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Muse: Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Words: 857
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Disclaimer: Bones nor any of the characters from, nor Star Trek itself, belong to me. The name D'Ndjar belongs to Jihime.
Prompt: If today were your last day....
He buried his face in his hands, sighing deeply. Entering these reports always was a chore he hated. He was aware that other Chief Medical Officer's collected the PADDS after the report had been written by their junior officers and simply signed off on the completed report, but he felt it was his duty to do them. It was his duty to stated how he had failed the individual crew members, how he failed to keep them whole, healthy and in cases like this one, alive.
He was a doctor and he knew Death should be just as much his companion as Life was. He knew there were going to be patients he could not save, whose battle with Death both they, and he lost. He pushed the thought of his pale, fragile father to the back of his mind. The strength of the body and miracle of science still awed him, but he knew for all of that, loss was a part of life. A part he should be more comfortable with than he was. Writing up the reports on the individual crew members when they were injured or killed in the line of duty was one way he tried to ease his conscience as well as chastise himself for what he thought were personal failures. An oddity that earned him respect from the medical crew although he didn't feel he earned it.
He stared at the PADD in front of him. The shock and sudden panic as he realized he didn't know the crew member's name made him reach for the old fashioned decanter he had nestled in his bottom drawer. He poured a drink with a shaky hand as he tried to remember the tall, muscular Andorian, assigned to Security, that didn't come back alive with them.
He could easily solve this by reviewing the incident reports both Kirk and Spock filed, but he stubbornly refused to look. He went over the mission in his mind. The crewman had taken a disrupter shot to the upper torso, had died instantly for all intents and purposes, yet McCoy had tried. He had tried to plug the gaping wound in the man's chest, tried to stop his heart from weakly pumping out the blue blood through his fingers, finding his fingers a poor subsitute for heart muscles as the Andorian's life blood ran out over his ineffectual hands. He should remember his name. He swallowed the whole glass of amber liquid in one gulp, letting it burn a path to his stomach. The name continued to elude him as the moment kept replaying in his mind. He felt the red-shirted Andorian's hand push his shoulder, turning him back towards the landing party, heard his urgent command to fall back. He remembered his initial dismay, but firing a few shots back towards the hostiles and refusing to leave the Andorian until his phaser overheated and the Andorian pushed him back through a path of safety, promising McCoy he was right behind him. He flinched, knocking his glass over as he swore he heard the high pitched whine of the disrupter phaser and the Andorian's anquished cry of surprise. He could recall trying, shouting for Kirk, for Spock, for anyone actually who could help him hold a compress bandage to the the Andorian's chest as he felt the tingling beams of the transporter capture them both, depositing them directly into Sickbay. Despite all of the techology at his disposal, there was nothing McCoy could do. He remembered calling a time of death shortly after Kirk came running into Sickbay. He could remember all of that with a clarity so sharp he thought all if it was happening again, but he could not, dammit, remember the Andorian's name. The glass smashed into the wall, breaking as it shattered.
"His name was D'Ndjar."
McCoy lifted his head and stared at Spock. He hadn't heard him come in. "Don't be using any of that Vulcan voodoo in my mind," McCoy growled.
"Mind melding and Vulcan telepathic abilities are not, as you call it, 'voodoo'. I was not in a position to read your thoughts." He stood, stock still by the door, eyebrow slightly raised as he stared at McCoy.
D'ndjar. D'ndjar. He committed the name and memory of the image of the Andorian he had lost under his watch to his mind. He entered a few more details into the PADD. His brief note expressing his sadness at D'ndjar's passing even seemed formulaic to him. He threw the PADD down in frustration. "What are you still doing here?"
"The Captain suggested we meet in the Officer's Rec Room for a drink and perhaps a game of chess." Chess clearly the only activity that Spock was endorsing.
He shook his head, declining the invite and Spock left. McCoy was grateful for the time alone, but he was touched when he got back to his quarters and found a small object on his desk. It was light but made of stone with a few Vulcan markings. He smiled a small smile, the first one in a few days. He couldn't break this cup.
