Title: Not Today (2/2)

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: The full story behind the events in "Untitled." McCoy pays a heavy price when he refuses to leave a patient.

Notes: Thank you to all who reviewed part one and "Untitled" – I truly appreciate your support. As usual, this is unbeta'd so please excuse any blatant errors. For the grammar purists out there, I apologize for the frequent use of dashes, ellipses, and occasional sentence fragments – every time I started a sentence with 'and', I could hear my old English teachers cringe, however, as I've gotten older (and as I'm sure you've noticed in my other work), I've started to write with more regard to how the words and characters sound than to following every nuance of English grammar. Each story has a melody, a rhythm, and I lay it out on the screen to match what I hear. Blame it on my inner musician if you must – I started playing music before I started writing the stories in my head and I guess it stuck :)

Two weeks into her assignment as Head Nurse aboard the Enterprise, Christine Chapel's trauma gear had been drenched in blood as she ran her first 'routine mission gone to hell' triage. A seasoned security officer with a sucking chest wound grabbed her arm, wild eyes desperate with a question that needed no voice. The officer's lips were cyanotic, consciousness nearly a memory as Christine hurriedly applied a seal and shouted for a chest tube. The man was dying in front of her….. but his eyes weren't asking if he was dying; they were asking if he was going to die.

In the present march of death, he was asking about the future….

….And in the present, as her new CMO reached to her side, chest tube kit in hand, Christine had replied, "Not today."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered what the hell she had been thinking. She couldn't promise him that he would live or that their skill and technology would be enough to reverse the damage…..and she certainly wasn't cocky enough to believe that they could save everyone. She had taken an oath early on in her nursing career that she would never lie to a patient, and here she was….

…..Then she looked up and saw McCoy's soft smile, heard him repeat her words to the gasping man as the hypo hissed a local anesthetic and the chest tube slid into place….and she understood. Through McCoy, she suddenly realized that those two words hadn't been over-confident arrogance, a desperate attempt to rally energy, or a comforting distraction…they had been a promise: a promise to use all her knowledge, skill, and humanity, a promise to help him fight, a promise to be there to whatever end. It was a promise to her patient, a promise to herself, and something of a prayer – not to a specific deity, but….almost a hope to the universe itself. A plea from within the close confines of metal hurtling through the unpredictable vastness of space – for life to triumph for just one more day…..and if that couldn't be, then for death to come with some measure of peace.

As the last patient was treated and the sickbay staff changed shifts, McCoy had come up to her on his way out and nodded toward the security officer's bed. "Another day," he said softly, before giving her a weary, but thankful smile. "Welcome aboard."

It was at that moment that her mantra had been born. Those two words bound her to her new staff – it became a rallying cry for her nurses as they made their rounds, started their shifts, and bolted into transporter rooms with emergency kits and focused training. And when that same security officer died a year later, pain controlled, readiness in his eyes, and a silent 'today' on his lips, it blossomed into a sickbay-wide tradition. Five years later, McCoy still looked to Christine to end their pre-mission medical briefings with those two words.

Not today.

Mara had jokingly come to call it "the sickbay promise." It became a comforting routine, a reminder of what they all stood for, and what they would do together.

And so it was with the echo of that promise still on the air that Christine sat down at the nursing desk the morning of the Shiforr mission and tackled a backlog of charting.

Half an hour after the landing party had beamed down, Christine nearly jumped as Sulu approached her desk with a vague question on sickbay's readiness status. Knowing that he had the conn, Christine was about to ask why he hadn't just commed her with the question….until she saw Sulu's eyes drifting toward the operating rooms. Her own eyes narrowed. "Something I should know, Mr. Sulu?" she demanded.

"What? Oh, no, no, sorry Christine," Sulu jolted back into the present.

Christine readjusted her tone to Sulu's use of her first name. "What is it, Hikaru?" she returned in kind. "What's wrong?"

