i had to go through hell to be the person i am today (♫)
[ How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Time blurred when they were on the Gorn ship, trapped and sedated in darkness until they'd reached the breeding planet. It wasn't the same place La'an had been before, but she still recognized it for what it was immediately. The hot, humid atmosphere. The shadows that covered everything. The stench of blood and rotting meat in the air. She'd nearly been sick from the horror of it, but she'd pulled herself together and gotten to work.
Listen to me. If you do as I say, we can survive this. Someone will come for us. The Enterprise, her crew, someone will come. We just have to last long enough for them to find us.
Even now, with her feet firmly back on the Enterprise, she can't say if she really believed those words. All she'd really known at the time was that people needed to understand the threat they faced and hold on to even a shred of hope. Not believing you're going to die will get you killed — but so will giving up. So she'd done her best to keep that balance, stepping into a leadership role she hadn't asked for but that no one else could do.
There were hundreds of them, at the start. Starfleet personnel and colonists. Men, women, and children. Keeping everyone together was a recipe for slaughter, so they'd had to split up into smaller groups, and it had killed something inside of her every time they came across signs of those who'd been caught. By the time Captain Pike and the others finally found them, there were only 53 survivors.
George Samuel Kirk was one of them. At no point had she explained to Sam why she insisted he stay with her group, or why she'd stuck close to him during each encounter with a hatchling. He'd assumed she didn't think he could handle himself and she hadn't bothered to correct that assumption. Telling him about her mission to the past would do no one any good; he didn't need to know that in another life, he'd died and something inside his brother had broken at the loss. Even as dozens of people died around them every hour, she kept Sam safe because she couldn't bear to see the look in Jim Kirk's eyes when he found out his brother was gone.
It had been close once, not long before they were rescued. A youngling had managed to get within reach, its sharp claws and teeth diving through the air toward Sam's chest. She'd shoved him out of the way, rolling them both to the side, but those claws had ripped through her shoulder, shredding her armor and leading to enough blood loss she'd worried she might not make it. But they'd killed the youngling, her group working together to take it down like they had others before, and they'd stemmed the blood flow enough that she hadn't even lost consciousness.
That injury was why she'd been beamed straight to sickbay, M'Benga insisting they at least administer primary treatment before she escaped to her quarters. There were others in more dire need, including a few who'd been infected with Gorn eggs, but it seems Chapel had used her time well, discovering a way to extract the eggs without killing the host. If nothing else, that eases a bit of the pain in La'an's chest that aches so much more than her shoulder or the countless scrapes and bruises covering her body. These people will live. She didn't fail them.
And Sam will live. It shouldn't be what matters most, yet it is. She'd been ready to give her life for his if it came down to just the two of them... but that's something else he never needs to know. ]
[This has been a bloody, horrible business. McCoy loathes this aspect of space travel beyond anything else. The ways people get hurt and sick and die on Earth are bad enough, but space is always coming up with creative new ways to rip bodies apart.
But he's here, because of Jim, and partly - damn it all - because of himself, because he can't see people in this much distress and not be glad on some level that at least he can help. He can't fix everything. Can't save everyone. But he's had to accept that, over and over, during his time as a doctor, and he can deal with the horrors of the people he didn't save when he's back in his quarters with half a glass of bourbon and seven hours before he's due back on duty. With luck, he'll be able to hunt down Jim for a debrief then too. That'll be worth more to either of them than sleep.
Definitely would've been better for his stomach acid to've stayed on the Farragut, but fuck it.
The CMO and head nurse are good people, at least. Skilled, compassionate, and calm. He finishes with his latest patient, an ensign in his early 20s, who makes him feel about a hundred. Kid'll live, at least, and McCoy gives him a professional smile along with a sedative to help him sleep for a while.
They're gonna need counselling. Starfleet is not new to people getting hurt. Wars, accidents, murders, all the fun stuff. Some of these kids are new to it, though, and even the old hands might need someone to talk to.
