Title: There Were Days (16/16)

Author: Still Waters

Fandom: Star Trek TOS

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.

Summary: McCoy is critically injured and Christine Chapel does what she does best. A character study of Leonard McCoy and a look into the world of the Enterprise medical team.

Written: 12/09 – 6/10. 6/14/13, 8/11/13 – 8/16/13.

Notes: And here it is, the final chapter of "There Were Days." This story became tied to a very difficult period in my life, including the diagnosis of what has become a chronic medical issue. For three years, I couldn't even look at this piece. It was only after seeing Star Trek: Into Darkness in the theater that I finally felt the spark return. The movie disappointed me on pretty much every level, but it was the relegation of McCoy to a metaphor-spewing cliché on the outskirts of the story and the outright dismissal of both Christine Chapel and her profession in one throwaway line, that brought me back here in a fit of emotion. I needed to complete this story, their story – the one those beautifully rich characters deserve. I made several small edits to previous chapters, including the removal of review replies; I may go back and adjust a few things in the future, to accommodate how my writing style has changed, but chose not to do so at this time. To all those who have supported this story over the years, thank you. I am thrilled to be able to call this complete and so grateful to you all.

Epilogue

There were days Christine thought the Enterprise was cursed, doomed to find the most dangerous and horrific situations the universe had to offer; ones where, even when they did manage to find some way out, some hope in the hopelessness thanks to a stubborn, brilliant crew, the losses were just too great.

She had been to far too many funerals.

And then there were days like today, sitting on an old Georgia porch straight from a pre-warp society novel, sipping sweet tea with Mara as the smell of peach pie filled the air, the crew's laughter as warm as the sun on her skin. Days where she thought that maybe, just maybe, guardian angels still existed for wayward starships exploring the vastness of space.

The flare survey had gone without incident and McCoy continued to improve as the Enterprise subsequently made its way back to Earth for a combination of medically-approved shore leave and on Starfleet Command's weary 'you better have a damn good explanation for your blatant disregard of regulations once again' orders. Scotty transported Johanna safely back to Earth with no one the wiser, then joined the rest of the Enterprise's senior officers in explaining to Starfleet Command why they should still be permitted to wear the insignia.

Kirk continuously brought the conversation back to himself, taking responsibility for every decision that had been made along the way, whether it was directly his or not. He was forceful, passionate, yet respectful – a man who knew how to play the political game while firmly balancing both his professional oath and personal creed. A man who proved why his crew held him in such high regard, as one to be followed; the epitome of what a Starfleet Captain should be. His closing statement was a study in his friendships – it was McCoy's passionate humanity and Spock's well-reasoned logic, mixed with Kirk's own deep-seated principles: "I have always understood the Enterprise's mission to be one, not only of exploration, but one of representation – to represent Starfleet and all it stands for. To the worlds we've encountered, my crew is Starfleet. How, then, can loyalty to them be considered disloyalty to Starfleet as a whole?"

The panel had agreed to withhold judgment until after sickbay's presentation to Starfleet Medical, to get a better picture of the situation.

It was a wise decision.

Because Christine knew she wasn't bragging when she said that they. Were. Brilliant.

From the moment of injury, to processing the Fabrini compound, to the continuing recovery process, the medical, nursing, and lab staff gave every clinical detail and implication with passionate excitement tempered with controlled personal emotion. M'Benga's confidence grew in the presence of McCoy's natural enthusiasm and he began speaking up more on his own as the presentation went on. Christine, Mara, and Elise practically finished each other's sentences discussing the nursing care and implementation of fleet-wide staff education on the procedure. And McCoy…..McCoy shone. He was a living, breathing example of the importance of what they had done, the incredible impossibilities medicine could achieve in the hands of passionately curious, well-trained people who respected life and death, challenged the status quo, and advocated for the quality of the lives of those they took an oath to treat.

The clinical team didn't miss a beat, not even when McCoy suddenly blanched mid-toe bounce and explanation, face tightening with pain. Displaying their seemingly effortless adaptability, M'Benga picked up the thread of discussion as McCoy sank into his chair, while Christine took out a prepared hypo of the pain control cocktail and administered it. Three minutes later, McCoy stood back up with a half-apologetic smile and rejoined the conversation with his easy, Southern drawl, as if nothing unusual had happened.

"And theah you can see both the long-term side effects and their manageability," he said, smoothly turning the episode into a teaching moment with the open excitement of a man who had not just been gray with pain a few moments before.

"So you receive nestrodon q48 hours and the laudilone/acephen/pentgabin cocktail q8?" one of the medical officers asked.

"Some days I only need the pain cocktail q12," McCoy said, "but generally, yes, I keep that schedule."

"Hell of an improvement from brain death," the head of Starfleet Medical noted.

"Yes, ma'am," McCoy smiled brightly. "We are working, however, on the possibility of a weekly or biweekly dosing regimen…"

When the presentation finally ended, it was to a standing ovation followed by another hour-long question and answer session.

"My only regret," Mara sighed to Christine and Elise as they walked out of the conference room at the panel's end, "is that when we publish this thing, no one will know that KCR stands for something so much better than the main Fabrini chemical compounds."

"I'm just amazed that we managed to present a revolutionary neurological treatment to Starfleet's highest medical authority without you jumping up and revealing that it actually stands for 'kickass cerebral regenin!'" Elise shook her head with a grin.

"I'm quite proud of that restraint," Mara said. "Everyone knows I'm not allowed to name things."

Elise raised an eyebrow.

"Outside of sickbay and nurse's report," Mara amended.

"I still can't believe Leonard and M'Benga actually made that name work," Elise chuckled.

