Dr McCoy is having a bad day. The last thing he wants is for Jim to drag him along to a diplomatic dinner.
Warning: May contain mild profanity.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. This is purely for personal enjoyment, not for profit.
27/3/16 - I recently received a comment saying that my spelling and grammar is appalling. While I will admit that this may be true of my grammar, my spelling is not. I am British and as such, my spelling is strictly british. It not incorrect. Please bear this in mind when reviewing.
Leonard McCoy was in a bad mood. His morning had started with whoever was in command, Jim probably, flying the enterprise through a solar flare. It had supposedly been in the name of science but he suspected it had been more because they just could; Solar flares had been so over studied that McCoy doubted they were going to learn anything new from one solar flare.
Normally, they could do what they wanted and Leonard wouldn't mind. What he did mind, was that they did it at 0700 hours, when he was trying to shave, resulting in a laceration and a broken shaving mirror.
He wasn't a superstitious man at all but he did believe in few universal constants, that always came true. There were two. The first was that if anything could go wrong, it would. This was closely followed by the second, which was that when it did, Jim would always be in the middle of it. McCoy was more upset that the mirror had been his father's than the seven years bad luck the shattered glass on the floor of his bathroom.
The rest of his day had been tedious. It had been filled with routine physicals, paperwork, breaking in the new imbeciles, who were supposedly nurses, that Starfleet had sent him, more paperwork and treating the handful patients that were always inevitable in the weeks that followed shore leave. This was then topped off with a visit from Jim, to remind him of the stupid dinner he was expected to attend planet side, 'All the senior officers are going, Bones.'
'Dammit, Jim.' He had thirty crewman physicals to document. Whichever paper pushing bureaucrat had decided that every crewman had to have one done within two weeks of boarding the ship was an idiot. It was fine if everyone on board wasn't new. 'I'm too Busy.'
Jim looked around at the now empty sickbay and raised his eyebrows. He'd clearly been spending too much time with their first officer. 'Let M'Benga handle it.'
Geoffrey M'Benga was a human doctor who'd come on board when the Enterprise had left earth. McCoy had chosen him because he happened to be an expert on Vulcans. While M'Benga was perfectly capable in his own right, he had his own fair share of work to do. Besides, that wasn't the point. 'I can't just drop everything, every time you want to go on an adventure.'
Jim just grinned, 'Come on, Bones. It'll be fun.'
McCoy highly doubted that. He had yet to go to a diplomatic dinner that he would describe as fun. There was always too much ass-kissing and watching of P's and Q's for them to actually be fun. Jim paused and turned back him.
'You know that you'll have to beam down there later anyway,' McCoy didn't like where this was going. 'When I eat something I shouldn't because you're not there to tell me not to.'
Dammit, the kid had him there; that was how he found himself beaming down to the planet surface two hours later, much to his dismay. Someone had to be there to save Jim from his own damn stupidity.
The dinner, as far as diplomatic dinners went, wasn't turning out too bad. The food was actually quite nice, so he didn't have to lie about that and pretend to eat, in order to not to offend their hosts. For once, they made it to dessert without a diplomatic incident or Jim needing medical attention.
Across the table, Jim was in his element, chatting with the Farr Ambassador. On McCoy's left, a Farr engineer and Scotty had been engrossed in conversation the entire meal. Most of the words they used went straight over his head. Then there was Uhura and the Ambassador's wife, on his right, who McCoy hadn't heard speak a single word of standard all night. So with nobody to talk to and Jim behaving himself, McCoy kept his head down, ate his food and counted down the hours until they could return back to the ship.
McCoy cleared his throat, trying to ease an itch at the back of his throat. That only made it worse. It felt like something was stuck there but he couldn't think what that could be. He coughed.
'Something go down the wrong way Bones?' Jim asked.
Before he could swallow, McCoy coughed again, suddenly dizzy. Something wasn't right. The air was thick and he couldn't get enough oxygen in. It was like sucking through a straw. He could hear Jim talking to him but he was too busy running a self diagnostic in his head.
Dizziness, difficulty breathing...swelling...
His eyes fell on the food in front of him. Just like that, all the stars lined up. Anaphylaxis.
Dammit. He was in serious trouble.
