"Bridge to Doctor McCoy."
"McCoy here. This better be important, Sulu." The lieutenant grimaced at the frustration in McCoy's voice. Sitting in the Chair while Kirk and Spock were unavailable was simple enough for him; dealing with the emotional strain of having both commanding officers dying several decks below his feet was beyond his expertise. The concern he felt for them grated on his nerves, leaving him emotionally raw and beyond weary. Silently reminding himself that the doctor was under at least as much stress as he was - probably more, given his role in trying to save the lives of the two men, one of whom was his best friend - he chose his words carefully, keeping his tone level.
"Ambassadors Sarek and Selek are beaming aboard to see Spock," he replied, bracing himself for McCoy's angry reply.
"What?!" The sound of various items clattering to the floor rattled through the comm. "Sulu, Spock is on full life support; he's in no condition to receive visitors!"
"It's his son, Sir," Sulu replied quietly. "Sarek was most insistent and I have no authority to deny his request."
McCoy fumed, completely ignoring proper comm protocol and cutting the connection abruptly.
"Sarek's fine," he growled at the nearest orderly, "but that time-travelin', universe-alterin', secret-keepin' murderin' bastard can wait out in the damn hallway!"
"Um, Sir?" the orderly asked, confused. McCoy threw up his hands in frustration, having momentarily forgotten that the identity and ordeal of Spock Prime was anything but common knowledge.
"Let the angry-stoic one in, keep the old fart with the puppy-dog eyes out!"
McCoy stormed back into his office, settling into his chair with a heavy thump. Wordlessly he stared at the silent screen before him. He examined the bio-readout yet again, Jim's slowly beating pulse barely registering while just above it the infinitesimal flickering of the formerly vibrant captain's higher brain functions mocked him.
No change.
The readout blurred as his tired eyes began to cross; he could almost hear Spock's metronomic voice informing him of the inherent illogic in staring at the display, hoping the data would spontaneously change, but he couldn't help it - hope for a miracle was all he had left.
The doctor exhaled quietly, dropping his head into his hands with an aching sigh. He had done everything medically possible for Jim, and indeed, there was no remaining physical damage. Rationally he knew that there was nothing more he could do, but in spite of his efforts, the captain's brainwaves remained virtually non-existent.
The helplessness was crushing, and McCoy could feel himself cracking under the strain.
The sound of his office door chiming brought him out of his despondency and he looked up into the shuttered eyes of Spock's father. Without preamble, the Vulcan asked the one question McCoy was the least equipped and most unwilling to answer.
"What has befallen my son?"
TO BE CONTINUED:
Sorry about the short chapter and long wait, guys, but don't worry, the next couple-ish (working on chapter breaks, not sure where they'll fall) are with my lovely Beta already, and should be done soon.
I've been gone for a while because in the last couple months, my grandmother died, my dog had to be put down, I've switched jobs, and I've needed to replace my keyboard twice. So it's been tough over here. Sorry for keeping all of you waiting so long.
This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother; I really wish I'd been able to make you proud of me. You'll never get to see my name in print, and that makes me sad.