Sulu sighed, visibly relaxing with the comfort of familiarity. "I don't know," he admitted, ducking his head, embarrassed. "I just have a bad feeling."

Christine nodded toward the operating rooms. "That we'll need those?" she sought clarification.

Sulu nodded reluctantly.

Christine immediately went on alert. "Have we heard from the landing party or the Shiforr government?" she asked.

Sulu shook his head. "Nothing so far, but that's to be expected with the magnetic storms over the capital." His face twisted with frustration. "I know it sounds silly, but I just…..felt like I should come tell you."

"It's not silly," Christine squeezed his arm gently. "I appreciate it. It's better to be prepped for a surgery we never have to perform. I'll go talk to Dr. M'Benga and the other nurses," she assured him.

Sulu smiled. "Thanks, Christine." Some of the worry cleared from his eyes as he let out a relieved breath and returned to the Bridge.

Fifteen minutes later, Christine got another surprise as Uhura walked into sickbay with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Chris, I don't want to get in your way," she motioned toward the busy staff flowing through pre-op and surgery.

"No, it's fine," Christine assured her, guiding the communications officer to the desk and sinking into her chair. "I'm guessing this is about Sulu?"

Uhura's smile was guarded. "In a way," she said. "I wanted to thank you for listening…..he was nervous about coming down here."

"Nervous? Why?" Christine asked, confused. "We're not that horrible down here, are we?" she tried to ease the sudden tension as she processed Uhura's clarifier 'in a way' against the growing worry in the dark eyes.

"Speak for yourself," Mara grinned as she passed by, face buried in a supply PADD.

Uhura chuckled lightly before the expressive eyes dimmed once more. Christine frowned, feeling as if she was just on the edge of walking into some horror that everyone else around her could already see. "'Shi' is the Japanese word for 'death.' The number four is sometimes pronounced the same way so it's considered unlucky," Uhura said softly.

Christine's eyes widened as she leaned further back in the chair. "Shiforr. No wonder Sulu's been so stressed," she breathed. "It must feel like he's orbiting a planet of death."

Uhura shifted on her perch at the edge of the desk. "He's embarrassed. He insists it's just superstition, that he should be able to get past it….."

The ship-wide comm shot to life, cutting Uhura off. Christine's initial surprise at Scotty's voice dissipated quickly as professional training kicked in over sudden, gnawing dread. "Attention all hands, this is Chief Engineer Scott. Clear all decks between the main transporter room and sickbay. Repeat, clear all decks between the main transporter room and sickbay."

Uhura's eyes widened as she spun for the nearest comm to call the Bridge. Christine launched into emergency protocol, organizing the nursing staff as M'Benga rushed to her side, passing over a second tricorder.

"Mr. Roberts, report," Uhura barked into the comm, the unease at not being there for an emergency call written plainly across her face.

"This can't be good," Mara was muttering as she rushed by the gurney being wheeled just in front of the sickbay doors.

Christine had to agree. If the landing party hadn't called for a medical team to meet them in the transporter room, the injury had to have been sudden and catastrophic, with the landing party likely in immediate danger. Based on the barely concealed panic in Scotty's voice, she already knew they were looking at an initially critical patient being transported a distance they couldn't afford to travel.

Uhura looked up, relaying that Roberts had received an emergency beam-up signal – no direct voice transmission and no incident report. Christine rushed over to the comm. "Chapel to Transporter Room. Mr. Scott, what's going on?"

"Lass, they're bringin' him down now. Whatever blood you've got down there, he's gonna need it," Scotty's shaky voice responded.

Dammit. She hated when they couldn't communicate with McCoy while he was en route – his initial orders and assessment saved a lot of time once the patient hit sickbay. "Which one, Scotty? The Captain or Mr. Spock?" Christine demanded. 'Blood' was too vague – she knew Kirk and Spock's blood type by heart, but she needed to know which one to pull.

Scotty's reply was cut off by two figures bursting into sickbay with a panicked shout for help.