Temporarily at a loss for who he should deal with next, he looks over at M'Benga, who points at an incoming transporter beam on another bed. McCoy takes a padd with him, and scans her with experienced eyes before looking up at the readouts on the biobed. There's a nasty wound on her shoulder, and she's clearly one of the ones who'd been kidnapped by the Gorn.]
Hi. La'an, is it? Am I pronouncing that right? I'm McCoy, doctor, on a holiday from the Farragut. We'll get that shoulder fixed up first then see what else we can do.
[ M'Benga should be resting and taking care of himself after the time he'd spent on that nightmare planet with the rest of them, but of course, he has no intention of doing so. He'd been the first back aboard the Enterprise, briefing his team of what they had incoming while steadfastly ignoring his own injuries, few as they were. He was someone else she'd done her best to protect, knowing they would need his skills to survive — and she'd hoped not to lose another friend.
So it's good for her to see him across the room right back where he belongs. The sight eases a tightness in her chest, exhaustion slipping further in as the tension slowly releases. She hasn't slept in... days? Long enough for her awareness to be decreased as the adrenaline finally wears off, leaving her reactions slow enough that it takes her a moment to respond to the doctor who's approached.
Her eyes fall on the metal of his badge standing out against the blue of his uniform before slowly moving up to his face. Her own is filthy, she's certain, dirt covering the scrapes and bruises that match those on her hands. And underneath the grime is an almost stoic expression but not quite — something around the edges betrays how lost and empty she feels inside. ]
Did James Kirk bring you here? [ The words are as rough as if they've been scoured with sandpaper. ] Or did you volunteer?
[She untenses maybe a fraction, maybe an inch, when she sees the CMO. Oh. That's right. He'd been caught up in it all too, hadn't he. McCoy grimaces with empathy. He's insulated from all this shit, insulated from all the losses, because he really doesn't know these people. Only what he's heard from Jim.
She looks exhausted. Needs a shower, a proper one, not one of those stupid newfangled sonic showers, a meal, and ten hours sleep. And, probably, more than that, too. He sets that particular problem to the back of his mind for the moment. The influx of patients is starting to slow down, which is only because too many died, but he still has work to do.]
[McCoy snorts genially at that, and holds up a hypo so she can read what he's programmed into it, if she wants. Not sure just how desperate she is just now to not be touched without warning. It's a standard painkiller, along with broad spectrum antibiotics.]
Oh, I'm too old and ornery to volunteer for much. Came along because Jim asked. He's always getting me into trouble.
[Translation: Jim asked, McCoy said yes immediately because Jim and Enterprise folk needed him, then he complained for the next five minutes because of course he did.]
[He'll use the hypo on her now if she doesn't look too freaked out.] And I apologize for whatever grief he's given you while he's been on the Enterprise.
[ The gesture is appreciated — she studies the hypo when he offers it for her inspection, reading the programmed medications and frowning in response. It's unfortunate that she's in the state she is. His humor is the sort she might normally appreciate and react well to, but now she can only let it wash over her like a wave, here and then gone again. ]
Just the antibiotics, please. I need to remain fully aware until we're safely back in Federation space. [ She voices the request as calmly and practically as one would state an observation on the weater. Nevermind that she's in quite a lot of pain from her wounds; if something happens and the crew needs her again, she has to be ready.
And then, continuing just as calmly because she considers the prior topic resolved: ] Jim's a good man. He'll make a good captain, one day.
[ That pain is dull beneath everything else, loss and grief and regret burying the heartache of what might have been if things had gone differently. And since she can't afford to think about it now, she sets those emotions carefully back in their box, tucking it away for when she's finally able to shed this strong, professional mask and let the cracks show. She is anything but fine, but no one else can know that yet. ]
[McCoy's not exactly delighted about La'an not wanting the painkiller, but at least she's put a time limit on it. He'll check with the CMO or head nurse if he has to. Security types are fucking weird, but on the other hand...... he knows they're worth their weight.]
