Leonard McCoy
The alarm on Leonard's phone goes off at five o'clock in the afternoon. With a groan, he presses his thumb against the biometric scanner, unlocking the screen, and swipes to turn it off. While most people are leaving work for the day, his shift at the hospital starts in an hour.
It takes fifteen minutes to convince himself to get up and another fifteen to shower, shave, and change. By the time he walks down the stairs, he smells coffee brewing which can only mean one thing. Confirmation comes when he sees her keys in the bowl by the door. He steps into the kitchen, and she's there, examining something on her tablet. He approaches his wife and, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, tells her,
"You're doing it again."
"I'm not." Amelia looks up from the device and offers him a smile. "It's not work. Promise." That's been the biggest argument they've had over the past three months since going to the courthouse and signing papers. She brings work home with her and he stays late. They're working on resolving it, but old habits die hard.
"Then what is it?" She sighs.
"It's a biography."
"Van Gogh?"
"Da Vinci. And it's not very good."
"You could put it down, you know." He says it as he pours an unhealthy amount of coffee into a thermos.
"I could, but you know me."
"I do. You never know when to quit." It used to be a rare occurrence, her cracking a smile. It still is when she's at work, but when it's just the two of them, she's more likely to reveal her true feelings. "Good day at work?"
"Yes, but long. Couple's counseling isn't my favorite."
"So do something else. Wasn't that the point of starting your own practice? To be your own boss?"
"I suppose so." She glances down at her phone. "You're going to be late."
"I'm not." Not if he leaves right now. He grabs his bag from where he dropped it early this morning and leans down to kiss her. "Goodnight, Darling."
"Goodnight. Don't forget-"
"To give Joanna that book. I won't. I love you."
"I love you too."
Traffic is terrible on the way to the hospital, and he has to jog from the parking deck to the staff entrance, but from the look of things, he's not the only one. Falling into step next to him as he pushes through the doors is his daughter, and it appears as if-
"You didn't make it home last night, did you?"
"Good morning to you too, Dad."
"It's six o'clock at night."
"I got that. Did Amelia have something for me, or-"
"Here." He stops long enough to dig out the book. "She said you'll never guess who did it."
"My bet's on the butler." Chuckling, he takes off towards the changing room. As he pulls on his scrubs, a mask falls out of the bag, and he stuffs it back in. That's one thing he's glad they're leaving behind in 2023. The virus which effectively shut down the world still exists, but it's better under control and now he can communicate with patients without the mask in place.
It's Friday night and a full moon, so the E.R. is busy right from the get go. It starts with the usual suspects: a child with a fever that parents didn't think to treat with Tylenol, a few psychologically disturbed individuals, and a broken femur. Then it kicks into high gear with a car accident. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, but when he realizes that the driver was drunk, he still has to fight the urge to read them the riot act for their stupidity. The good news is that Joanna is nearby, and she realizes where his head is at, so she shoots him a warning look. The bad news is that, halfway through suturing, he hears a code blue being called. He's the attending physician, which means he drops what he's doing and runs in the direction of the code.
Christine Chapel, a damn fine nurse he's been working with for years rattles off information about the patient's vitals before she tanked and gives the order to stand back.
"Charge to one hundred."
"Clear." No response.
"Push 1.5 cc's of Lidocaine." The drug is administered, but still nothing. "Charge to two hundred."
"Clear." This time, after the shock is administered, he sees the patient's chest rise and fall.
"She's back." He waits for the readout of pulse and oxygen levels before excusing himself to handle the next patient.
The night continues, picking up speed steadily until it fades into morning. He runs into Joanna in the hallway just as the sun is coming up. She's covered in-
"Is that vomit?"
"Among other things. Remind me again why I decided to become a nurse?"
"Because you look up to me and you wanted to follow in my footsteps."
"Right. That was it. Thanks, Dad." Their relationship was strained until a few months ago, but it's getting better. Good enough to exchange sarcasms. "By the way, did you check on the patient in 208?"
"Covid guy?" She nods. "He's not in the E.R. so it's really not my job-"
"I know, but he started out there, and he's been here forever. You could at least take a look at him."
"Joanna, I don't know what you're expecting me to see-"
"It's just a gut feeling. Weren't you the one who told me to trust those?"
"Fine."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise. Sometime within the next forty-eight hours, I'll take a look at him."