Christine's stomach clenched. A shout for help.

Not a Georgia-thickened rush of orders.

Uhura gasped.

Christine looked up…

…and into the cold face of superstition turned reality.

Kirk was cradling McCoy's limp body to his chest, jaw clenched tight, wild hazel eyes bright with shock. Spock ran alongside the Captain and slightly to the front, desperately attempting to staunch the blood pulsing from the physician's abdomen, dark eyes swimming with unshielded anguish.

Pulsing.

Arterial.

Abdomen.

Shit.

Words began flying through the air as Kirk and Spock relinquished McCoy to the already moving gurney. 'B+', 'full support', 'fibrephyton injection', 'pressure packing.' Christine's world narrowed to red - red on blue, on gold, on hands, arms, chests, abdomens, faces…..red everywhere except where it was supposed to be.

Kirk's voice was gray through the red…the white of shock melding with the black of despair. "We started finding the bodies outside of town. Bones was treating an injured Shiforri when a Shiforra came out from the rocks and said that anyone helping the enemy would die like the enemy. Bones refused to move….." Kirk's voice broke, "….and they stabbed him. Speared him straight through, then kicked him off." His hands clenched angrily. "Bastards couldn't even give him that chance….."

Christine sighed, a heavy mixture of frustration, admiration, and understanding. Of course he wouldn't move.

M'Benga stopped the gurney halfway to surgery. "Mara, I need a laser scalpel," he ordered as he lifted his hands from the wound and began removing the pressure packing they had just applied.

Christine's stomach dropped as she realized what was coming. The monitors were screaming, McCoy was hemorrhaging faster than they could pump the blood in, Elise was already intubating and placing the life support sensors as his vitals continued to crash, and M'Benga knew they weren't even going to make it into surgery unless they stopped the bleeding NOW.

Christine barely had time to warn Kirk and Spock before M'Benga began cutting into McCoy's abdomen. Kirk, all tense muscles and anguished shock, seemed to struggle between rushing the gurney and swaying on his feet. Spock's steady arm both held him back and kept him upright, lingering on for an emotional support that the Vulcan would never admit that he needed too. Uhura quietly moved to Kirk's other side and laid a gentle hand on his arm, manicured fingers squeezing trembling flesh. Christine couldn't help but ache at the sight of someone besides McCoy taking that supportive position. She watched Kirk give the barest of nods of acceptance and tried to ignore the shudder that went through him as he glanced at Uhura, her uniform red seeping into the monochromatic reminder of life's fragility currently spattered across his chest.

As Christine held the scanner over the site to pinpoint the bleed with one hand and prepped the artery clamp with the other, she found her mind drifting. From the moment she had met Leonard McCoy, Christine knew that the same passion and dedication to life that illuminated every bounce, rant, and flash of stunning blue would also be the thing to extinguish that light from this world. And as positive as Kirk and Spock's presence was, it did nothing to ease her concern. Neither Kirk, Spock, nor McCoy would leave this world without the other two at his side. Christine knew that just as surely as she knew McCoy's oath would lead him here.

M'Benga pulled his hand from McCoy's abdomen, grabbed the arterial clamp, and locked it into place.

"Lock confirmed," Christine reported, eyes flying over the scanner readouts as the blood flow finally slowed.

M'Benga grabbed more pressure packing and buried his hands back into the rest of the wound. "Go!" he pushed toward surgery.

Christine rushed alongside the gurney, dumping the scanner on the mattress so she could swap out another depleted blood unit for a new one.

Southern stubbornness.

Boundless compassion.

Hippocrates.

A giver of life on a planet of death.

She always knew it would end like this.

And as Christine glanced back at Kirk and Spock through the closing doors of the surgical suite, she had only one thought…..

Not today.

…..Please don't let it be today.

Three hundred years ago, Christine Chapel would have been speaking to Kirk and Spock in the morgue rather than the ICU - McCoy would have been dead.

