Chapter Text
His Own Damn Medicine
Dr. Joseph M’Benga had treated war veterans with half their organs shredded by Klingon disruptors and stabilized patients whose bones were still fusing mid-scream. He had survived the front lines of the Federation’s most brutal medical crises and come out with his hands steady and his mind intact.
And yet this—this right here—might just be the thing that broke him.
Leonard McCoy, renowned surgeon, reigning champion of professional orneriness, and current occupant of biobed two, was awake again. That, on its own, should have been good news. But the moment those bloodshot eyes cracked open, M’Benga knew—knew—it was going to be another long day.
“Why the hell do I still feel like I got run over by a starship?” McCoy rasped, voice raw but recognizable, already pushing feebly against the restraint field as though he could bully his body into healing faster.
M’Benga didn’t bother looking up from his padd.
“Because you let a building fall on you, Leonard. And before that, you performed open heart surgery in a structurally unstable facility during an active seismic event, which you refused to abandon despite repeated orders to the contrary.”
“Had it under control,” McCoy mumbled, slurring slightly. “Didn’t need to be beamed out mid-suture—messes with the alignment…”
M’Benga lifted his eyes just long enough to glare. “Your patient flatlined in transit. You flatlined two minutes later. I had to bring you both back. You’re welcome.”
It hadn’t helped that the Captain himself had been damn near hysterical. Honestly, Joe had never seen anything like it. He had nearly decided to sedate the man, chain of command be damnned, when Christine had stepped in to “calm” him.
Thank the stars for good nurses. Joe doubted Jim Kirk had received such a dressing down since his academy days…
If then.
Both he and Spock had insisted on remaining until the CMO had woken up. Joe had managed to chase them off a few hours ago to allow his patient some rest.
Before McCoy could muster another grumble, two familiar shadows closed in behind M’Benga like a matched pair of ominous clouds.
Of course.
“Doctor,” said Spock, voice as neutral as always but with that faint edge of tension M’Benga had come to recognize as Vulcan for deeply worried. “Is his condition stable?”
“He’s awake, isn’t he?” M’Benga replied dryly. “Vitals are improving, though his sodium’s still low and the bone regenerator’s going to need another pass on the left tibia.”
“And his heart?” Kirk asked quickly, eyes flicking to the monitor above McCoy’s bed like he could divine the man’s prognosis through sheer force of captaincy.
“Still here, Jim,” McCoy croaked. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”
Kirk let out a breathy laugh and stepped closer, grinning with the unrelenting optimism of a man who’d witnessed his best friends cheat death too many times to count.
“Wasn’t sure you were gonna wake up, Bones.”
McCoy scowled. “Well, sorry to disappoint. Now unless you’re planning on earning a medical degree overnight, maybe let the actual doctor do his damn job.”
M’Benga pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you.”
Spock moved to McCoy’s other side, his hands neatly clasped behind his back, which didn’t stop him from hovering like a Vulcan shadow.
“Doctor, it would be logical to remind you that your actions, while admirable, were also irrational in the extreme.”
“Oh please,” McCoy muttered. “Not again.”
“Doctor M’Benga,” Spock said, ignoring the patient entirely, “are you confident that further sedation would not endanger his recovery?”
M’Benga looked at him with narrowed eyes.
“Why, Mr. Spock? You planning to hypospray him into submission?”
Spock gave a blink that could have meant perhaps. “Only if necessary.”
“Don’t tempt me,” M’Benga muttered under his breath.
Kirk had taken up position at McCoy’s left, leaning casually against the biobed like he hadn’t practically worn a trench in the sickbay floor over the last twelve hours.
“You gave us a hell of a scare, Bones.”
McCoy rolled his head to the side to squint at him.
“You’re the ones who insisted on beaming us out before I’d finished!”
“You mean before the second floor pancaked on top of you?” Kirk shot back. “Yeah, crazy us, wanting to not leave you crushed under three tons of concrete.”
“Should’ve waited one more minute. I was closing the damn chest!”
M’Benga sighed and stepped back from the console, folding his arms.
“He’s arguing. That’s a good sign.”
Kirk grinned.
Spock inclined his head.
“Indeed. It suggests neurological stability, if not emotional.”
“Your bedside manner’s still crap, Spock,” McCoy said, but the corners of his mouth twitched
M’Benga watched the exchange with the air of a man who’d seen this particular circus too many times before. Starfleet’s finest, the best and brightest… clustered around one heavily injured person like they were all first-year cadets waiting for the professor to hand back their exams.
It would’ve been touching if it weren’t so deeply annoying.
He cleared his throat. “If you two are finished playing nursemaid, I still have rounds to complete and a patient who technically isn’t cleared for speech, let alone arguing with command staff.”
Spock opened his mouth—likely to quote some regulation—but M’Benga cut him off with a raised hand. “And don’t tell me how many milliliters of pulmonary fluid he’s expended. I already know.”
“Fair,” Kirk said, hands raised in surrender. “We’ll go. Just… one more minute?” How a grown man could resemble a kicked puppy so well, Joseph would never know.
M’Benga glanced down at McCoy, who was now glaring at his IV bag like it had personally insulted his honor. He sighed.
“Fine. One minute. Then both of you out of my sickbay. Go hover somewhere else.”
He turned away before either of them could thank him, muttering as he moved toward the next console.
“Best medical training in the galaxy,” he grumbled under his breath. “Worked through a Klingon blockade on nothing but adrenaline and synthcaf. And now I’m stuck babysitting a man who tried to suture a human heart inside a collapsing deathtrap while his captain and first officer bicker over who gets to tuck him in.”
He paused, rubbed his temple, then added,
“God help me, I miss the Klingons.”