"Doctor-" Chapel approaches him wearing a look he's familiar with.
"Is it that time?"
"It is." So, he forgets to do little things like eat or sleep if the critical care nurse doesn't remind him. Sue him. "You need to grab at least an hour's sleep."
"Alright. I'm going." Digging his phone out of his pocket, he shoots a quick text to Amelia. She'll be waking up about now and since he won't see her until his twenty-four hour shift is up, it's a good practice to still make contact. Her response comes just as he's climbing into one of the bunks in the on-call room. Turning his phone on silent, he closes his eyes, allowing a deep sleep to overtake him. A deep sleep with vivid dreams…
_
Amelia Fairchild
"Sickbay to Fairchild." Frowning, Amelia looks up from the report she was going over. That sounds like Andres. It's rare for a member of the medical staff to use the comms to get ahold of her. Her office is inside of sickbay. It's not as if it's a long walk.
"Fairchild here."
"Counselor, there's been an accident on the planet surface. Report to the ICU immediately. Sickbay out." As she stands and powers off her PADD, her hands shake, and she folds them behind her back to hide the trembling. The planet they're orbiting currently is uninhabitable, but it contains several minerals vital to the production of various vaccines, so an away team, including Leonard, suited up and beamed down. And now something's wrong.
Sickbay is in a state of panic when she arrives. There's only one patient in the ICU and she knows who it is without confirmation. M'Benga and Chapel are both standing over him, looking grave. Captain Kirk is waiting by the door.
"What happened?"
"His suit was malfunctioning, and we didn't catch it. God knows how long he was breathing in the gases out there before he went down." A mistake. A simple mistake. And now…
"Has M'Benga said how bad it is?" The captain hesitates. "Will you just tell me?" She takes a deep breath, trying to push back her rising panic. "Please."
"Extensive lung damage, but there's still brain activity." Kirk looks down at her, sympathy written on his face. "Counselor-"
"He's crashing!" The proclamation comes from M'Benga. "Nurse, five cc's Oxempa! Captain, get her out of here!" The alarms on the monitor go off, and she knows she should leave. Loved ones have no place during a code. Still, she finds herself rooted in the doorway, just watching.
"Counselor, come with me." Kirk tells her. Christine presses a hypospray into Leonard's arm, but she knows even before they say it that it's not working.
"No response. Go up to seven cc's, and push 2 cc's Zantara." So, it's not just his breathing now. It's his heart as well.
"Counselor!" The captain grasps her arm and tugs. He's bigger than she is, so she has no choice but to follow him. He leads her back towards her office (her guess would be because it's the farthest you can get from the ICU but still be inside the confines of sickbay) and, once they're inside, instructs her, "Sit down before you fall down."
"I'll stand."
"That's an order, Counselor." A small part of her mind hysterically whispers that it's the most banal order she's ever received, but she does as she's told, settling into her usual spot with Kirk sitting opposite her. "Amelia, he's going to be fine." Amelia. Not counselor. Then things really are bad. "You know him. Bones is stubborn. He won't go down without a fight."
She's counseled many families whose loved ones were either dying or possibly dying, as well as patients at the end of their lives. She knows that things just happen, and you get no warning, but despite all of her knowledge, she finds herself uttering the four words she's heard so often.
"This shouldn't be happening."
"No, it shouldn't." Then why the hell is it? That's what she'd like to know. "If you want to yell at someone, you can yell at me. If you want to cry-"
"I don't want to do either of those things." How can she when it feels like half of her is in sickbay? "What kind of a gas was it?"
"Counselor-"
"Please. It's how I process. I need to know as much information as possible."
"It was detroxide. The composition is similar to carbon monoxide. There's no smell and no color. You don't notice it until-" He stops short, but she knows what he was going to say. Until it's too late.
"And the survival rate?"
"I've heard of people who have survived."
"What percentage?" He doesn't answer.
It feels like hours pass, but she knows it can only be minutes before the door to her office opens. M'Benga is the one to step in, frowning deeply. Amelia's not sure who's quicker to stand, herself or Captain Kirk.
"Well?" He asks.
"It's really news for the family, Captain." If Leonard was dead, he'd just say it. That's what she tells herself.
"I would like for the captain to stay."
"Alright. His lungs have sustained heavy damage. There's a lot of scarring, and if we weren't so far out from any facilities that could provide it, I would recommend a transplant. As it is, we've given him tissue regenerators to try and repair the damage, but I have to warn you: the prognosis isn't good."