She watched as Kirk bowed and Spock stiffened under her words. Laceration of the abdominal aorta, liver, and intestines. Massive blood loss. Three arrests on the table. Their eyes closed as M'Benga's soft lilt took over, detailing the potential sequelae: multiple organ dysfunction from decreased blood flow, cerebral deficits from lack of oxygenation, peritonitis progressing to sepsis, the continued struggle to replace lost volume….and, still hanging painfully in the air around them, the very real probability that those three hundred years wouldn't make a damn bit of difference in the end.

Death.

Kirk sank into the bedside chair with a desperate shake of his head. His raw eyes took in the monitors and machines surrounding McCoy, lingered on the physician's nearly translucent face for a moment, then turned back to M'Benga and Christine.

Christine was prepared for the grief, the doubt, the anger. What she wasn't prepared for was what followed – for when James T. Kirk, the man who had made a career out of taking the 'no' out of 'no-win' situations, looked like he had just lost - lost not only his best friend, but the very thought of a light beyond the darkness.

"Dammit Bones, you promised," Kirk whispered fiercely, dropping his head onto McCoy's arm.

You promised.

Christine swallowed back her own grief and rallied her cry. With her promise, their promise in her heart, she stepped forward. All wasn't lost….yet.….and as she worked to keep up her end, someone had to have hope. "You know…..you two saved his life down there," she said quietly.

Kirk's head shot up, eyes shifting from Christine to McCoy in obvious disbelief, as Spock's eyebrow shot up at the sheer illogic of her statement. "Of course," Kirk muttered darkly, gesturing at McCoy. "Bones is doing great."

"Captain, the only reason Leonard is here right now has to be because of you two," Christine insisted. "A few generations ago, the only way he might have survived to this point would be if it had happened right here in sickbay. Our surgical techniques and medical protocols may be far more advanced now, but there's still not much we can do in the field to stabilize arterial lacerations without immediate surgery. I saw you keeping pressure on the wound Mr. Spock," Christine focused on the Vulcan, "and you mentioned a fibrephyton injection. What did you do?" she prompted quietly.

Spock began a concise report on McCoy's instructions, Kirk's constant pressure, the fibrephyton injections, and, with the assistance of Vulcan hearing during their rush to the physician's side, McCoy's words to the Shiforra. Kirk slowly began to chime in with the rest of the story, from McCoy's initial feeling, to the discovery of the bodies, to McCoy's promise masked in final instruction. "I don't understand why it stopped working," Kirk referred to the fibrephyton. "The bleeding was almost stopped by the time we beamed out, but as soon as we materialized back on the Enterprise….." he glanced down at his hands, still seeing red, "…it started up again like it had just happened." He sighed heavily, recalling his hurried order in the transporter room for Spock to take over applying pressure while he grabbed McCoy and raced past a still-shocked Scotty.

"Fibrephyton is a very useful local coagulant for venous injuries," M'Benga spoke up softly. "Although there has been some research into modifying it for use in arterial cases, it has not shown much promise – the high pressure of the arterial system has a tendency to break the clot apart very quickly."

Kirk's eyes shadowed. "So you're saying Bones knew it wouldn't work?" he asked, defeated.

"He's saying that Leonard knew it might work," Christine clarified sternly, "and that even if it didn't work for long….."

"That it had the potential to allow the Captain and I time to transport him to the Enterprise," Spock filled in thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Christine nodded firmly.

Kirk's face warmed with a hint of a smile. "Plan B?" he asked.

Christine bit her lip. "More like Plan F," she shrugged with a small smile, "but, as you well know Captain, in an emergency, every possibility counts."

Kirk nodded in slow agreement.

Christine frowned as the monitor chimed with a flash of yellow.

"What is it?" Kirk demanded.

"A decrease in Leonard's blood pressure, Captain," M'Benga said calmly. "But not an alarming one. Christine is getting a medication to help correct it."

Kirk looked back to see that Christine had indeed already slipped out of the room.

