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Leaning against the door that led to the warp chamber, McCoy cursed it, Khan and the universe at large in no particular order. Then he saw movement and fell silent. It was Kirk. Even someone who wasn't a doctor could tell he was dying as he stumbled through the inner door and then sealed it behind him automatically before losing his footing and falling to the deck.
Looking to the outer door, Kirk spotted McCoy and half-crawled, half-dragged himself over. Giving McCoy a weak rendition of his usual cocky smirk, he looked past the doctor to see Scott on the intercom and called out to him.
"How's our girl now, Scotty?"
Dropping his hand away from the intercom, Scott turned to look over at his Captain.
"You got power to the helm in time, sir. We're free of the Vengeance. There's nought left of that behemoth now but scrap. Soon to be molten scrap. They may have meant to destroy that star, but the star will have the final say."
The smirk turned into a full smile.
"Good."
Turning his attention to McCoy, Kirk slumped and closed his eyes briefly before reopening then. His first words weren't to McCoy.
"Computer, Captain's voice authorization. Commence decontamination of radiation in the warp core entry hatch. Authorize entry by Chief Medical Officer McCoy after the radiation reaches safe levels."
~Acknowledged. Decontamination protocols engaged.~
The vivid blue eyes seemed to be have a bit of trouble focusing on McCoy's face as Kirk spoke to the doctor.
"You know something, Bones? I finally understand my father."
Swallowing hard, McCoy pressed his hand hard against the surface keeping them separated.
"What about your father, Jim?"
"It wasn't that he was really all that self-sacrificing. It was that the Kelvin was his ship. His. And someone tried to take it from him. Like Marcus tried to take the Enterprise from me. I wasn't going to let him get away with it - just like my father didn't allow Nero to take his ship."
Spock walked in as Kirk was speaking. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, but he remained silent. Moving to stand beside Scott, he clasped his hands behind him and watched as McCoy rested his forehead against the door.
"You are your father's son after all, huh?"
"Yeah. As I've heard you say, ain't that a kick in the head? I don't have to fight my father's legacy. I am my father's legacy."
It took more effort than it should have on his part, but Kirk slowly brought up his hand to where McCoy's forehead was, then let it slide down to McCoy's hand.
"You're the only person I could ever sleep with my back to, Bones. Don't mess up my face during the autopsy."
It took a moment for McCoy to manage to force the words out. When had James Kirk become the one constant in his universe and what was he going to do now that that constant was leaving him behind?
"I won't, Jim."
The blue eyes met McCoy's again briefly as Kirk smiled. Then his eyes closed as Kirk's body went limp and his hand fell away from the door. There was no sound other than the equipment for a minute, then Spock's voice broke the silence.
"Who knows of the Captain's actions outside of this room?"
Scott looked puzzled by the question, but answered.
"No-one."
"Excellent. Captain Kirk has sustained injuries that will require him to be removed from duty for medical reasons. He will be in isolation and I will take the position of Acting Captain under his orders. Is that clear?"
"Aye, it is."
McCoy, still slumped against the door and staring at Kirk, didn't respond.
"Doctor?"
The answering voice was hoarse and even with his Vulcan hearing, Spock barely heard McCoy's response.
"Understood."
Spock started to say something about the doctor's lack of respect, but decided against it. He needed the doctor's cooperation for a little longer. After that, it would be a very different story.
"None of the other personnel in Medical are to see the Captain's body. Mister Scott, once the door is able to be opened, teleport the Captain into the isolation ward. I will be on the Bridge."
"Aye, sir."
The only sound for the next few minutes was the doors opening and then reclosing for Spock. Once he was gone, Scott went over and laid a hand on McCoy's shoulder.
"It will be a good hour before the radiation level is safe enough to open that door, lad. Go fix a place for him, then come back for him and I'll teleport you both to the isolation area. No one can get in there to him but you and I'll be here to keep an eye on him."
With a slow nod, McCoy got to his feet. His movements were shaky and unsure like a man three times his age. By the door, he stopped and took several deep breaths. He had to channel what he was feeling into anger. McCoy knew he couldn't show weakness in public. Not while M'benga was still alive. Which he wouldn't be for much longer.
After McCoy had his 'game face' in place, he glanced back to Scott and got a thumbs up from the eccentric engineer. Taking a final deep breath, he headed into the corridor, giving off his best 'get out of my way or I'll feed you to my nurses' attitude. The personnel in the corridors scrambled to get out of his way.
As soon as he walked into Sickbay, McCoy started barking orders. Spock wanted folks to think Jim was in bad shape, but alive? Fine. He had all the gear that his people would expect him to need for that sort of situation moved into the isolation area along with a cryogenic tube and several pieces of lab equipment. Locking the room down, he had a sterilization cycle run before sealing off all windows into the unit.
Once that was done, he grabbed a blanket. No way in hell was he going to put Kirk inside of a body bag. Not yet. That wasn't something he could face yet. Before heading back to the warp core, McCoy gave Chapel a set of orders.
"First - remove me from rotation. I won't be back on regular duty until the Captain is back on his feet. Second - there are going to be some tests I need to run. Get me a tribble for experiments. Okay - what's that look for?"
Chapel had lowered her head at the mention of a tribble.
"We've only got one left and a lab tech infected it to observe a disease without getting a set of young from it first."
"Dammit! Sign that imbecile up for an hour in the booth! Of all the idiotic things to do . . ."
After a moment of thought, McCoy decided a diseased tribble was better than no tribble at all.
"Get the diseased one ready for me then since it's the only one I have to work with. Leave its cage by the isolation area's door. Don't go in there - and make sure no-one else goes in there either."