All right.
[He injects the hypo into the side of her throat, a lot more gently than he'd do with certain people. This one hasn't pissed him off. Then he frowns at the yawning pit he can vaguely sense underneath her words. He's only just met her. Might be misinterpreting the hell out of it, especially given how much she's been through.]
He will. Especially with security types like you backing him up.
Now, I understand you need to keep yourself ready in case you're needed. Will you let yourself rest when we're back in Federation space, or do we need to talk about what has to happen before you can be certified fit for duty?
[It's not that far away. Hours, instead of days. But he needs to get a baseline on her so he can figure out how much he has to push.]
[ La'an gives no reaction to the feeling of the hypo against her skin, not even the slightest wince at the brief spark of pain at the injection site. It's not that she doesn't feel it, of course, but that she's trained herself not to react. Outwardly, she is as still as the surface of untouched water, but inside she is a churning storm.
Especially with security types like you backing him up. Those words are carefully packed away with everything else she feels for James Tiberius Kirk, both this timeline's version and the one who no longer exists. And she's grateful when he turns the conversation in another direction, even if she's not overly pleased with the subject at hand. She can't blame him for bringing it up, though. If she were in his shoes, she'd be quoting regulation by now. ]
I know the regulations, Dr. McCoy. I'll need full medical clearance, and given my previous experience with the Gorn, Starfleet will likely require a psychological evaluation, as well.
[ Does she sound as tired as she feels? Because somehow the idea of going through such a lengthy evaluation has her feeling even more exhausted than before. With any luck, she'll be able to request Dr. Sanchez conduct the evaluation rather than a complete stranger, but even that idea is a small comfort. Sighing, she shifts the conversation again, turning them as if they were engaged in some sort of verbal waltz. ]
Well, doctor, what do you think? Can I keep the arm?
[ Yes, that is Lieutenant La'an Noonien-Singh attempting a joke with a stranger when she's covered in grime and gore. It's not a very good one and the delivery is quite flat, but there are still few among the crew who wouldn't be shocked by the event. ]
[Well, that's something, at least. She won't fight him about the regs. She sounds snippy, but mostly she sounds fucking exhausted, and given what she's been through she's earned snippy anyway.
McCoy chews on his lower lip for a moment. On the surface, it's obvious enough. She's been through hell, seen people die bloodily, been able to save some and hasn't been able to save others. Textbook. Simple.
Not good. Nowhere near good. But simple.
Except there's more to it than that, and that's one of the things he's had to learn every single year since he first got qualified and was greener than a sprig of mint sticking out of a good mint julep. Physical issues can present differently from patient to patient, depending on medical history, species, blood type, any existing issues with the endocrine system, musculoskeletal structure, yadda yadda. Psychological issues are a thousand times worse.]
Yep. Glad you're on top of that. You're probably aware already, but you can request whoever you like out of qualified staff to do your psych eval, when it's time. I'm on the qualified list. Won't be offended if you do or don't pick me.
[Might be easier to talk to someone she doesn't know. Might be easier to talk to someone she DOES know.
He snorts]
Considering you've probably lost the receipt by now, I think it's better you keep it than try to return it, sure. Just let me help you clean up, okay?
[ His offer is appreciated, even if all she does is nod her understanding of it. The idea of talking to a stranger who doesn't know her or have any preconceived notions of who she is might honestly be just as appealing as the idea of talking with someone who knows her fairly well. Given time, she'll come to have a preference for one option over the other, but at this particular moment, she finds them both unappealing. She doesn't want to talk to anyone about what she's been through, or the guilt that is gnawing away at her soul, and she certainly doesn't want to talk about how she keeps watching the ceiling with not-so-casual glances, half-expecting for a Gorn youngling to come tearing down at them.
