Leonard McCoy hates flying.

There aren't many things he bothers hating, if he's honest. He prefers throwing his passions into something useful– something that will eventually help others. He's a doctor; it's in his nature to help. He supposes in some way, that his irrational fear of flying has to do with the fact that he feels completely helpless in the air. He has no control over the people in the cabin and no way to help if the shuttle were to suddenly take a nose dive toward a planet.

He shudders and swallows, squeezing his eyes shut instead of watching out the window as Earth slowly disappears into the background. He shouldn't be thinking of shuttles crashing into rocks, or exploding in mid-air, or the various diseases anyone can get at any time . . .

Despite his fears, the shuttle lands comfortably in the dock of the USS Richard Feynman and he finds himself caught up in the rush and bustle as passengers hastily exit the vehicle. Leonard shouts a warning toward the kids, who nearly knock him over in their excitement to get to their station post. He hesitates and takes a second to look at his surroundings before moving forward. Always be prepared, that's Leonard's motto. One needs to know their basic layout of their surroundings and make note of passageways. If he is going to be stuck – unwillingly – aboard a starship for the next few weeks, he sure as hell is going to figure out his escape routes.

God willing, Leonard won't be on this mission long. After all, this is little more than a milk run with a heavy dose of political shenanigans After all, the chances of the crew of the Richard Feynman actually negotiating with Tarsus IV are about slim to none.

The medical bay is almost laughable. He isn't chief medical officer, Leonard understands, but the standards Starfleet currently has for their basic set ups are ridiculous. He spends a few moments poking his way through their inventory and notes they're really only prepared for a short period of time in actual space. There are the immunizations and test kits for the Tarsusan plague, of course, but nothing Leonard sees that he can make sure of. It's something that makes him uncomfortable. No matter how short the run, a medical ward should always be prepared for anything that could happen – just because they don't intend to stay in space does not mean that Klingons aren't out there waiting for him.

He's preparing himself for the briefing they have in a few moments, one that everyone involved is required to attend. Leonard is both looking forward to and dreading the meeting – he wants all the information he can grab, of course, but the politics kill him. It's almost in insult – he's spent years researching illnesses in depth and finding out what makes them start and what kills them. His grandmother always told him it was the McCoy stubbornness – he couldn't just be satisfied knowing how to treat an illness. He has to know every fiber of its being, and he needs to know what makes it live. To Leonard, this is common sense. How could he know how to treat an illness if he doesn't know what makes it tick?

It's that passion and that knowledge that brought him on this mission. For others, it is simply politics.

The doors of the medical bay whoosh open and Leonard turns to place the hypos back in their proper place. A giant booming voice surrounds the room in a cry of "McCoy!" and Leonard almost comes out of his skin. He narrowly avoids dropping the case and manages to get them shelved before his hands start shaking. He would know that voice anywhere, although it's been years since he heard it, but the sound that is Mark Rousseau cannot be mistaken. Leonard swallows briefly before turning and giving his former friend a bright smile.

"Mark. It's been years!"

Rousseau is grinning from ear to ear as he slaps Leonard on the back, knocking the breath from him. "When I heard you were part of our medical team, I knew we were in good hands. Anyone with a Daddy like yours had to know medical practices backwards and forwards. I didn't know you were a part of Starfleet! I thought you married that Darnell girl and went off to live happily ever after."

Leonard manages not to scowl. "Yeah, well fate had different ideas. She's living that happily ever after with Clayton Treadway."

"No shit. Her old ex?"

"Same one. Apparently, they're perfect for one another."

Rousseau scowls for him. "You're better off with her." Leonard doesn't believe for half a second that Rousseau is honestly sympathetic. In high school, both men had tried for the attentions of Jocelyn Darnell, and Rousseau had been nothing but jealous when she favored Leonard over him. To find out later that she had ended up being nothing like what they both had thought – well, Mark was probably thanking the heavens she had not ended up with him. The silence gives Leonard a moment to take a good look at his former friend and realize that he's wearing the color and braids of a captain. He blinks in surprise.

"You're the captain?"

"The one and the only." Rousassu is grinning again and he leans against one of the bio beds. "It came as a surprise and completely last minute. Most of the orders still show Christopher Pike as the commanding officer of the unit. He came down with an illness at the last minute, and since we're already going into a situation with disease as it is . . well, they rethought their decision. Don't look so surprised!"

Leonard couldn't help it. In a way, he is not surprised. Mark had always been pushy and had the uncanny ability to get what he wanted. In high school, Mark had been the jock of the class – athletic, good looking, and academically brilliant. On the other hand, Leonard had been the bookworm in the back of the class who had somehow managed to snag one of the prettiest girls in the school. It was a strange friendship to look back on, but they helped each other – Mark helping Leonard socially and Leonard tutoring him through some of the tougher classes. Once graduated, Mark set his eyes on Starfleet and never looked back. If he maintained the same attitude in Starfleet as he had in high school, it was really no surprise that they had granted the man the rank of captain so quickly.

Still, he wishes the circumstances were a little better.

"If anyone has the right to be surprised, it's me. I thought you had a deathly fear of flying."

