A/N: the idea of recycling was already used at least in one fic (I don't remember the author, sorry). It is, however, no laughing matter in so contained an environment, so…

Let us now leave the two on their way to the Bridge, and have a look at the ship's Sickbay, where events of no less magnitude were enfolding.

The Lord of Sickbay, one Doctor McCoy was growing steadily more and more impatient. Well, 'impatient' was the word which Spock would use. He himself had yet to describe his condition, known in certain circles as 'homeblastitis'.

For one thing, he had to prove to the Gods of Docking that 'Enterprise' was not delivering billions of new deadly germs to the delicate environment of the Earth. McCoy even had had all the files and forms in triplicate, just to spite Piper, who had promised him a beautiful reunion with Terran colleagues. Now, it seemed, he only had to repeat the effort, and the ship could just escape being quarantined for a fortnight.

(According to Jim, he'd stopped speaking Standard a week ago, and switched to Orlopian.)

He was signing, reviewing and authorising the 'sheets Chapel kept producing no doubt by magic; decaf and grammar joined forces to torment him, and his mind fumed over matters for which there were no official reports.

They had come back.

This wasn't just another beam-down to a Class M Planet. This was the real thing. They had come back for good.

...And the world had moved on - have been moving on before they had left orbit.

He had known it would be so; unlike other crewmen, he had to keep that in mind at each single moment of their voyage. Oh, they would sometimes be hit by the realization (except, of course, Spock, who was immune to whimsy and had no reason to view Earth as something special); and certainly those who signed on for a year or two had it easier (mustn't they?), so the crushing weight he bore was likely just that - a tiredness from being alert for so long. He couldn't help sharing it with Jim and maybe Scotty, too (though he had his doubts on that count; damn it, should have talked to the man...), but that was just the way it worked.

He had prepared himself as best he could for the change that was about to come. Had he prepared the others?

There was Burkhard G., whose wife had won a lottery and moved to another continent. Burkhard was all agog to get to her and live happily ever after, but he had been heard to mutter that she was free with money; and she now had a rescued cat which wasn't completely house-trained.

There was Jean B., whose son (begot through artificial insemination) recently started being treated for infantile cerebral paralysis. The man had literally ransacked McCoy's resources on the topic. The Captain had (illegally, strictly speaking) sent him home a whole two days ahead of others - a direct beam-down to his orchard. It was a sign of how united the crew was that the fact remained unknown to the authorities... but what could they do to really help the man?

There was David R., The Man Driven Insane by Tribbles.

The elderly Ensign might well had once been the topmost Replirator (Replicator Operator) in Alpha Quadrant, thought McCoy with sincere remorse. One had to be bright to fit into one of the biggest non-commercial ships of the Federation. He remained, without doubt, a genius of engineering; could synthetize almost anything, indeed, in young Chekhov's words, could 'shoe a flea.' But he was spoiled by the environment he shared with so many men of science, had no particular appreciation for ethics and could give Scrooge a run for his money when it came to 'waste' of life-supporting materials... He'd won the 'Fleet-wide award 'Mr. Ergono-Miser' twice in a row!

Robinson had tried to make it a Ship Regulation (a different set from those issued by the Board) that every person should exhale before being beamed down into breathable atmosphere and inhale before being beamed up. ('In this way, oxygen should be contained - and considering the mortality among the Security Department, who often are not even beamed up, or had to be frozen and preserved until depositing at the next Starbase, the loss of elements can be considerable...' The redshirts had ostracized R. for a month after that one.)

To mollify him, Scotty beamed up tons of ice and coal, but as Kirk said, anything was better than recycling his crew.

After the Splitting of the Captain, Kirk awaited a fearsome tantrum (Robinson chewed the ears off anyone who gained more than a stone if McCoy hadn't authorized it), but his XO did some persuading, and it was averted.

Sulu was now an expert on Plant Metabolism; he defended every introduced specimen, providing data on its input and output rates and products.

In the end, R. got food poisoning from undercooked oysters. Apparently the 'Enterprise' was short on iodine. He was now sleeping peacefully behind a curtain, and McCoy was perfectly happy with it.