"Yes, doctor."
"Anyone tries to go in? Stun 'em, sedate 'em, maim 'em - just don't kill 'em."
Blue eyes glittering with excitement, Chapel nodded. McCoy almost hoped someone would try so that he could see what she'd do to them.
The blanket in his arms took McCoy away from that momentary pleasant thought and brought him back to the grim task ahead of him. When arrived, he found the area entry locked, but Scott let him in as soon as McCoy called in to let him know he was there.
"You should be able to access the entry soon. The levels are dropping quickly now."
Quietly, McCoy went back to the door and knelt by the door again. Kirk looked so young. Too young. He didn't know how long he had been kneeling there and staring when Scott's voice finally broke through to him.
"The levels are low enough, doctor. You can get him out now."
His tongue felt thick, but McCoy managed to speak out clearly enough for the computer.
"Computer. Open outer door to the warp core entry. Vocal authorization Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy."
~Authorization verified. Outer door released.~
As the seal broke, the smell would have been enough to make most heave, but McCoy had been braced for it. After spreading the blanket up, he got up to move Kirk and found Scott had come closer to help him even though the Engineer was looking a bit green. Between them, they soon had Kirk's body wrapped in the blanket.
Before getting up to deal with the transporter details, Scott gave his communicator a tap. Scott credited McCoy as the reason he was off Delta Vega and in the position he was in now.
"I dinna know what the Vulcan bastard has planned, but if you find yourself in need of anything, contact me and I'll see what I can do."
Holding firmly onto the body, McCoy nodded.
"Thanks. I can't figure what he's up to either, but right now, I don't really give a damn. Get us out of here, Scotty."
"Aye."
Not being able to think of anything else to say that didn't sound trite under the circumstances, Scott quietly went to the remote transporter controls that he usually made use of to move larger pieces of gear from one section to another. McCoy soon felt the unique sensation that signaled the start of a teleport and, for once, didn't close his eyes.
As soon as they solidified in the isolation area, McCoy laid Kirk's body on the biobed, moved immediately to the door to collect the tribble and then reclosed the door.
"Computer, full quarantine on isolation ward - sealed under Chief Medical Officer orders. No overrides per quarantine status Alpha Omega."
~Acknowledged. Full quarantine protocols now in place.~
Taking his first good look at the tribble, McCoy frowned. Chapel was right about it being in poor shape. It was even losing fur in patches. Sighing, he carried it over to the desk he had already set up for his research on his disease.
"Well, guess if whatever the hell it is in his blood can't do anything for your current disease, it won't do jack for mine either."
It had taken up the entire blood sample he'd drawn, but McCoy had what he considered a tribble sized amount of serum containing the odd element from Khan's blood. Kind of pathetic that his best chance at life were hinging on a crazy Augment and a balding tribble. Then again, that was about the way his luck ran.
He injected the tribble, then finally turned to deal with Kirk. Sort of. He couldn't face an autopsy which was why he had drug in the cryogenic tube. Besides, much as he hated to back Spock's play, whenever Spock did finally decide to clue in the crew that Kirk was dead, the body needed to look fresh. Hell, he was probably only still alive himself to keep the lie that Kirk was only injured going.
McCoy carefully cleaned Kirk's body before placing him into the cryogenic tube and turning it on. He felt numb himself as he stood there, watching. Finally, he turned away and headed for the desk and what little part of him hadn't been despairing was lost. The tribble had died while he was working on Kirk. So much for trying to find a cure for xenopolycythemia in the little time he had left to him. By the time new test animals could be gotten, he'd be past the point of being able to work.
Plucking the dead, partly-bald thing from its container, McCoy dropped it on his desk. Flopping into the chair, he unlocked the desk's drawer and pulled out one of the things he stored there - a bottle of good bourbon. Rechecking the seal and contents was done in an unthinking routine before he poured himself the first of several glasses. He didn't keep track of the number of glasses any more than he kept track of the passing of time.
Between the emotional upheaval, the alcohol and a thousand other stresses, McCoy fell asleep at his desk, the last glass of bourbon falling over and pooling on the desktop. When he started to come around again, it was to a light nudge. At first, it didn't register in his alcohol fuddled brain that he was the only living thing in quarantine. Then, he remembered and started to get angry. Only Kirk had ever been able to hack his way around his CMO lockout of an area. Who had broken in?
A noise nearby made McCoy stop dead. After taking a couple of very deep breaths, he opened his eyes. The formerly dead tribble was lapping up the spilled bourbon - the noise he'd heard had been the thing's purring.
The hazel eyes struggled to focus. Was he wrong about it having been dead? No. He hadn't taken so much as a sip of bourbon before the tribble's death. His instruments might not have been able to pick up all the idiosyncrasies of a tribble, but they could damn well tell the difference between a live one and a dead one.
Tentatively, McCoy reached out and touched it, halfway expecting his hand to go through a hallucination. But the tribble was solid and warm under his hand. Its purr deepened with the attention.
Absentmindedly stroking the fur, McCoy looked at the hypospray he had used on the tribble, then his eyes moved over to the cryogenic tube. Maybe?
"What the hell? Ain't like he can get any deader than he is right now, right?"
Rolling his eyes at himself, McCoy reached for another thing he kept in his locked drawer - the same rapid sobriety mix he had used years ago when he and Kirk had hit the bars together as cadets.
"Talking to a tribble. Guess it's a little better than talking to myself. Well, little fellow, let's get you something to eat and get you busy making me some more test subjects. I've got a lot of work to do."