"I see."
"If he has other family, I would recommend that you contact them. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Giving her a parting nod, he steps back through her office doors. Kirk turns to face her.
"Is there anyone besides Joanna?"
"His mother, but I won't contact her until-" She swallows hard.
"I can handle the transmission to Joanna."
"No. It should come from me." They might not know each other incredibly well, but Joanna is her stepdaughter. That makes them family.
"Do you want someone with you when you contact her? Maybe Uhura or I?"
"No." She pastes a smile she doesn't mean on her face. "Thank you, Captain."
"Alright." He sighs. "I'm relieving you of duty indefinitely."
"Sir-"
"Amelia, I know how you feel about him. Your mind won't be on your work until he's out of the woods or…" She can see the muscles in his jaw work as if he's trying to swallow something bitter.
"Then, permission to return to my quarters?"
"I'll walk with you."
It takes all of her effort to climb to her feet and begin the trek through sickbay to the quarters she shares with her husband, so she has none left for self-control when they come to the ICU. Even from a distance, she can tell that he's cyanotic, limbs hanging limp at his sides. Once again, she feels Kirk's hands on her arm, urging her away. Once again, she has no choice but to follow. He doesn't leave until they reach the room across from sickbay, and even then, he hovers in the doorway.
"Do you want me to sit with you for a while?"
"No. Thank you." Offering her a disingenuous smile, he starts back up the corridor.
To her credit, Amelia makes it to the computer without collapsing or shedding a tear. She's breathing faster than normal, heart thundering in her ears, but she still manages to order the machine on. "Access medical files on detroxide poisoning."
"Accessing." Even with all her years of education, a lot of it is beyond her comprehension, but what does sink in is what the captain has already told her. That, and the survival rate: five percent. Forcing herself to take a few deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, she tells the computer, "End program. Begin video transmission. Recipient: Joanna McCoy."
Leonard McCoy
Leonard's alarm going off is what wakes him out of a dead sleep. He frowns and swipes blindly at the phone, shutting it off. It's been an hour, but he feels even more exhausted than before he slept. That was a hell of a dream. He was on a kind of spaceship, and Amelia was there. The details are fuzzy, but he thinks he was in some sort of trouble. Shaking his head, he climbs out of bed and starts towards the door.
No one paged him while he was out, so he takes that as his cue to visit the cafeteria and snag something to eat. It's three floors away from the on-call room, but he takes the stairs. There's a lot of doctors who don't practice what they preach about diet and exercise. He's not doing well with the first one, but he won't be oh for two.
It's a well-established fact that hospital food is the lowest form of cuisine, so he's not entirely sure what it is he finds on his plate. Only that it's supposed to be meatloaf. Picking up a set of plastic utensils, he heads towards a mostly empty table and settles at the end of it. His solitude only lasts for five minutes. Then he feels a hand on his shoulder.
"Is that as bad as it looks?"
"Worse." Grimacing, Joanna slides into place across from him. "What about yours?"
"Um-" She stabs at the green jello on her plate. "I might have it wrong, but isn't it supposed to move?"
"That's how I'm remembering it, at least."
"You could always tell Amelia to pack you a lunch." He snickers.
"No one tells Amelia to do anything, and I think I'm safer eating this than something that comes out of her kitchen. Don't tell her I said that."
"My lips are sealed. For now."
"For now?" She nods, a mischievous smirk in place.
"It's good blackmail material for the future."
"Joanna-"
"Tell you what. I'll forget it if you'll take a look at Covid guy." He sighs.
"You know how protective doctors are. I can't just take over another's patient."
"I'm not asking you to take over. Just perform an exam. His O2 stats started dropping during the night and we can't figure out why." She's not going to be happy unless he gives in.
"Tell me about him."
"He's forty-four years old, previously healthy. Just got married a few months ago. His wife and adult daughter stop in to see him every day."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Nothing." It's just that, from that description, it could just as easily be him lying there.
"So will you stop by?"
"If he had as rough of a night as you said he did, then I should wait for him to stabilize before doing anything."
"Dad-" His pager chooses that moment to go off. Glancing down, he informs her,
"Another trauma case."
"Probably a car accident." Giving her shoulder a squeeze in passing, he takes off at a run towards the E.R.
