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It might have been a toss up whether McCoy fell asleep or passed out from exhaustion. Either way, the last thing he recalled hearing was the coo of the tribble making itself comfortable on his chest.
By the chronometer in the room, he slept for a solid six hours before waking to tribble noises, but instead of waking to the same coo he'd fallen asleep to, McCoy woke back up to a veritable symphony of coos and purrs. He had gone to sleep to the sound of one tribble purring on his chest. That one was still there, but now there were nine smaller tribbles as well.
"Huh. Well, I suppose that answers the question of whether you fully recovered all your functions after being dead. Okay, guys - I'm a doctor, not a nursery. Let's put you someplace else to wander. I've got work to do."
After that, time started to become a blur of activity for McCoy. He had to keep a close eye on Khan to make sure he maintained him in a coma and continually pump nutrients and liquids into him in order the keep harvesting his blood. Only so much could be taken at a time, so the process was slow. It would take him days to get enough blood to make into the serum needed for Kirk alone.
Now that he knew what it was, McCoy could also feel the effects of his disease interfering with his work. He was tiring more easily and having bouts of dizziness if he turned or got up too quickly. Slow and steady became his new work regime with frequent small meals as well as frequent naps.
On day four, he had what he judged to be a sufficient amount of serum for someone of Kirk's size. The tribble had two advantages. One, it was very small and two, it's heart had been functioning when it had been injected, so the serum had gotten a chance to go throughout its system. Kirk didn't have a working heart, so -
The thought struck McCoy like a bolt. It wasn't a type of surgery he had ever had to perform himself, but he'd been an observer on it before. He quickly inventoried what he had. Among the supplies that he had ordered into the area was a supply of Kirk's blood type. He could work this like an open heart surgery, with the equipment oxygenating the fresh blood, pumping it along with the serum and basic nutrients through Kirk's body while he drained out the old blood in a full transfusion.
The rest of day four was spent readying the needed equipment. There was only a couple of things that he had to coordinate with Scott to get them transported into the room. Once everything else was ready, McCoy got some sleep. He wanted to be well-rested for the final preparation.
Day five, the doctor changed the settings on the cryogenic unit to get Kirk's body ready. McCoy was only going to get one shot at this, but there wasn't anything else he could think of to give it a better shot at success. Methodically he inserted the necessary IV lines and monitoring equipment. Finally there was nothing left to do but turn on the equipment. Closing his eyes briefly in an attitude that might have suggested prayer, McCoy activated the system. He then occupied himself with his other daily tasks of tending to Khan and the tribbles to avoid staring at Kirk.
The next day was kind of creepy. The machine had finished flushing out all of the old blood by that time and the supply of warmed blood flowing under the skin was giving the dead man a semblance of life. But only a semblance. The monitors were quite clear that there was no bodily activity that was not being caused by the machine. The next two days were just more of the same.
Day nine, McCoy was sleeping soundly when a noise intruded. He startled awake at the medical alarm and had to brace himself for a few minutes until the vertigo passed. As soon as he could, he made his way over to Khan, afraid that somehow the Augment's body was pulling out of its comatose state. When a quick check of the readings showed that the alarm wasn't coming from Khan, McCoy swallowed hard and turned toward Kirk's bed. The alarm could be for anything. A fouled line. The need for an adjustment.
For a moment, he couldn't tell what it was that had triggered the alarm but then he saw it. Extremely faint brain activity. Even though it was what he had been working for, McCoy couldn't quite believe it. A sign of actual life from a man that had been dead - not for minutes, but for days. Shaking off his awe, McCoy started back in on his daily tasks. By the end of the day, he had to add a catheter to the list of equipment hooked to Kirk.
The progress was slow, but steady until, by day twelve, McCoy felt comfortable enough to prepare the cryogenic unit. This time, the one going inside was Khan. That would be one more worry out of his way and he had plenty of things to worry him without Khan. He was slowly weaning Kirk's body from the equipment as his body began to take back over more and more of the involuntary functions, but even though the brain activity had become a normal one for someone in a deep sleep, Kirk was still not showing any signs of waking.
By the end of the second week, Kirk's body remained on IVs for hydration and nutrition, but only those and the catheter remained. Every time that McCoy began to wonder if Kirk was recovered as much as he ever would, he found himself picking up the tribble, whose hair had regrown in the formerly bald patches enough that they were barely discernible any longer.
The intercom system went off. Captain Spock demanded a visual session, so McCoy put the tribble away and sat down behind his desk, activating the monitor.
Once he got a look at McCoy, Spock no longer doubted one thing. The doctor was obviously ill, which meant the quarantine was warranted.
"It appears that you were correct to be concerned about being infected, Doctor."
It was a bit confusing that the doctor seemed to find that statement to be amusing. The bark of laughter was short-lived, but a trace of a smile remained.
"Guess I don't have to ask how I look. But yes, I'm sick. On the positive side, I think I'm on the right track for a cure. Downside is that it might take another month to get it right. Part of that is me. I have to take frequent rest breaks now."
Spock was blunt and to the point.
"Do you have another month remaining?"
That got another burst of laughter.
"No-one can accuse you of beating around the bush, can they? Even if I don't find a cure, I estimate I have maybe another six months left to me."
"I see. And do you have any suggestions should you fail at finding a cure?"
"If that turns out to be the case, I will get things set up for the disposal of my body. While the disease might hold some interest for Starfleet, since we know of only three Augments left living and two of those are in Klingon hands, I doubt the situation will come up again. Did you have Chapel test the Brig personnel?"
"Affirmative. She found no anomalies in their testing."