There was Ellen D. He had treated her for skin irritation (it could have been her last allergy ever, and he was still dimly relieved that it wasn't) after a landside mission early in their voyage. Amiable, hardy, and straightforward, she was a picture of health. It was then a shock to see her despondent and not-quite-there some months later. No, this wasn't a medical complaint - those were reported at once, after he had had The Talk with Department Heads.

Her friends told him there had been 'trouble at home,' but did not go into details. He shuffled the examinations schedule and sat her down with a glass of some unreplicated stuff.

They talked for a minute or two. He chanced to look down on her hand: broad, calloused, with closely clipped nails. She was holding the glass with a teetotaler's cluelessness... and there was a faint trace of a ring on her ringless hand.

Spock's story, as well as his own divorce prompted him to speak, but -

'They say... his dog was drowning.'

And she blinked and went away.

People 'back home' were supposed to stay safe.

Ships went out deeper and deeper, charting Uncharted Space, and sometimes they did not return; but that was the reality of Starfleet. 'Where no man has gone before,' as the Captain liked to remind them. Some risk always remained for those who lived on colonized planets, too.

But not on Earth, never on Earth. They had no business dying on Earth.

...And so she had served the whole five years.

McCoy persuaded Spock not to give Ellen too glowing a reference. The hobgoblin breathed fire, and his lecture on gender equality would have the Doctor enraptured in different circumstances; however, he as the CMO had the final say in the matter. He wanted her to consider other options except a career as a Discoverer; to start anew - she was still young.

He tried to explain that without breaching confidentiality, but he wasn't sure the Vulcan understood.

Ensign D. received her datachip from Head Nurse Chapel, and, friends that they were, McCoy heard them chatting on with the formalities out of the way. He wasn't eavesdropping - this was his workplace, thank you very much, and they talked quietly - but his heart lifted nonetheless when he caught 'likelihood of twins' and 'Mom approves'.

In that very moment, the doors hissed open, and Jim Kirk walked in.

McCoy jumped up. So did the girls.

'At ease,' the Captain said, amused. It was obvious he didn't have an urgent business in Sickbay, medically speaking.

D. reddened. Chapel gave a sweet smile.

'We were discussing dresses, Captain.'

Something close to panic flashed in Kirk's eyes. McCoy sat down again and busied himself with innumerable signatures. He didn't have all day.

'It's such a headache,' His HN went on in an innocent voice. 'Ellen here complains that blue isn't her colour.'

'Mmm-hmm.'

'And I quite agree.'

'Mmm-hmm.'

'And oh, we'll have to discard almost all our clothes except for, you know, the few old favourites. As it is, they will be horribly out of fashion.'

Kirk grimaced. He had the highest respect for Uhura, but even she took to preening of late. Certainly bubonic plague would cause less frenzy than this new women's hobby.

'What would you advise?'

McCoy lifted up his eyes from the datapadd. There was a real request in Chapel's question. Of course, what the Captain knew about his Ensigns' sorrows was anybody's guess...

'Lavender,' Jim said, smiling that damned Kirk smile, bold and sincere and kind. 'And have it replicated.'

Chapel huffed, and D. smiled, too. As usual, it did wonders for her face. 'It is never quite the same as what can be found in a shop.'

Kirk shrugged. 'Well, if you have time for shopping. There's a ball tonight - 'Enterprise' is the guest of honour,' he sighed. McCoy told himself in his best CMO tones that this was his workplace, and he couldn't help listening in if they carried on so.

'All decorated officers are expected to attend. I would appreciate it if you agreed to accompany me...'

'I do,' the girl said timidly.

Why, you dog, McCoy thought. She's easily a head higher than you. You'll be the funniest thing hopping around in full parade uniform - and since when have you actually decided to come?

On the other hand, there shouldn't be a shortage of handsome giants.

By this time, the females had left together and the man had manouvred towards McCoy's desk, leaned over it and said in a low, charged voice:

'Bones. The brass is aboard. Hide me, I beg.'