As it turns out, it's not a car accident. This time it's trying to use a nail gun while under the influence. It takes ages for him to get the person to admit exactly what's in his system (all the while, he's applying pressure to the various puncture wounds), but finally it's done. Next is a kid who decided to eat rat poison. Then what's clearly a domestic abuse case. That one leaves him slightly shaken since the woman denies everything, and he wishes that Amelia still worked at the hospital so she could lend a hand. None of the other patients stand out in his exhausted state, and by the time the clock reads six p.m., he's more than ready to call it a day.
The drive home is less eventful than the one to the hospital the night before. It's a good thing because he's blinking hard and blasting the radio in an attempt to stay awake. Normally the Jim and Spock show keeps his interest (he rarely agrees with Spock's commentary, but Jim seems like a man you could grab a beer with), but not today. Finally, he pulls into the driveway in front of his house and climbs out from behind the wheel.
The first thing he notices as he steps through the door is the smell of burned food. Amelia's had another failed attempt then. Snickering to himself, he drops his bag and heads up the stairs, intent on showering and then finding his wife. He succeeds in one of the two ventures, but the other one requires an exploratory mission.
His hair is still damp when he finds her. She's in the laundry room, adding his scrubs to the wash, and upon hearing his footsteps, looks up, a smile in place.
"Hey."
"Hey, there." Leaning down, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her. She responds, letting out a contented noise. It's tempting to just stand there (or possibly lift her onto the top of the dryer and keep going), but he breaks away, if only because the bed would be far more comfortable.
"Long day?" He nods.
"It was a full moon-"
"You know as well as I do that it's just a psychological phenomenon."
"Tell me that after you spend a few months working in the E.R." She shakes her head and asks,
"Have you eaten yet?"
"No, but I know you've cooked."
"I believe the technical term is 'charred'."
"What was it this time?"
"Marinated chicken. It's alright if you peel off the burned layer."
"Sandwiches it is, then."
They don't say much to each other as they eat. It's not uncommon. After a twenty-four-hour shift, the letdown starts to set in and he's no good for conversation. She's used to it by now and doesn't try to remedy the situation. Eventually, she clears away the plates and sets them in the dishwasher. Now comes the important decision of the evening: does he try to stay up for another hour or go ahead and crash for the night? The sight of his wife curling up on the sofa and turning on the television makes his mind up for him. Taking a seat next to her, he pulls her back to rest against his chest.
"Good Omens?"
"Close. Doctor Who."
"I knew it had that guy in it. The one with the hair."
"David Tennant."
"That's the one." He has every intention of watching the episode, but as the Doctor runs from yet another alien, he finds his eyes drifting shut. He's not asleep, still aware of his surroundings, so he realizes it when, with a sigh, Amelia turns the tv off and shifts in her seat.
"Go to bed, Leonard."
"I'm fine."
"You've been up for twenty-six hours."
"That's not true. I took a nap in the on-call room."
"How long of a nap?" He doesn't answer. "That's what I thought."
"Fine. I'll go to bed, but I want you to come with me."
"Alright." Standing, he offers her his hand, and she takes it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
He doesn't think he'll ever get bored of the sight of Amelia undressing even though tonight it's obstructed by the semi-darkness of their bedroom. She catches him watching and snickers, pulling her nightgown over her head. As she approaches the bed, he runs a quick mental calculation. His next shift starts at six, but he has to get up by five. It's eight o'clock now. If he wants to get in eight hours, he'll have to fall asleep by nine. That's still another hour… and he thinks he knows how to use it.
"Come here." She does as he asks, balancing on the edge of the bed next to him. He sits up and leans in to kiss her, only to feel a hand on his chest.
"If we start that, you'll never get to sleep."
"It's still early-"
"But you can never turn your brain off afterwards." It's true. His wife sleeps like a rock after sex. He, on the other hand, is high on endorphins. Still…
"I'm willing to sacrifice a few hours of sleep." She lets out a soft laugh, an even softer smile on her face.
"Leonard, you have one more day until you're off for two. I'm all yours then. But for now, I'm hitting pause."
