Jim's groan cut him off before he got too much farther down that train of thought.
After all the rushing, and the weeks of waiting, continued patience was a bit more than the captain was ready for; he disappeared back to the bridge at the first call from Sulu. Scotty stayed for a little while longer, but soon enough, he too grew tired of staring at an unmoving egg for hours on end.
"Is she doing alright?" Uhura asked, as even her eyelids grew heavy.
McCoy pulled the tricorder out again for the umpteenth time. The first little break in the shell had been on the opposite side of all the work, in the thin parts, so he really didn't want to force the matter until he was certain she was ready.
"Stress hormones normal, blood oxygen saturation looks good. Organ development shows she's just about ready to come out. Maybe waiting for the others to start? Or there could be a long refractory period between hatching stages in Cyg's people."
"Perhaps there is a ritual that is needed that we are unaware of?" Spock suggested.
McCoy sighed. "You may be right. Nurse? Care to administer the drugs needed to wake him up? Just say the word when you're ready, Mr. Spock."
The First Officer moved into position, his hands taking their usual places on Cygnus' long face. After some ritualistic words and a moment of silence, the Vulcan nodded. Nurse Chapel pressed a hypo to Cygnus' neck and they waited with eyes glued onto the biobed's readout.
"I am awake," Cygnus/Spock said after a few minutes. "I take it something went wrong."
"Not quite, my friend. We thought it might take a while for you to heal. What we weren't anticipating, was your little ones deciding they didn't want to wait any longer to meet you."
Cyg's pale eyes flickered open.
"They're hatching?"
"Yes. One started a little over two hours ago, but we haven't seen any activity since the first pip. With Mr. Spock reigning in the pain, we were hoping you could assist us."
A long, drawn out sigh settled over both of their shoulders.
"Get me upright," Cygnus/Spock ordered. "The pain from that much motion might be more than I can block." They sighed again. "Do what you can. I'll handle the rest."
Yup. Seriously creepy hearing them talk to one another, with both voices, at the same time.
"Nyota? Christine? Think you can handle him?"
"Yes."
"Of course, Doctor."
With a helpful hand on each side, and Spock hovering behind him with a hand still on either side of his face, they propped his limp body up so that he could look into the incubators.
"Why can't I move? It is more effective to block all nervous communication, rather than attempting to only block pain sensations. I am minimizing the chance of synaptic collapse."
"We'll be your hands, Cyg. Just tell us what to do."
McCoy brought the incubator with the single egg closer.
"Just the single pip?"
"Mmhm. All the readings show she's doing good, just waiting."
An odd wash of asymmetrical emotions played first over Cygnus' face, echoed, oddly enough, more clearly in Spock's.
"The shell needs to be moistened. Just clean water. Avoid the area that the child is pipping in. Do you remember the song I taught you last, Nyota?" they asked.
"The one with the tune that goes," she whistled some high, complicated set of twilling notes. Chapel brought over a cup of distilled water, the same temperature as the incubator, and slipped a sponge on a stick into his hands for him to get to work.
"Yes. That one. Sing it, please."
Her voice warbled a bit, as she switched from whistling, to humming, then outright singing. Cygnus sagged against the supporting hands, his bass voice droning along several octaves below in accompaniment. Poor Spock following along, not quite sitting at baritone or tenor.
As the tone of the song wound on, a verse repeating a few times, McCoy felt an answering vibration in the delicate shell under his gloved hands.
He stared in amazement as the gentle warbling song urged the little one into action. The little hole quickly leading to a roughly circular seam. Pauses in the song seemingly timed just to let the little one rest, before they continued on.
As shards separated, McCoy gently teased them loose until he revealed a wet, exhausted little tangle. Eyes so pale yellow they barely had any color blinked up at him. Disproportionally huge in the tiny face.
"That's it, my love," Cygnus/Spock whispered. He leaned forward until the women had to catch him. "Can I... can I touch?"
McCoy grinned. "Of course. It'll be up to Spock to see if you'll be able to feel her though."
With help, he reached under the curtain, through the holes Scotty cut, and cradled his wet first born. The long, newly constructed fingers flexed in an uneven bowl, dwarfing the tiny creature.
"That is our first song," Cygnus/Spock told no one in particular. "I sang it to them their first day, nearly every day. My father sang it to me, they will sing it to their own hatchlings, in time. You said 'she,' Doctor McCoy?"
"Yup. You're first born is a girl."
"My daughter." A thumb traced a cheek, drawing out a tired, contented coo. "I want to stay... to be awake for the rest, but I find I am enervated."
"Sounds like a Spock word," Uhura commented with a chuckle. They hummed in agreement.
"I wish to attempt... opening up. I will control Cygnus' movements, to prevent harm to the child. McCoy, please be prepared to administer the drugs necessary quickly."
"Are you sure, Cyg? We can just put you under."
"No. I need to touch her. So many rituals I can't do... yet. But at least, I can hold her as she falls asleep the first time."
"Cyg," Uhura squeezed his forearm. "The others. Do you want us to wake you, like this?"
Cygnus' eyes closed for a long time. "Cygnus does not fear the pain awaiting for him, but Spock is uncertain about his ability to do another meld like this without extensive meditation. You know the song. So does Spock. Just... wake me when they're all hatched. Regardless. Please."
"Alright. Give me a second to get the hypo."
McCoy slipped out of the incubator, snagged the waiting hypo, and nodded to Spock.
It only took a moment. One instant Cygnus sitting up, coherent and calm. The next, teeth bared, body twisting and flexing, but from the elbows down ramrod still; shackled by the Vulcan's iron will.
Cygnus' forehead slammed down against the glass of the incubator. His bit down on a whimper of pain.
Uhura started singing again; the tune a bit haunting with only her voice to carry it. The little child cradled in Cygnus' hands squirmed and nestled, finally yawning and closing those eery pale eyes in sleep.
"Now, please, Leonard. I... arg."
McCoy lunged forward with the medication. Cygnus flinched as he depressed the button. Sighed, and sagged, as it took effect.
"Thank you, my friends."
The child barely roused as McCoy carefully slipped the infant away from her father's grasp. The others tugged him back into place on the bed while he tried to settle her close enough to the heating element to gently dry what was certain to be some seriously downy feathers.
"So, what do we do now, Leonard? Do I sing until they all hatch?"
McCoy grinned. "With fifteen to go? Naw, I'd wait until we see the next one pipping. At least now we know what to do. How're ya feeling hobgoblin?"
Spock glared at the doctor as he ran a tricorder in a sweep encompassing all the non-humans in the room.
"I am acceptable."
"Considering what you, or Cyg, said-"
"I intend on returning to my room to meditate."
"Good. I'll give you a call if we need to wake him up again."
Spock opened his mouth to add something, thought better of it, and left without another word.
"Things looking up, you'd say?"
"Not exactly sure, Nyota. But at least now he's really got something to fight for. And I can't tell you how often that'll make the difference."
A/N: Next chapter will be erm... two weeks from now? Sorry for the delay folks, but basically real life hit in pleasant ways and I've been a tad distracted from writing/editing. It'll be worth it.