She reached the medication cabinet in the main room, pulling several vasoactive cartridges in quick succession, deep in thought until a shout jolted her upright.

"Hey Chris, toss Uhura a transfusion kit, will you?" Mara's voice came from across the room.

Christine turned as Uhura jogged to her side, hands out for the kit – and actually saw the room. She had been so wrapped up in her task that she hadn't even noticed that it was filled with people. Christine's eyes swept the activity briefly before fixing Uhura with a knowing look. "You put the word out, didn't you?" she asked the communications officer.

"Of course I did," Uhura replied. "You've always told me that real blood is better than the synthetic…..and there are ninety-eight crewmembers aboard this ship with B+ blood," she held up her bandaged arm with a soft smile, "who want to help."

Pride, gratitude, and a host of other emotions washed over Christine. "Nyota…." She whispered.

"I saw him come in, Chris," Uhura's eyes shone as she swallowed against the memory. "Whatever he doesn't need, he can use to save someone else," she said, firm in her future implication.

"Matthews, sit your O-negative ass over at Elise's station," Mara's shout broke the moment. She turned to Christine with a grin. "Once Uhura put the word out, everyone started coming down, McCoy's match or not. Sanchez is already cursing my name trying to prep all these units for long term storage!"

Christine shifted two cartridges to her right hand before pulling Uhura into a quick hug with her left. "Thank you," she said. "I have to run," she nodded at the medication, "but…..thank you."

"Go," Uhura waved her off with a warm smile before jogging back to Mara's side.

M'Benga excused himself as Christine returned to the ICU, assuring Kirk that he would be close by. Christine administered the hypo, noted the slight stabilization of the blood pressure, and reset the alarm parameters.

Spock suddenly shifted. "Captain….." he began.

Christine cocked her head, wondering if she had missed Kirk speak, until she realized that Spock knew his friend well enough that he heard the explosion of guilt coming a full five seconds before it actually came.

"Dammit Spock, I never should have let him go without us," Kirk's hand cracked against the hard edge of the chair.

"Our search of the area produced five deceased Shiforr warriors and scanners did not register any life forms other than ourselves," Spock reminded Kirk. "And I do not believe the Shiforra warrior would have returned to our location had Dr. McCoy not found his last victim alive."

"If we had kept a continuous scan going…." Kirk insisted desperately.

"We still would not have reached the Doctor in time," Spock said firmly.

"If I had gone with him instead of just standing and thinking back there..." Kirk's fingers clenched. "Spock, that injured Shiforri could just as easily have had a weapon also. It shouldn't have mattered that we found five of them dead already – it didn't mean the sixth would be too. I should have been there."

"We should have been there," Spock corrected with an almost gentle sternness. "Jim," he said quietly, "the Doctor's safety is my responsibility as well." Christine swallowed at the loyalty blazing in Spock's eyes. "However," he continued, "we cannot change what is past and it is illogical to waste energy on such ruminations. While guilt may shape future procedure, it is of no use to the Doctor here," he finished softly.

Kirk sagged, grasping Spock's arm with his free hand. "I know," he sighed, squeezing Spock's arm lightly. "I…..we…" he corrected himself at Spock's arched brow, "have known Bones for so long….I just feel like we should have seen it coming."

"Jim, you are an excellent starship captain," Spock said sincerely, "but you are not omniscient, nor are you expected to be."

Kirk smiled weakly. "Thanks Spock," he said quietly, "but…."

"But what, Captain?" Christine interrupted. "You should have known that this self-sacrificing idiot would pick a fight with a trained Shiforr warrior with two spears and a grudge against his patient?" she asked, her exasperated tone softened by the fondness in her eyes as she looked at McCoy.

Spock's eyebrows shot into his hairline even as he dipped his head, a rueful acknowledgement of the truth in Christine's outburst. Kirk's eyes lightened briefly as a surprised chuckle of agreement rumbled through his guilt.