"Alright." Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, he settles back against the pillows and closes his eyes. He can still hear her carrying out her nightly routine, but the hours awake are catching up to him, and slowly, the edges of his consciousness go hazy…
Amelia Fairchild
All throughout Amelia's explanation of what's happened, Leonard's daughter doesn't say a word. She nods in the appropriate places, a line appearing between her brows in the exact same place he gets one when he's troubled, but she doesn't ask questions. Finally, Amelia runs out of words, and they just sit there in silence, staring at each other. The minutes tick by, then-
"Damn it, Dad." The younger woman sighs. "I guess he did warn me. He said that sometimes the planets try to kill you."
"They have a habit of doing that, yes."
"How long was he down on the planet surface?"
"An hour, but it's unclear when his suit began to malfunction."
"And the lung damage-"
"Extensive." Should she tell her this part? "He's already crashed once." Joanna lets out a string of expletives and, rubbing at her temples asks,
"Okay. So, what do we do now?"
"Dr. M'Benga is doing everything he can-"
"I mean you and me. Have you let Grandma know yet?"
"No. I'm waiting until we know something definite."
"You mean you're waiting for him to die." Amelia opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, her stepdaughter tells her, "I'm not mad at you, Amelia. It's what I would do."
"We don't know that it's going to work out that way."
"Yes, but the odds are twenty to one that he won't make it."
"Joanna…" What would she say if it wasn't someone she loves going through this? "…a realistic view is a good thing, but you also have to allow room for hope."
"Are you hopeful?" Her mind plays back the image of her husband lying unconscious in the ICU, skin tinged blue. He looked dead already, and as much as she wants to believe he'll beat the odds-
"Not incredibly so, no." As she admits it, tears sting her eyes, and she blinks rapidly to keep them back. She can't cry in front of Joanna. Not when she's struggling with the possibly impending death of her father.
"Then that's all there is to say, I guess." With a groan, Joanna sits up straight and tells her, "I have work. Let me know if anything changes."
"I will." She hesitates before adding, "I love you, Joanna."
"I love you too. You're still my family. Even if he…" Joanna swallows hard.
"And you're mine."
"Goodbye, Amelia." The transmission ends, and she orders the computer to turn off. There's nothing she can do now except either try to sleep or return to sickbay. Out of the two, she chooses to spend whatever time they have left with Leonard.
Perez is standing over him when she steps into the room. The nurse's eyes are swollen and red, but her expression is neutral, professional.
"No change."
"I assumed as much." Perez indicates a chair that's been placed next to the bed.
"Chapel told M'Benga that you'd be back once you contacted his family. You can sit with him if you like."
"Can I touch him?"
"Sure. Who knows? Maybe that'll help him find his way back." The nurse walks away, medical scanner and tricorder in hand, leaving Amelia to settle into place. Reaching out, she takes his unnaturally cool hand between both of hers. His breathing is labored, painful to listen to. She wishes she could breathe for him. That gives her an idea…
"Dr. M'Benga?" She doesn't raise her voice, but the doctor still responds, walking into the room.
"Counselor."
"You said that you would recommend a transplant if we were nearer a facility that had a set of lungs."
"Yes. We don't have any lab-grown organs on board, unfortunately."
"I know it's uncommon now, but what if someone donated a lung?"
"I presume when you say 'someone' you mean yourself."
"Yes." M'Benga offers her a sympathetic smile.
"It's a noble thought, Counselor, but your blood type is wrong. You're AB negative. He's O positive. It wouldn't work. Unless…"
"Unless?" Not bothering to reply, he strides towards the dispensary. A few minutes pass, during which she counts the number of heartbeats the monitor picks up, and then he reemerges, Christine hot on his heels.
"Counselor, there's a limited supply of Menoxim on board. Do you know what that is?"
"It's added to different blood types to make them compatible with each other."
"It would be experimental, but if there's a chance that, if we injected both of you over a number of hours, we could trick your bodies into thinking you have the same blood type."
"What are the chances of that working as opposed to what you're already doing?" M'Benga sighs.
"I'll be honest with you. If the tissue regenerators were going to work, they would have by now. I estimate he's got another six hours or so left if we do nothing. Receiving a transplant might kill him, but it might also be his only chance. Still, we've got to consider the danger you'd be in." She frowns as she thinks it over. If it's a choice between guaranteed death and possible success, she knows what she's choosing.
"Would you be able to perform the surgery?"
"I would."
"Then it's our best option."
"Are you sure? This isn't a decision to be made lightly, and you've just gone through a major trauma-"
"I'm sure." M'Benga turns to Christine.
"Nurse, prepare two hyposprays, five cc's of Menoxim each."