At least he has a sense of humor to keep her thoughts otherwise occupied. She'll take every distraction she can get until she's alone and able to face the situation in private. ]
Thank you. [ And then, with incrementally more lightness to the words: ] And you're right, the receipt is long gone.
[She's twitchy, even for Security. It makes sense, after everything she's been through, being attacked from any direction at any time. He wishes he could reassure her that she's safe here, but he's not quite that stupid.]
[A quick grin at her for that]
[mock solemn] All right, then we gotta deal with what we've got in front of us. You feeling up to a shower and clean clothes? I can get one of the female nurses to be close by in case you get wobbly, but it's one of the best things I can recommend for a person after this kind of experience. Something cleansing with warm water, none of that sonic bullshit.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
there's meaning in the misery —
no subject
But he's here, because of Jim, and partly - damn it all - because of himself, because he can't see people in this much distress and not be glad on some level that at least he can help. He can't fix everything. Can't save everyone. But he's had to accept that, over and over, during his time as a doctor, and he can deal with the horrors of the people he didn't save when he's back in his quarters with half a glass of bourbon and seven hours before he's due back on duty. With luck, he'll be able to hunt down Jim for a debrief then too. That'll be worth more to either of them than sleep.
Definitely would've been better for his stomach acid to've stayed on the Farragut, but fuck it.
The CMO and head nurse are good people, at least. Skilled, compassionate, and calm. He finishes with his latest patient, an ensign in his early 20s, who makes him feel about a hundred. Kid'll live, at least, and McCoy gives him a professional smile along with a sedative to help him sleep for a while.
They're gonna need counselling. Starfleet is not new to people getting hurt. Wars, accidents, murders, all the fun stuff. Some of these kids are new to it, though, and even the old hands might need someone to talk to.
Temporarily at a loss for who he should deal with next, he looks over at M'Benga, who points at an incoming transporter beam on another bed. McCoy takes a padd with him, and scans her with experienced eyes before looking up at the readouts on the biobed. There's a nasty wound on her shoulder, and she's clearly one of the ones who'd been kidnapped by the Gorn.]
Hi. La'an, is it? Am I pronouncing that right? I'm McCoy, doctor, on a holiday from the Farragut. We'll get that shoulder fixed up first then see what else we can do.
no subject
So it's good for her to see him across the room right back where he belongs. The sight eases a tightness in her chest, exhaustion slipping further in as the tension slowly releases. She hasn't slept in... days? Long enough for her awareness to be decreased as the adrenaline finally wears off, leaving her reactions slow enough that it takes her a moment to respond to the doctor who's approached.
Her eyes fall on the metal of his badge standing out against the blue of his uniform before slowly moving up to his face. Her own is filthy, she's certain, dirt covering the scrapes and bruises that match those on her hands. And underneath the grime is an almost stoic expression but not quite — something around the edges betrays how lost and empty she feels inside. ]
Did James Kirk bring you here? [ The words are as rough as if they've been scoured with sandpaper. ] Or did you volunteer?
no subject
She looks exhausted. Needs a shower, a proper one, not one of those stupid newfangled sonic showers, a meal, and ten hours sleep. And, probably, more than that, too. He sets that particular problem to the back of his mind for the moment. The influx of patients is starting to slow down, which is only because too many died, but he still has work to do.]
[McCoy snorts genially at that, and holds up a hypo so she can read what he's programmed into it, if she wants. Not sure just how desperate she is just now to not be touched without warning. It's a standard painkiller, along with broad spectrum antibiotics.]
Oh, I'm too old and ornery to volunteer for much. Came along because Jim asked. He's always getting me into trouble.
[Translation: Jim asked, McCoy said yes immediately because Jim and Enterprise folk needed him, then he complained for the next five minutes because of course he did.]
[He'll use the hypo on her now if she doesn't look too freaked out.] And I apologize for whatever grief he's given you while he's been on the Enterprise.
no subject
Just the antibiotics, please. I need to remain fully aware until we're safely back in Federation space. [ She voices the request as calmly and practically as one would state an observation on the weater. Nevermind that she's in quite a lot of pain from her wounds; if something happens and the crew needs her again, she has to be ready.
