Star Trek: The Accident

Author's Note: I did a no-no and switched viewpoints mid-chapter. My bad. And PheobeSnow, thanks for the review. It meant a lot (as well as those from AGEE 1-17).

CHAPTER TWO

Five long weeks later . . .

The intercom buzzed softly on the far wall in the Critical Care Ward.

McCoy looked up from his pad where he'd been sifting through Starfleet medical reports. He didn't recognize the sound at first then realized someone was trying to reach him. He set the pad on the foot of the biobed, stood with a groan, and stretched before he made his way to the far wall. He slumped against it before depressing the button.

"McCoy, here. What's up?"

"Bones." His name was spoken within a sigh. "Care to join me in my quarters for a drink?"

"Thanks, Jim, but I'm right in the middle of—"

"You need a break, Bones," Kirk interrupted gently. "There's no shame in that. And I could use the company. Please?"

McCoy shot an anxious glance back at his pad. He had seven tabs open on unusual comatose patients, four more on experimental drugs that showed promise on rebooting electrical charges within the brain, and his InstaText app where he was waiting for responses from several colleagues back at Starfleet Medical. Weeks of research, halted only to meet his body's demands for sleep and food, and what did he have to show for it? Not a damn thing.

McCoy rubbed his face, debating. Guilt was already gnawing at his guts, but if he were honest, he did need a break. He wasn't even sure of the stardate. Within the protective bubble of the Critical Care Ward, everything felt surreal.

"Bones? You there?"

McCoy depressed the button. "Yeah, Jim. Okay, yeah . . . just," he hesitated, unsure of himself. "Give me a few minutes."

"All right, Bones." The intercom clicked as the connection ended.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

McCoy stood next to the biobed, staring up at the life function monitors. All indicators were normal. The damage to the left hemisphere of the brain had made a near-perfect recovery with minimal scarring. It was the miracle that McCoy had prayed for and yet. . . and yet she remained unconsciousness.

His eyes dropped to his daughter's face. He tried to pretend that she was just like any other exhausted intern, grabbing a nap between shifts, but it was difficult for him not to notice the facial disfigurements. The freshly grown mandible had been inserted last week but the lower half of the face remained swollen and distorted. It would be some time yet before the flesh fully attached to the new bone.

And although the brain had healed, there was still a slight indent to the right side of the skull. M'Benga had suggested, and McCoy had agreed, that it would be best to wait on cosmetic changes until the patient was awake and cognitive function had been tested.

McCoy reached up and stroked the new hair growth along the scalp. It was silky soft and reminded him of when his daughter had been born. A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he remembered holding her for the first time, all pink and squirming.

"You were the prettiest little thing I ever saw," he murmured, then added. "And you still are, honey. You still are." McCoy adjusted the angle of the nutrition tube then plucked the pad from the bed. He synced the main screen with the life function monitor and set an alert should any indicator vary more than .001%. Even Spock would be impressed with that, he thought with a flicker of amusement.

"All right, then. I'll be back in a few and then we'll go over some of those other case files, okay?" The brain indicator remained still, showing no response to the sound of his voice. Maybe she couldn't hear him, McCoy reasoned, but he doubted that bits of metal and computer chips could record the human soul. In his heart, he had to believe she could sense that he was near.

Clinging to that hope, McCoy tucked the pad beneath one arm and hurried out of the ward.

The door to the captain's quarters chimed.

"Come in," Kirk called, reaching for the glass of untouched brandy sitting on his desk. He turned and held it out as the doors slid back.

McCoy took it from him with a murmur of thanks then let out a groan as he sank into his usual chair, kitty corner from the captain's desk. Kirk sat down behind the desk and picked up his own glass—it had already been refilled, twice—and studied McCoy over the rim.

His friend looked terrible. His blue eyes were watery and dull, his cheeks gaunt, and there was at least two day's worth of stubble on his face. McCoy had yet to take a drink, and Kirk noted the ripples on the surface of the amber liquid. Letting his eyes drop to his own glass, he took a small gulp.

No matter how much he drank though—and he'd been drinking more than usual—Kirk couldn't ease the guilt that festered in his belly. He shifted uneasily in his chair as his thoughts continued in viscous circles. The storm—the crash—the dead and the injured crewmembers. His fault, always his fault. He was the captain, after all. The Galileo had launched on his orders . . .

Kirk grunted and raised his glass only to find that it was already empty. He could taste the fiery liquid on his tongue but couldn't remember drinking the rest of it. And then, for the first time, he had the feeling that the captaincy might be a burden too heavy to bear. How could he lead when he felt so lost?

An irritated noise from the corner interrupted his thoughts. "Would you stop with the self-recrimination, Jim? I'm really too tired to battle your overzealous guilt-complex right now."

Kirk's mouth shifted into a conciliatory half-smile. "All right, Bones." There was no point in arguing. And the last thing he wanted was McCoy coming to his defense. Not after he'd been the one to assign his friend's daughter to the Galileo.

He wondered then, if he could have switched her place with another crewmember, if he would do it. Faces flashed through his mind, and he knew he wouldn't. It would be like choosing one child over another.

Not that he had ever thought of McCoy's daughter as a child.

Far, far, far from it.

A memory surfaced in his mind, as warm and pleasant as the alcohol sliding through his veins. The day that JoAnna Margaret McCoy had beamed onto his ship. He'd been half expecting to see the newly graduated medical doctor with pigtails—McCoy's descriptions tended to favor her youth—but had been struck dumb by the beauty that had materialized on the transporter pad. Where her father was skinny, the younger McCoy was slender but also curvy in all the right places.