"Yes, Doctor."
"I have to warn you, Counselor. The side effects will be most unpleasant. There's hair loss, vomiting, heart palpitations, hot flashes, blurred vision, and lightheadedness." All of which she can endure.
"Do it."
Leonard McCoy
Leonard jolts awake, sitting up in bed. This time, the dream was more vivid than any of the previous ones. He was on the spaceship again, and Amelia was about to… he looks around, eyes landing on his still-sleeping wife. Not Amelia. The Amelia in his dream was about to undergo surgery in a last-ditch attempt to save him. In this life, she's fine. Nothing has happened to them. He glances at his phone. Five minutes left until his alarm is set to ring. Tapping the screen to turn it off, he eases out of bed and begins preparing for the day ahead.
He's not much of a cook either, so he settles for instant oatmeal and orange juice. As quiet as he's trying to be, he knows it won't be long before she wakes up. As soon as the smell of coffee reaches her, the day will begin. Sure enough, not five minutes later, he hears footsteps and turns towards the door.
"Coffee?"
"Good morning to you too, Amelia."
"Good morning. Coffee?" He indicates the machine, and she makes her way over. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"I did. Why?"
"You kept tossing and turning."
"Did I keep you up?"
"Yes." Two years on, and he's still getting used to her honesty.
"I'm sorry, Darling. I've just been having some strange dreams."
"Strange how?" She takes a sip from one of the mismatched mugs that made their way into the cabinets when they moved in together.
"Well, you're in them. And we're on a spaceship, or at least you and I are."
"What are we doing there?"
"I'm not sure, but I think I'm dying and you're trying to save me."
"I see."
"So, what's your analysis, Dr. Fairchild?"
"My analysis is that hospital food is not your friend." He snickers. "The study of dreams is mostly guesswork, but dreams in which you're dying usually signal that you're going through a major change in your life." He supposes that makes sense. The marriage is still new, and they're trying to navigate that.
"What about the part where you try to save me?"
"Simple. I'll always try to save you. And you'll try to save me. Your subconscious knows that."
"And the spaceship?"
"Reference my earlier mention of hospital food." That reminds him…
"I have to go." Placing his empty bowl in the sink, he starts towards the door, only stopping long enough to press a kiss to her forehead.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Amelia." He grabs his bag and pulls open the front door.
It's much the same as every other day. He arrives, changes, and heads to the E.R. Today's a Sunday, traditionally the slowest day in the hospital. He has time to go over charts that need to be updated, catch up with Chapel (she's seeing someone but won't say who), and even research a few medical journals between patients. Lunchtime finally rolls around, and he waits by the nurses' station for Joanna. At last, she emerges, fresh scrubs in place.
"You look awful. Did Amelia kick you out of bed or something?"
"No, but I almost kicked her out."
"A fight?"
"Interesting dreams."
"Let me guess: you show up to class and realize you're naked."
"Haven't had that one since med school."
"Well, do you want to hear about my dream?"
"What's that?" She stops just outside the stairwell.
"That you'll go up to room 208 and check on Covid guy."
"Joanna-"
"You promised. You said within the next forty-eight hours, and you're out of time. Pony up, old man." With a groan, he starts up the steps.
"Room 208, you said?"
"Yes."
"Well, are you coming or not?"
He usually doesn't make it up to this level of the hospital, so he has to walk slowly, checking room numbers as he searches for the one in question. Joanna is less than helpful; every time he shoots her a questioning look, she just gives him a thumbs up. Finally, he lands on the right door. He doesn't really get a good look at the patient until he's right on top of him, stethoscope out. That's when he sees it. The man is cyanotic, his breathing labored, and what's more… he looks exactly like what he sees in the mirror every morning.
"Joanna, is it just me, or does he look-"
"Blue? Yeah, he does."
"I meant does he look a little like me?" She frowns.
"I'm not seeing it." He leans closer, giving the heart another listen. It's beating slower than normal, and as he turns towards the monitor, it gives a shuddering thud and stops.
"Damn it. Call a code blue!" He's not sure if she's heard him over the sound of the monitor flatlining, but she pushes the button by the bed and takes off at a run. The door slams inward as two nurses with a crash cart burst through. This isn't his patient, but he doesn't see another doctor and there isn't time to wait.
"Push 1.5 cc's of Lidocaine." The nurse does as he says as he grabs the paddles.