And then, continuing just as calmly because she considers the prior topic resolved: ] Jim's a good man. He'll make a good captain, one day.
[ That pain is dull beneath everything else, loss and grief and regret burying the heartache of what might have been if things had gone differently. And since she can't afford to think about it now, she sets those emotions carefully back in their box, tucking it away for when she's finally able to shed this strong, professional mask and let the cracks show. She is anything but fine, but no one else can know that yet. ]
no subject
All right.
[He injects the hypo into the side of her throat, a lot more gently than he'd do with certain people. This one hasn't pissed him off. Then he frowns at the yawning pit he can vaguely sense underneath her words. He's only just met her. Might be misinterpreting the hell out of it, especially given how much she's been through.]
He will. Especially with security types like you backing him up.
Now, I understand you need to keep yourself ready in case you're needed. Will you let yourself rest when we're back in Federation space, or do we need to talk about what has to happen before you can be certified fit for duty?
[It's not that far away. Hours, instead of days. But he needs to get a baseline on her so he can figure out how much he has to push.]
no subject
Especially with security types like you backing him up. Those words are carefully packed away with everything else she feels for James Tiberius Kirk, both this timeline's version and the one who no longer exists. And she's grateful when he turns the conversation in another direction, even if she's not overly pleased with the subject at hand. She can't blame him for bringing it up, though. If she were in his shoes, she'd be quoting regulation by now. ]
I know the regulations, Dr. McCoy. I'll need full medical clearance, and given my previous experience with the Gorn, Starfleet will likely require a psychological evaluation, as well.
[ Does she sound as tired as she feels? Because somehow the idea of going through such a lengthy evaluation has her feeling even more exhausted than before. With any luck, she'll be able to request Dr. Sanchez conduct the evaluation rather than a complete stranger, but even that idea is a small comfort. Sighing, she shifts the conversation again, turning them as if they were engaged in some sort of verbal waltz. ]
Well, doctor, what do you think? Can I keep the arm?
[ Yes, that is Lieutenant La'an Noonien-Singh attempting a joke with a stranger when she's covered in grime and gore. It's not a very good one and the delivery is quite flat, but there are still few among the crew who wouldn't be shocked by the event. ]
no subject
McCoy chews on his lower lip for a moment. On the surface, it's obvious enough. She's been through hell, seen people die bloodily, been able to save some and hasn't been able to save others. Textbook. Simple.
Not good. Nowhere near good. But simple.
Except there's more to it than that, and that's one of the things he's had to learn every single year since he first got qualified and was greener than a sprig of mint sticking out of a good mint julep. Physical issues can present differently from patient to patient, depending on medical history, species, blood type, any existing issues with the endocrine system, musculoskeletal structure, yadda yadda. Psychological issues are a thousand times worse.]
Yep. Glad you're on top of that. You're probably aware already, but you can request whoever you like out of qualified staff to do your psych eval, when it's time. I'm on the qualified list. Won't be offended if you do or don't pick me.
[Might be easier to talk to someone she doesn't know. Might be easier to talk to someone she DOES know.
He snorts]
Considering you've probably lost the receipt by now, I think it's better you keep it than try to return it, sure. Just let me help you clean up, okay?
no subject
At least he has a sense of humor to keep her thoughts otherwise occupied. She'll take every distraction she can get until she's alone and able to face the situation in private. ]
Thank you. [ And then, with incrementally more lightness to the words: ] And you're right, the receipt is long gone.
no subject
[A quick grin at her for that]
[mock solemn] All right, then we gotta deal with what we've got in front of us. You feeling up to a shower and clean clothes? I can get one of the female nurses to be close by in case you get wobbly, but it's one of the best things I can recommend for a person after this kind of experience. Something cleansing with warm water, none of that sonic bullshit.