"I can," Christine said. "There's more than one reason none of us have chosen to transfer when it's come up." She looked at the two physicians walking a few feet in front of them, their heads close in discussion.

"Damn straight," Mara agreed.

And so, whether it was the existence of guardian angels or the sheer power of their status as the fleet's miracle ship, the Enterprise once again pulled through with its brilliance and devotion leading the way. Discipline was given in the form of official letters of reprimand in personnel files, but no one lost rank or was discharged. Even Johanna kept her place in the nursing program despite lengthy clinical absences without prior approval. Citing family medical emergency and the need to be in constant comm contact – hiding her presence on the Enterprise as thoroughly as the crew did on their end – she was permitted to withdraw from the current semester without penalty and repeat the coursework the following semester.

With presentations completed and judgments passed, shore leave was finally, blessedly, underway.

And for about twenty crewmembers, it all began with an old-fashioned Georgia celebration.

"I swear, Daddy," Johanna's voice came through the open kitchen window, "sometimes I think when the good Lord was handin' out self-preservation, you got in the wrong line."

Christine chuckled softly as she came back to the present, turning toward the window to better catch the vestiges of the radiation leak discussion that had started back in sickbay.

"That could indeed offer a logical explanation for some of the Doctor's…..choices," Spock chose the last word carefully.

"Funny, Spock, I seem to recall treating you after several of your own 'choices,'" McCoy raised a pointed eyebrow at the first officer, drawling that last word knowingly. "Should I start going down your list?"

Kirk stifled a snort.

McCoy whipped around at the sound, waving a serving spoon at the grinning Captain. "Or yours?" he threatened.

Johanna's eyes flickered over each of them, reading the history-laden silences.

Christine watched the scene with a smile. Kirk and Spock hadn't left the kitchen since arriving at the house, under the pretense of watching and helping Johanna and a still somewhat weakened McCoy cook. Of course, it was perfectly obvious to anyone with eyes that the real motivation was not wanting McCoy out of their sight. Christine couldn't blame them – every time she looked at McCoy it was like looking at a miracle.

Back in the kitchen, Kirk cleared his throat with a sheepish, pacifying smile and wisely changed the subject. "Is that cornbread ready to go on the table?" he asked.

Johanna and McCoy shared a sly smile before Johanna nodded, gesturing Kirk to the cornbread and asking Spock to hand her a bowl; the Vulcan stepping up to the counter a little too eagerly to be anything other than glad for the shift in focus.

Christine brought her attention back to the surrounding porch and backyard. Scotty and Uhura were humming and laying the table. Chekov and Sulu, having already chosen seats for the meal, sat in deep discussion about a local weapons museum. Tenzin and Settler were taking advantage of an old, towering tree's shade, engrossed in a portable vid screen, and the medical staff were all congregated in the same porch corner where Christine and Mara sat. The nurses and orderlies were swapping old stories and jokes; M'Benga sitting slightly off to one side with his eyes closed, face tilted to the breeze, but smiling lightly at the camaraderie around his meditation.

With the rattle of an old screen door, McCoy stepped out onto the porch carrying an ancient looking ceramic bowl, flanked on either side by Kirk and Spock, who each held similarly laden cookware. The physician snorted back a laugh as Kirk leaned in and said something, Spock's raised eyebrow over dancing eyes indicating his shared amusement. Johanna was two steps behind them, directing approaching crewmembers as to what else needed to be done, face bright with her father's wide smile and joyful, shining blue eyes.

"Well c'mon, y'all. Let's eat!" Johanna rallied everyone together.

Christine and Mara got up and went into the kitchen, grabbed the last two pitchers of lemonade left on the counter, and walked out to the long, rapidly filling table. Johanna had taken the chair to McCoy's left, Kirk and Spock solid pillars on the physician's right. With a father's soft smile, McCoy leaned over to kiss Johanna's forehead as Kirk finished pouring his and Spock's drinks in preparation for the toast.

At Johanna's excited 'get your asses over here' gesture, Christine and Mara set the pitchers on the table and took the open seats on Johanna's left.

With everyone seated, the crew looked to its Captain, the air crackling with emotion.

Kirk stood up and brought his glass to chest level, the crew following suit. His gaze moved around the table, locking eyes with each of them before ending, and lingering, on McCoy.

"To the Enterprise," he said, raising his glass higher.

To all of you who make this ship what it is: a ship of miracles, of friendship. Of family.

"The Enterprise," the table echoed within a chorus of glass meeting glass.

"Well go on, now - dig in!" Johanna gestured with a grin.

Christine listened to the light, easy conversations as food was passed around the table. Johanna blushed happily as the praise came rolling in, her gratitude swiftly followed by condolences to everyone for having to eventually go back to "that awful replicated crap." Spock's approval of grits tasting similar to a traditional Vulcan dish was punctuated by the familiar hiss of a hypo as McCoy gave himself his scheduled pain meds while simultaneously rolling his eyes and muttering something about visual similarities to sand and how all the butter in creation couldn't ever make Vulcan's deserts more palatable.

Kirk and Johanna burst into coughing laughter around aborted sips of lemonade, McCoy's eyes sparkling over a wide smile that was reflected in Spock's relaxed face and bright eyes.

Mara followed Christine's line of sight and subtly tipped her glass in a private toast. "L'Chaim," she smiled softly.

Christine mirrored the action. "To life," she agreed.

Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a long sip of sweet tea to the joyful sounds of celebration. They had a lot to celebrate, after all: teamwork, friendship, brilliance, devotion, loyalty. And, of course, the sum of all those admirable qualities: the warm, continued presence of Leonard McCoy - the living, breathing heart of the ship.

Yes, there were days Christine Chapel loved being a nurse.

And today?

Today was sure as hell one of them.