"No response."
"Charge to one hundred." He always hates the sound that the paddles make as they fill with electricity. "Clear." The man's body jerks, but the monitors don't register a heartbeat.
"Nothing."
"Charging to two hundred." The whining from the paddles starts all over again. "Clear."
"No response."
"Push 2 cc's of Lidocaine." He doesn't expect that to do it, and he's not disappointed. "Charging to three hundred." If this doesn't work, what's his next move? He can't let that man die. "Clear." The monitors begin to blip again, and he heaves a sigh of relief.
"Sinus rhythm 100, BP 120 over 80. He's stabilizing." His hands are steady as he returns the paddles to their place, but the rest of him feels oddly shaky. It's almost as if he's the one who received an electric shock. Giving a few final instructions to the nurses, he walks back out the door. Joanna is waiting for him in the stairwell and when she sees him, she grins.
"You just saved Covid guy."
"Looks like it."
"Are you going to be able to eat, or do you still need to come down?" Not bothering to reply, he starts down the stairs towards the cafeteria.
The rest of the day passes in a flurry of minor illnesses and injuries. Before he's aware of how much time has passed, Chapel approaches him, frowning.
"Doctor-"
"I know."
"We'll both pretend that you did." He sighs.
"Chapel, do you ever dream that you're somebody else?" She opens her mouth to reply, but he holds up a hand "Scratch that. Do you ever dream that you're somewhere else?"
"Dr. McCoy, you're not making any sense."
"Never mind. Goodnight, Chapel." He still plans to head up to the on-call room, but there's one stop he needs to make first.
Room 208's lights are out, and he has every intention of checking on the patient and just leaving, but as he starts to go, the man reaches out and grasps his sleeve.
"Yes?"
"I heard you saved my life."
"I did my job."
"That's what I always say." A few seconds pass in silence, then- "Don't you think it's time to go, Leonard?" He frowns. How does he know his first name?
"Go where?"
"Home. To Amelia."
"How do you know-"
"She's waiting for you on board the starship Enterprise. She's done everything that she can to save you. Now it's up to you to save yourself." The dream comes back to him then. The spaceship. Another Amelia deciding to gamble everything to give him a fighting chance.
"How do I know that's real, and this is a dream?"
"You just conducted a code blue on yourself. What further proof do you need?"
"Things seem so much more complicated there."
"They are. They're infinitely harder too."
"Then why would I want to-"
"Damn it, man! Will you listen to me? This isn't real! Your girls are waiting on you! They're both scared to death!"
"Alright, take it easy." He glances around to make sure no one is listening. "How do I get back there?"
"The same way you've been seeing her. Go to sleep."
"That's it?" The man nods.
"Call this your mind's way of trying to make sense of your trauma. But you can't live here forever."
"No, I guess I can't."
"So go on. Amelia should be waking up soon, and she'll want to see you."
"Fine." It can't hurt to give it a shot. Taking one final look at the monitors, he walks out the door towards the stairwell. Once he's safely concealed, he digs his phone out of his pocket and, selecting the most familiar contact, listens to it ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Darling."
"Let me guess: Chapel told you to go to bed."
"Something like that." As he speaks, he starts walking once again. "Amelia, what would you say if I told you that there's a chance all of this might be a dream?"
"I'd say that you've been working too hard, and you need to go to sleep."
"What if sleeping took me away from you?"
"Then I'd tell you to dream of me." She yawns, and that's when it occurs to him. She's stayed up late waiting for him to call.
"You should get to bed."
"Pot, meet kettle."
"Amelia-"
"I'm going. Goodnight, Leonard."
"Goodnight, Amelia." He presses 'end call' and steps through the on-call room door. He's not sure if he believes that this is a dream (although the fact that he just had a conversation with himself seems to point in that direction), but it can't hurt to at least try and sleep. Not bothering to set an alarm this time, he climbs into one of the bunks and lets his eyes drift closed….
Amelia Fairchild
Amelia's still sore from surgery as she sits in the chair by Leonard's bed. It's a little odd, breathing with only one lung, but it's just for a few months until they return to Earth and a replacement can be transplanted. Right now, her real concern is the man in the bed.
"It's been hours." Normally, she wouldn't outwardly complain, but she's in too much discomfort to be polite. M'Benga offers her a sympathetic smile as he straightens from scanning Leonard.
