IT’S A FIC ABOUT MCCOY MY PRESH BABY. I’m only posting the first page since that’s all I’ve proofread so far. But if any of you have any comments they’d be hella appreciated. Really. Please read it.
Stardate 6405.17 at 0400 hours and Doctor Leonard McCoy was chancing a moment of rest in the comfort of his leather armchair when he received the urgent call from Earth. Three hours earlier, the UCC Enterprise NC-1701A and her juvenile crew before the five year mission were bombarded by Klingon warships. Long after the battle, and they were still sending droves to sickbay. Captain James T. Kirk requested McCoy stay, but there was no arguing with the Georgian and so let his friend take the leave of absence he needed.
McCoy arrived at the St. Louis Mississippi Bay Medical Facility two weeks later to find David McCoy lying on a hospital bed in Room 43-127B. Machines whirred gently, as the monitors above McCoy’s father beeped “stable”. Weak with pain from the Acute Pyrrhoneuritis, his father turned to Leonard and smiled softly. McCoy did not smile back.
“I told you not to go” he cringed inwardly at the emotion in his voice.
“Leonard, you know I had to. The colony… they needed a doctor.”
“They couldn’t’ve found someone younger? Hell, the Enterprise was close enough, I’d have been dropped off faster than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest.”
“It wasn’t a threat then, you know that. They had to have my team,” his voice rasped.
“You got yourself caught in a whirlwind, Dad. Since Ma, you’d been acting like this. Almost like you gotta death wish” David McCoy winced, and turned to look out at the Mississippi skyline. The monitors beeped steadily through the silence.
“Cut the hero bullshit, Dad. I get it you had to get away, and now look at you. Ma knew it wouldn’t be good for you, and I couldn’t agree more. She was the best doctor you ever had, you know?” he shook his head, “Dad, this? This is gonna take a lotta time to figure. You just hang on, alright? If Ma was the first, I’m the second.”
David McCoy continued to look out the window, but it didn’t matter because Leonard was not looking for a response. Instead, he shook his head softly, removing his worn leather jacket and settling himself in the chair beside the bed. Taking out his PADD, he began pouring over the research. He knew little medically concerning Acute Pyrrhoneuritis, but knew enough: it was only native to Epsilon Four, it was painful, it was incurable – and it was slowly sucking the will from his father.