Words: 857
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Disclaimer: Bones nor any of the characters from, nor Star Trek itself, belong to me. The name D'Ndjar belongs to Jihime.
Prompt: If today were your last day....
He buried his face in his hands, sighing deeply. Entering these reports always was a chore he hated. He was aware that other Chief Medical Officer's collected the PADDS after the report had been written by their junior officers and simply signed off on the completed report, but he felt it was his duty to do them. It was his duty to stated how he had failed the individual crew members, how he failed to keep them whole, healthy and in cases like this one, alive.
He was a doctor and he knew Death should be just as much his companion as Life was. He knew there were going to be patients he could not save, whose battle with Death both they, and he lost. He pushed the thought of his pale, fragile father to the back of his mind. The strength of the body and miracle of science still awed him, but he knew for all of that, loss was a part of life. A part he should be more comfortable with than he was. Writing up the reports on the individual crew members when they were injured or killed in the line of duty was one way he tried to ease his conscience as well as chastise himself for what he thought were personal failures. An oddity that earned him respect from the medical crew although he didn't feel he earned it.
He stared at the PADD in front of him. The shock and sudden panic as he realized he didn't know the crew member's name made him reach for the old fashioned decanter he had nestled in his bottom drawer. He poured a drink with a shaky hand as he tried to remember the tall, muscular Andorian, assigned to Security, that didn't come back alive with them.
He could easily solve this by reviewing the incident reports both Kirk and Spock filed, but he stubbornly refused to look. He went over the mission in his mind. The crewman had taken a disrupter shot to the upper torso, had died instantly for all intents and purposes, yet McCoy had tried. He had tried to plug the gaping wound in the man's chest, tried to stop his heart from weakly pumping out the blue blood through his fingers, finding his fingers a poor subsitute for heart muscles as the Andorian's life blood ran out over his ineffectual hands. He should remember his name. He swallowed the whole glass of amber liquid in one gulp, letting it burn a path to his stomach. The name continued to elude him as the moment kept replaying in his mind. He felt the red-shirted Andorian's hand push his shoulder, turning him back towards the landing party, heard his urgent command to fall back. He remembered his initial dismay, but firing a few shots back towards the hostiles and refusing to leave the Andorian until his phaser overheated and the Andorian pushed him back through a path of safety, promising McCoy he was right behind him. He flinched, knocking his glass over as he swore he heard the high pitched whine of the disrupter phaser and the Andorian's anquished cry of surprise. He could recall trying, shouting for Kirk, for Spock, for anyone actually who could help him hold a compress bandage to the the Andorian's chest as he felt the tingling beams of the transporter capture them both, depositing them directly into Sickbay. Despite all of the techology at his disposal, there was nothing McCoy could do. He remembered calling a time of death shortly after Kirk came running into Sickbay. He could remember all of that with a clarity so sharp he thought all if it was happening again, but he could not, dammit, remember the Andorian's name. The glass smashed into the wall, breaking as it shattered.
"His name was D'Ndjar."
McCoy lifted his head and stared at Spock. He hadn't heard him come in. "Don't be using any of that Vulcan voodoo in my mind," McCoy growled.
"Mind melding and Vulcan telepathic abilities are not, as you call it, 'voodoo'. I was not in a position to read your thoughts." He stood, stock still by the door, eyebrow slightly raised as he stared at McCoy.
D'ndjar. D'ndjar. He committed the name and memory of the image of the Andorian he had lost under his watch to his mind. He entered a few more details into the PADD. His brief note expressing his sadness at D'ndjar's passing even seemed formulaic to him. He threw the PADD down in frustration. "What are you still doing here?"
"The Captain suggested we meet in the Officer's Rec Room for a drink and perhaps a game of chess." Chess clearly the only activity that Spock was endorsing.
He shook his head, declining the invite and Spock left. McCoy was grateful for the time alone, but he was touched when he got back to his quarters and found a small object on his desk. It was light but made of stone with a few Vulcan markings. He smiled a small smile, the first one in a few days. He couldn't break this cup.