"His brain activity is good. Respiration is just what I'd expect, and heartrate is normal. I could give him a hypospray to bring him around faster, but considering what his body has gone through, it's not worth it. Be patient, Counselor. He's probably just having a really good dream. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
"Of course."
The doctor walks out the doors towards the dispensary. Turning to her still-sleeping husband, she attempts to memorize what he looks like. His coloring is better. Body still limp, but more full of life, somehow. His breathing isn't labored, and occasionally, she thinks she catches the fluttering of eyelids.
"That had better be one exceptional dream you're having."
"It was." The words are hoarse, but they're the first she's heard from him since they said goodbye over forty-eight hours ago. It's weaker than usual, but she feels her hand being squeezed. "But I think this is better."
"Leonard?" His eyes slowly open and, focusing on her, he smiles.
"Amelia." Her breath catches in her chest in a way that should be alarming considering what they've just been through, but she recognizes the feeling. Relief.
"Dr. M'Benga?" The sound of running footsteps reaches her ears.
"You're a sight for sore eyes."
"You're not so bad yourself." The doors to the ICU slide open and M'Benga steps inside, a smile in place.
"Look who's awake. Welcome back, Dr. McCoy."
"M'Benga, what have you been doing to my sickbay?"
"Oh, you know. Performing experimental surgery on your wife." That provokes a frown.
"So that part wasn't a dream? You really gave up a lung for me?" She nods. "Amelia!"
"Don't pretend you wouldn't have done the same thing if the situations were reversed." He opens his mouth, but then snaps it shut again. M'Benga leans over him, medical scanner out.
"How are her vitals?"
"Within normal range."
"Respiration? Oxygen levels?"
"Both what you'd expect from someone with one lung. As are yours, in case you were wondering."
"What about incision pain? How often is she receiving pain medication?"
"Doctor, I promise to return the running of sickbay to you once you're recovered, but for now, you're a patient, not a doctor."
"Yes, but-"
"If you want to fuss about Counselor Fairchild, fuss about her as her husband." M'Benga sets down the medical scanner. "Now that you're both awake, I'm sure you'd like to catch up. If you need me, I'll be in the exam room."
"Thank you, Doctor." Her words are met with a nod. She waits until he's fully gone to ask, "How are you feeling, Leonard?"
"I'm fine."
"Good. Then you listen to me." Gripping his hand tighter, she tells him, "Never ever do that again. You can't scare me like that."
"Consider it payback for when you did it to me." It takes considerable effort not to roll her eyes or shove him or do something else equally as immature. "I promise, as long as you promise not to give away anymore body parts."
"If you keep your word, then I won't have to." Which reminds her… "You were dreaming earlier."
"I was."
"What about?" He chuckles.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"We were on Earth during the twenty-first century. Have you ever heard of COVID-19?"
"Wasn't that a global pandemic?"
"Yes. We were at the tail end of it, and I was working at a hospital with Joanna. You had your own private practice."
"That sounds nice."
"It was." It's silent for a few moments, then- "We could have that, Amelia. A normal life outside of Starfleet."
"I thought we agreed to table that discussion."
"There's only two months left until we'd have to have it anyway."
"And I have every intention of talking about it then. But not today. Not when-" She stops short.
"When?"
"When I almost lost you." It hits her then. All of the emotions she's put off feeling for the past forty-eight hours. "Damn it, Leonard. I felt like half of me was being ripped away. I never want to go through that again."
"Can you stand?" That's an odd transition, but she nods. "Then come here." Gingerly, she climbs to her feet and eases up onto the bed next to him. It's a tight squeeze, but with his arm around her, she's not in any danger of slipping off. Tears flood her vision and she's unable to keep them from falling, so instead she rolls onto her side and buries her head in his shoulder. She becomes aware of his hand smoothing down her back, but it's not enough to stem the flow of tears. Eventually though, every storm has to calm, including the one in her. Sniffling, she looks up, meeting blue eyes full of concern. "How long has that one been brewing?"
"About two days, I think."
"Then it's about time you let it out." She chuckles.
"Look at that. You wake up and your wife falls to pieces. I have a rule against that, you know."
"I know. But there's an exception to every rule." There is, and she's met him. With a sigh, she wipes the last bit of moisture from her eyes.
"I love you, Leonard. Don't you leave me."
"I love you, Amelia. I'm not going anywhere."