To this day, he couldn't recall congratulating the other graduates on winning the highly sought after three-month internships aboard the Enterprise. But every detail of JoAnna was burned into his mind: the way her long brown hair was gathered into a stylish-sloppy bun, her piercing blue eyes, lips that were quick to form a half-smile, half-smirk that left him weak in the knees. The way she'd studied his profile when introduced, polite but confident, told him she was comparing him to his near-legendary status. He'd straightened unconsciously but had become tongue-tied welcoming her aboard.

By the time he'd stumbled to a finish, both JoAnna and her father were arching bemused eyebrows at him. McCoy had finally broken the awkward silence with an offer to show JoAnna around Sick Bay. As they'd left, the senior McCoy had shot a warning look over his shoulder. The message was clear: watch yourself, Jim, or your next physical won't be pleasant.

Kirk had tried to avoid her—he really did—but the Enterprise wasn't a huge ship. Passing by Sick Bay was the quickest way to his quarters, and although he had a general idea what shifts she was working, he didn't know exactly. But they'd bumped into each other often enough for him to learn she preferred to go by her middle name, Maggie for short, and that she was brilliant, charming, witty, and in true McCoy fashion, also stubborn to the point of mulishness, ornery in the early hours of the day, and scathing to any crewmember who'd come down with "a serious case of the stupids." The rise in "accidents" aboard ship had risen to suspicious heights, which conveniently coincided with Maggie's shifts despite the rumors of her sharp tongue.

As for Kirk's own tongue, he still got tongue-tied in her presence, but to be fair, he was always a little bit afraid that Bones would walk around the corner. And then it happened. One moment he was laughing at Maggie's over-the-top description of her flight from an intoxicated Orion suitor, and in the next, he realized he was in love with her.

Hell.

That had been the only word for it. And that was where he was going if Bones ever found out. But still, he couldn't resist the chance encounters in the hallway, the too casual requests for a game of chess, or the way he found himself taking up swimming over boxing. He liked watching her thin but muscular arms slice through the water.

He'd even considered asking her to stay on after her three month term had ended, knew that Bones would love the idea, but hesitated. Maggie had never indicated that she returned his feelings more than sincere friendship. And he'd heard rumors that she was destined for Starfleet's newest and most mysterious starship: the U.S.S. Defiant. Starfleet was keeping its capabilities under lock and key, none of his friends at HQ would even admit it existed. One of Scotty's engineering friends had let slip that it was twice the size of the Enterprise while being manned by a handpicked crew of 125. And for a supposed science ship, it contained an awful lot of advanced weaponry.

Kirk thought the whole thing smelled a little of Section 31, Starfleet's black-ops department, but had never voiced his opinion. Especially since it was rumored that Maggie was going to be the Defiant's first CMO.

She was, at least, until the accident.

Movement caught Kirk's attention. McCoy had raised his glass, quaffed the fiery liquid in one gulp, then moved to set the glass on the desk as if to say "There, I've had my drink and now I'll go."

"Can you stay a little longer, Bones?"

Kirk's own emotion was poorly disguised, and McCoy studied him as he settled back in the chair, still holding the empty glass. Kirk stood to refill his friend's drink before Bones could change his mind, but he found the sudden movement disorienting. He grabbed the edge of the desk for balance, took two breaths, then found he was able to fill both glasses.

McCoy watched him navigate the corner of the desk and drop back into his own chair, then he asked, "How you doin', Jim? We haven't talked much lately."

It was an amazing attribute of McCoy's character that he was able to recognize another's grief while in the midst of his own. He was, Kirk thought, one of the most compassionate men he'd ever met and was honored to be counted among McCoy's friends.

He gave a calculated shrug of nonchalance. "Me? Oh, I'm all right."

There was a derisive snort then McCoy arched an eyebrow at him. "You forget that I know you too well, Jim. Those pretty boy looks don't work on this McCoy, remember?"

Heat crept up Kirk's neck. "I don't know what you mean," he said, but realized he'd spoken too fast. He met his friend's gaze and saw that McCoy was perfectly aware of his feelings toward Maggie. He suddenly doubted that McCoy had ever been unaware of them at all.

Kirk's shoulders sagged. "Bones, nothing hap—"

"Of course, nothing happened. And nothing will happen." McCoy shook his head. He didn't sound angry, just sad. "Because the ship always comes first with you, Jim. Your command. There's nothing outside of that. And that's what I told Maggie."

"How did you know?"

He huffed. "What? You think I'm blind? I wasn't born an old sawbones, you know." His expression turned pained. "She's all I got left, Jim. And when she gets better, I won't have her play mistress to you and this ship."

Hurt, Kirk tried to defend himself. "I don't think of her like that."

"I know. And I know your feelings are real—heck, I know how lonely it can be—but it won't be enough. I know it, and more importantly, she knows it." McCoy shot him a strange look then. "Nobody will ever be good enough for my little girl, you understand, but in another life . . ."

"Thanks, Bones."

They fell into a sad but comfortable silence until McCoy's head began to bob forward on the edge of sleep. He stood, swayed briefly due to exhaustion more than alcohol, and mumbled something about going to bed, to which Jim knew meant one of the unoccupied biobeds in the ward. He wished his friend good rest, and then he was alone once more.

He stared at his empty glass for a moment, turned it around in his hand, and felt a hollow bitterness in his chest. In the next second, the glass shattered into a million sparkling pieces against the far bulkhead.

Kirk grabbed the bottle of brandy and stumbled to his bed where he slumped down. "To my loving ship," he slurred, holding up the nearly empty bottle as if to toast the Enterprise. "You selfish bitch!"

The bottle slid from his grasp as Kirk dropped sideways onto the mattress. He was unconscious before his head hit the pillow.

Author's Note: If you liked it (or didn't), please review. This chapter was the hardest to edit. All the feels got my feels going and then everything got confusing and sort of lumpy. Anyway, starts to get more action-packed from here on out now that some of the backstory is covered.

Cooper