A/N: Hey, hey, hey! Fanfiction posting spree! Getting up this and some Ninja Turtles stories, because why not? I need motivators.

Alrighty, this is the brainstorm of BballGalKaitlin, who graciously asked if I would co-write with her. I agreed, and we're alternating chapters. Hopefully, if life goes well, chapters will be posted every night until the story's done. Without further ado, here's chapter 1!

Sometimes, just sometimes, McCoy couldn't help but wonder what the point of it all was.

It seemed that for every cure, vaccine, antibiotic and prevention method they discovered, there was always some new disease to cancel the discovery out. Always worse than the previous.

These thoughts were on his mind as he listened to Chief Surgeon Boyce drone on. Starfleet Medical was on alert for a new strain of alyssiculus trivalitanm; a nasty little bugger now antibiotic-immune. The news was depressing: 14 cases had proved fatal and the prognosis for the other infected cases were all grim.

The general alert had been sent out two days ago, but McCoy had contacted Boyce to bounce ideas back and forth. He had a hunch that oxygen-rich blood transfusions like a carefully controlled cancer would be able to stem the effects of the disease, if not reverse it. He had stacks of stem-cell research and previous medical cases to back up against the disastrous "Aly-T" as it was dubbed.

"-and so the trick lies in that Aly-T isn'tpresented as a tumor, but as a loose collection of cells that don't accept the necessary oxygen like they should," McCoy continued. "So you can't just cut it out, but with the transplant of these stem cells, the excessive mitosis should make up for the job until we can figure out how to remove the bad ones-"

His buzzer rang. McCoy held up a finger to the screen. "One moment, sir." He answered the comm, slightly annoyed and still stressed from studying the wretched mutation. "McCoy here."

"Scott here for th'annual physical. You wanted t'see me?"

"Yes, Scotty, I'll be with you in a moment, I'm- just wait outside," he finished exasperatedly. He shut off the comm.

Boyce was still waiting on the screen. "You were saying, Doctor?"

"Yes, yes, I was talking about..." he trailed off, letting his brain catch up. Those physicals had him working overtime the past few nights and he was a bit tired. "The stem cells and transplanting oxygen-rich cells into the infected zones. Now, this should mean that..." What was he doing? He could talk fancy words with other Starfleet higher-ups, but he knew Boyce. These were people's liveshe was talking about.

"Look, Boyce, I'm going to cut straight to the point on this. Aly-T is terminal, any way you slice it. Those cells lost the code to transfer oxygen around the body and now they're just multiplying the bad gene. We can't reverse it, at least, not now. I don't have a ready-made cure. All I've got is a possible form of relief: introducing oxygen-rich, rapid-multiplying cells to the infected areas in the hopes that these new cells can pick up the slack."

Boyce nodded gravely. "I understand," he replied. "I've seen a couple of those cases, and your idea doeshave merit."

"But it won't be enough," McCoy sighed, dragging a hand across his face.

"But we won't know for sure until we try," Boyce reminded him. "I'll put your idea into the hospitals and laboratories and see what comes up. Now, while we're still talking, have you informed the crew yet?"

"Not yet," McCoy admitted. "We only have a few more physicals to complete and are pretty removed from anywhere out here... I'll wait until the physicals are done before I tell them."

"Just make sure you don't cause a panic on that ship," Boyce added sternly. "This is just a standard medical alert; not a pandemic that needs to be feared."

"I'll be sure to break the news gently, to the captain and a few select others, first," McCoy promised.

"Good. I've gone over your crew roster- nobody on your ship has any family members who are affected by Aly-T."

"Thank goodness," McCoy murmured. He stretched, feeling the chinks in his back pop and straighten. "Well, I have a crewmember to deal with now, Boyce, so I have to go and deal with that."

"Understood," Boyce smiled, if a little grimly. "Take care of yourself."

"On a ship with 430 people? I don't have time to worry about me," McCoy grinned.

Boyce chuckled, remembering his own, hectic, starship days. "You know what I mean. Boyce out."

McCoy shut off the computer monitor and strode to his office doors. Time to face Sickbay.

Scotty, meanwhile, had initiallyarrived in Sickbay rather chipper, despite the upcoming physical. He commed McCoy, who was buried in his office, and was told to wait. Okay, he could wait. He leaned against the wall and watched the pretty nurses go about their day.

"Look, Boyce, I'm going to cut straight to the point on this."

Scotty jumped. From where he was leaning, there was a small crack where the sliding doors met the wall, and he could just hear inside. Normally, the mild-mannered Scotsman wasn't one for eavesdropping, but there was something in McCoy's tone that stopped him. He'd never heard that tone in his voice before.

Scotty pressed closer, anxious and listening. He guessed that McCoy was on a video-call with someone, though he couldn't hear what the other person was saying. He only caught snatches of what McCoy said.

"Aly-T is terminal, any way you slice it...bad gene... we can't reverse it...I don't have a ready-made cure...the infected areas...hopes that these new cells...But it won't be enough...I'll wait until the physicals are done before I tell them."

Scotty's heart skipped a beat. Was, was McCoy talking about what he thought he was talking about?

"I'll be sure to break the news gently, to the captain and a few select others, first." A hollow chuckle. "On a ship with 430 people? I don't have time to worry aboutme."

Oh gosh, it was true. Scotty gripped the wall, panic threatening to overtake him. McCoy- Leonard- was sick. Very sick. Terminally ill with that, what was it? Aly-T, whatever that meant. It couldn't be. Not again. How?

The physicals, of course! McCoy must have gotten his results back. Scotty shuddered. The last time that happened McCoy was diagnosed with xenopolycethemia- a memory that Scotty did notwant to repeat.

The doors opened suddenly and McCoy nearly ran into him. "Oh! Sorry Scotty, didn't see you there. Ready for your physical?"

Scotty just opened and closed his mouth. "I... Doctor, I... I dinnae know what t'say..."

"You could say 'yes' and make this a lot easier," McCoy suggested.

Still gaping, Scotty was led wordlessly to his physical. The doctor was acting as if nothing was wrong, despite looking tired. Typical of McCoy, wasn't it? Always putting others before himself. It's about time someone returned the favor, here in the last few... years? Months? Days?

At the end, Scotty blurted out some excuse (probably something very inelegant, like 'I have t'wee!') and tore out of Sickbay, determined to make McCoy's last days count. But he would need some help...

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