"Good. You might advise keeping a routine check on them - I'd suggest on a weekly basis for the next month. I was directly exposed to the blood so incubation times might be different. As I said before though, I expect that they have very little chance of being infected, but all things considered, caution is the best policy. Starships are just oversized greenhouses where germs are concerned."
The fact that McCoy was calmly discussing options and expressing concern over the rest of the crew while facing his own mortality actually impressed Spock and he thought this was a glimpse at why Pike had been so determined to have the human onboard. The Vulcan also had to admit that dealings with M'benga were also putting McCoy's methods of doing things in a better light. M'benga had his talents as a researcher, but he had no talent at all for restraining the nursing staff and the vast majority of the crew was terrified of entering Sickbay.
"I will pass over your recommendations to Nurse Chapel. Little doubt she will follow them."
There was apparently an undertone to his voice that Spock wasn't aware of. McCoy started laughing.
"Ol' Geoff is having problems with the girls, is he?"
McCoy chuckled again as Spock's stiff posture got even stiffer.
"I do not believe that I stated such, Doctor McCoy."
"You didn't have to. You have very expressive eyes, Captain Spock."
Accidently stumbling onto what must have been a doozy of an insult toward a Vulcan, McCoy fought to keep his amusement down at Spock's reaction. It served to cut the conversation short, which was a bonus. He didn't have the energy to dedicate to appeasing Spock.
"Carry on with your work, Doctor. Spock out."
Once the connection ended, McCoy felt free to let loose and enjoyed a long laugh at both M'benga and Spock's expense.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he had the sensation of being watched. Shifting around, his breath caught as he found himself looking back at a pair of vivid blue eyes again. He could read several things in them - mostly confusion and questioning.
"Welcome back, Jim."
As much as he wanted to question Kirk, McCoy quietly went about checking the Captain's vital signs. Kirk's eyes followed him and seemed to be studying every move with a fierce intensity. It wasn't until near the end of his exam that Kirk spoke.
"The Vengeance?"
"Whatever payload she was carrying blew up when they were pulled in too close to the star."
"How long?"
"Little over two weeks."
"Two . . . "
Some emotion McCoy couldn't quite place seemed to flit across Kirk's features before the blue eyes fixed themselves on him.
"Bones? What the hell did you do?"
Stopping what he was doing, McCoy eased himself into a chair near Kirk and knew that he was being studied. He'd started losing weight during the last two weeks and McCoy knew it was showing.
"For now, let's just say I ventured in murky morality territory even for me. How are you feeling?"
The look in Kirk's eyes told him that they would be revisiting that question sooner than later.
"Tired. Drained. Probably a hell of a lot better than I should be feeling. I thought that I had died."
McCoy suddenly seemed to find a reading very interesting and Kirk's brows drew together.
"I did die? How . . .?"
"Khan's blood has some properties I can't even begin to understand, Jim. But let's not argue too much with success. You still need some recovery time. Then . . . I'll need help from you."
McCoy was hesitant to even voice the last part, but he couldn't do what needed to be done by himself.
"This have something to do with the way you're looking?"
"Yeah. Long story, but I've got a disease with no known cure that's going to kill me in a few months. I plan to put myself through the same treatment I just put you through. If it kills me, all I lose is a few months. If it works? Well, let's just say I figure the possible advantages outweigh the possible disadvantage."
The blue eyes took on a shrewd look that McCoy knew well from his first days with Kirk. He knew the words that were about to come out of Kirk's mouth.
"I can see why you need me to help with this, but what's in it for me, Bones?"
It was as if their relationship had slipped back in time five years, but McCoy had to admit that was better than some other scenarios that had run through his head. Besides, this Kirk he had experience in dealing with.
"Several things actually. For one thing, I've got a contact in the Klingon Empire that's already exchanged favors with me. For another, helping me out means you won't be stuck with M'benga in the CMO position. He's already losing control over the girls and that's with my nurses still thinking I'm alive and well. Sickbay will fall into total anarchy with six months with him in charge. Also, if you want to get technical about it, I'm the only person that can let you out of these rooms. They're under a quarantine that only I can lift. Oh, I suppose Spock could figure a way around it, but since he's prancing around as Acting Captain under 'your' orders, I can't see him doing that, can you?"
The chuckle coming from Kirk was humorless.
"No, I can't. Of course, I can't picture him prancing around either. Thankfully."
Lips pursed thoughtfully, Kirk nodded.
"Sounds good enough for a start. How long before you figure we'll be ready to start?"
"A week. You'll need to rest more than that, but keeping an eye on the monitors isn't exactly going to require you to be energetic. I'll have a list of what to do. It will be mainly just swapping out bags and turning on equipment if it's needed."
Kirk nodded then changed the subject.
"So - who knows I'm alive?"
"More of a case of who knows you were dead. And that's just me, Spock and Scotty. Plus you now."
"So the crew wasn't told I was dead?"
"How long do you think Mitchell would have put up with Spock as Acting Captain if he didn't think you were alive and it was under your orders?"
"Good point. So - how long are you expecting your treatment to take?"
That got a hesitation from McCoy.
"No telling. I'm guessing between one to three weeks."
Kirk gave another nod, then gave McCoy a sly look.
"How about a steak and fries? I'm starving."
"How about we remember you haven't had solid food in your body for a couple of weeks? Let's not stress out your digestive system first thing. But if you can hold down a bowl of soup, I might be persuaded that a milkshake wouldn't do you any harm and we'll build you up to that steak in a few days. Besides, something for you to look forward to. You'll have full control over your own diet in a week."
It was more of a concession than Kirk was expecting, so he smiled.
"Fine. I want a chocolate malt after the soup."
Shaking his head as he moved toward the replicator unit, McCoy muttered under his breath.
"Unbelievable."