He does, and Leonard feels his stomach twist in response to Mark's words. "I've got no reason or place to really stay on Earth. I was shown a few years ago that I can die just as easily on earth as I can in the air."

Mark nods. "I heard about that . . . for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral."

Leonard says nothing in reply; he's heard all the "I'm sorrys" he can handle for one lifetime.

A message floats through the ship, reminding members of the away team they are required to attend the meeting. Leonard walks with Mark to the conference room. Neither of them speak on the way, only nodding and giving "hellos" to the crewmen they pass in the hallways. The silence is something Leonard is grateful for; it gives him just enough time to think about how to clear his head before he starts having to pack in more information. As they enter the conference room, Leonard sees small clusters of people broken across the table. They're all involved in conversations and it leaves him feeling a little out of place an uncomfortable. He finds a remaining seat at the end of the table, and gives a smile to a pretty blonde sitting to his right. She raises an eyebrow.

"Good evening, Doctor."

He blinks at her, surprised that she knows his rank and she laughs. "I saw you in medical earlier. I'm one of the nurses." She holds out one hand and shakes his with a surprisingly firm grip. "Christine Chapel."

They don't have much time for a chat as Mark takes his place at the head of the table. He spins his seat around, sitting in it backward and crossing his arms over the top of the chair. Leonard resists the urge to cringe – for all the rank Mark has, he still hasn't learned exactly how to be professional and what situations call for it. Mark has always been down to earth with his crews – he was in high school with the foot ball team, and he still is with his starship crew. He bites back a comment and leans back in his own chair.

'Good evening," Mark booms across the room, startling some of the girls. "Has everyone found their accommodations? I hope they're suitable."

Everyone nods, even Leonard, who has not yet been to his assigned room. He doesn't need to. All the rooms look the same; too small and claustrophobic. If Mark notices his hesitation in nodding, he doesn't comment. Instead, he steps out of his chair and sits in it correctly, swinging one leg over the other. "All of you should be aware of our mission. It's an assignment that does not come easy to Starfleet and we all know how long it's been since anyone has heard anything out of Tarsus IV. No off-worlder has stepped foot on the planet since the massacre, and we know the governor has shut off most contact with any other planets. To put it mildly, we were a little more than surprised when he reached out to us."

"He really didn't have a choice," Chapel says. "His planet is dying."

There is a low rumble throughout the conference room. Mark nods in Chapel's direction. "You're right, Miss Chapel, he really doesn't. For those who are still a little sketchy; we are being called to Tarsus IV to investigate, study and possibly bring a cure to a plague that has broken out among the colonists. From what we've gathered from the governor, the plague started just a few months ago. It starts as just a simple cough and is shortly followed by a fever. Once the fever hits the body, it is followed by vomiting, intense bouts of coughing, seizures and then followed by death. The closest their colony has come medical wise is slowing it down. With no other options, the governor has called out to us for help. He assures us we will be rewarded if we manage to help. If we don't, he will continue to seek healthcare elsewhere."

"Nice of them to let us know that." Leonard couldn't stop himself. "He doesn't put much trust in anyone, does he?"

"He's a guarded man," Mark says, with a shrug. "Very few are even aware of what he looks like. The most important factor is that this is the opening the Federation has been waiting years for. If we're able to help the governor, there is a high chance he might listen to us and even possibly join the Federation. We know he is young, and we know he will do just about anything to help his people."

A hand raised, and all eye focus on a young man sitting across from Leonard. He flushes, his cheeks turning the color of his hair before speaking. "Out of curiosity, do we know exactly how much power this governor actually has? After Kodos, we all have more than a little right to be suspicious."

"Good question!" Mark grins in the young man's direction. "We aren't really sure the amount of power he has. I'm going to guess right now it is probably more than a normal governor. There's a chance he could be acting like a king. It is a situation we must tread carefully upon. We aren't sure what we're going to find. We very well could be walking into the middle of a totalitarian reign."

Mark clears his throat before he continues. "Our goal is not to press Tarsus into joining. We aren't even going to suggest it at this point, so those who have issues with the political side can calm down a little. Our main goal is to save these people. We have aboard this ship ten of the best medical doctors that Starfleet has to offer, along with a full staffed team of nurses, medical assistants, physician assistants, and various medical positions. Above all, this is a medical mission."

It calms some of Leonard's fears – he's hopeful this means they'll listen to their doctors and not focus completely on the political side of Tarsus. He nods along with the rest of the crew as their say their understanding and are dismissed. He shoots Mark a grateful nod and smile before disappearing in the sea of crewmen.

Room 343, his assigned cabin, is exactly how Leonard pictured it. It's small, and cramped with barely enough room to turn around without running into something. He's grateful; he could have been stuck with a roommate or two. He tosses his belongings into a corner and sprawls on the bed. It creaks, but doesn't feel too terribly uncomfortable. Leonard rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, willing his mind to stop.

His body is much more tired than his mind is, and he feels himself being pulled towards drowsiness as he lays there longer. He manages to mumble "Lights! Out!" before passing out into a dreamless sleep.