'Jim...' McCoy wheezed, his hand going to his throat as he choked, unable to breath.
Epinephrine. He needed Epinephrine.
The contents of his Med-kit went everywhere as he frantically searched for what he knew was in there. He never went anywhere without it. So why the hell couldn't he find it?
Leonard collapsed onto his back next to the kit. This wasn't right. It was the wrong way round. Jim was the one with the allergies. This was supposed to happen to him, that way he could be the one to patch his friend up. His eyes briefly met Jim's as he fought against his rapidly constricting airway. There were spots dancing in front of his eyes.
'Kirk to Enterprise.' Jim ordered, finishing the search McCoy had been forced to abandon. 'Medical emergency. Transport us to sickbay now.' There was a sting and a hiss of the hypo-spray against his neck but it was too late.
Stars had joined the spots now. Stars against the darkness. If he hadn't been so afraid, it might have been beautiful. McCoy was going to pass out.
He was alone in the darkness.
McCoy was choking. He couldn't breath. Someone had jammed something down his throat. He moved a hand to try to pull it out. A hand caught his before it could get there. He panicked, fighting to free his hands. What were they doing? He was coughed around the invasive object.
'Leonard, I need you to calm down and cough on three.' He opened his eyes to meet those of his head nurse. He was a doctor, he knew that instruction; they'd had to intubate him. '1, 2, 3.'
McCoy coughed as Chapel pulled. The tube was closely followed by the contents of his stomach as the cough turned into gagging. He was thankful for whoever quickly shoved a basin under his chin. Vomit burned it's way up his throat and every heave sent agony shooting through his stomach.
He trembled as he eventually lay back. He was miserable; If he'd had any pride or dignity left, it had now legged it out of the nearest airlock. Someone wrapped a blanket around him.
'How do you feel?' Nurse Chapel asked him, checking his IV
'Jus' Peachy.' He mumbled, gruff from all the abuse his throat had suffered. Just that one word had set his throat on fire. McCoy rolled onto his side, curled up protectively around his stomach. The aforementioned organ lurched in protest. McCoy swallowed, the action making him wince. 'I'm going to throw up again.'
McCoy was barely sitting up before he started heaving again.
Nurse Chapel held the basin steady for the next hour as McCoy's body divested itself of every scrap, of the offending food, that had caused the initial reaction. It an half an hour after that, that she finally put him out of misery and sedated him into oblivion.
Jim was asleep in a chair beside the bed when he woke. He still felt like he'd been run over by a shuttle-pod but it wasn't anything a little more sleep wouldn't fix. He didn't hurt, it was just uncomfortable.
The curtains around the Bio-bed had been left wide open, probably so that they could keep a close eye on him. It was always a compromise between dignity and the ability to monitor patients easily. Clearly the nurses weren't taking any chances.
It provided a small amount of entertainment while he lay there. He found himself wondering what the exchange between Nurse Chapel and a Lieutenant down the other end of sickbay was about. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he knew that tone. Christine was clearly annoyed.
Nurse Chapman, one of the recent transfers following the Narada incident, walked over.
'Morning.' He croaked.
Nurse Chapman smiled. 'Afternoon actually, sir.'
She checked the Bio-bed monitor briefly before smiling back at him again, 'I'll go get Doctor M'Benga.'
'You nearly scared me to death, Bones.' McCoy hadn't noticed that Jim had woken up.
McCoy shrugged. 'I'll live.'
'So they tell me.' There was the barest glimpse of a smile but that quickly fell and Jim was all serious. 'Is that what it's like for you whenever I eat something I shouldn't?'
McCoy didn't know what to say to that one. Sure, it was terrifying every time that Jim went into anaphylaxis but he was in no doubt that it would have been worse than Jim. He was a doctor, dammit, at least he could do something about it. Jim would have been helpless.
'I promise that I'll listen next time you tell me not to eat something.' Jim looked at him with a steeled fierceness. It was a nice idea but McCoy wouldn't hold him to that one. Eating alien food was like Russian roulette; There was no point in Jim making promises he couldn't keep. McCoy decided that the same could be said about making Jim promise not to make him go on an away mission that he didn't want to go on. He was just grateful that, this time, no one had died.