"We all know Leonard wouldn't leave a patient," Christine pressed on, "but we can't predict when that will get him into trouble – all we can do be there for him if it does and then help pick up the pieces." She gestured outside the ICU proudly. "Over one hundred of your crewmen and women are out in sickbay right now donating blood either for Leonard or in his honor – they're doing what they can." She turned back to Kirk and Spock, eyes serious once more. "I'd love nothing more than to tell you he's going to be fine, that's he's going to wake up and I'm going to yell at him for being an idiot and discover hypos for common sense and self-preservation to keep this from happening again….but you know I won't lie to you. Leonard is still with us right now, but the chances of him getting better rather than worse are very slim…..but until those chances go down to an absolute zero, what you can do is be here for him. He promised to try and fight for you – now you promise to fight for him. Hope may not exactly be Plan A," she smiled gently at Kirk, "but in this case, every possibility counts."

Kirk's face settled into determined strength, Spock lowering himself into a chair at his friends' side, as they made their own promise with a familiar echo: to be there; to fight the encroaching darkness with hope.

To whatever end.

Three days later, McCoy was the picture of rapid ICU deterioration, his body protesting the massive shock and resulting hypovolemia every way it could: liver failure, kidney failure, respiratory distress syndrome, necrotic bowel, two more cardiac arrests, another hemorrhage as the injured aorta weakened, and more hypotensive crises than Christine could count. They had rushed him back to surgery, stopped the hemorrhage, re-strengthened the artery, and performed a desperate session of regeneration and reperfusion on the necrotic bowel, failing liver and kidneys, while pumping the first of another six pints of blood into McCoy's overly weakened system. He was on almost every piece of life support machinery sickbay had, an arsenal of IVs and hypos keeping an increasingly impossible chemical balance while they fought a sudden resurgence in what was proving to be a frighteningly resistant peritonitis.

Christine found herself thankful that she had had the foresight to rally hope in Kirk and Spock three days ago, because she was rapidly losing hers.

The next day, they lost their fight against localization, and the peritonitis exploded into full-blown sepsis.

On the fifth day, Christine walked into ICU and didn't see McCoy – all she could see were failing vital signs, dusky extremities, bloated, edematous skin weeping misplaced fluid…..a body she had seen many times before, one on the final spiral to death.

When she saw death before she saw McCoy…that's when the last vestiges of her hope shattered.

And suddenly, it didn't matter that Kirk and Spock were breaking her heart for the fifth day in a row, flanking McCoy's bed in a soul-crushing image of post-Minaran protectiveness, two silent guardians determined to take on death itself…because this was it.

This was the end.

Two sets of censuring eyes shot up and Christine found herself faced with the raw force of the very fight, the very hope she had helped instill. It was as if Kirk and Spock could actually hear that thought…..that the insinuation, the very thought alone, tainted their watch with an unacceptable profanity.

Christine had seen a lot of miracles in her career, many of them aboard the Enterprise. She had seen dying races blossom as the threat of plague was lifted by a last-minute cure; mothers convert out of lethal dysrhythmias at the sound of their child crying; claustrophobic crewmembers rush headlong into their fear at a cry for help deep within a Jeffries tube; patients hold onto life just long enough for loved ones to say goodbye, even when their bodies should have given out long ago.

Christine had tried to keep the numbing grief from her face and hands as she had worked on a steadily decompensating Leonard McCoy for the past five days. Every time she walked into the room, Kirk and Spock looked to her for that next miracle, but she wouldn't, she couldn't, lie to them. All she could give them were the facts: cold, precise anatomical truths that were going to hurt no matter how simply or gently she explained them. And every time she felt she shattered that hope, Kirk and Spock just seemed to turn right around, fight harder, and create more….not just for themselves, but enough for Christine and the crew as well.

Christine was still fighting for McCoy medically – she was using everything she had, but it hurt too much to hope right now, when she looked at the ravages of sepsis and traumatic injury and she knew in excruciatingly precise detail exactly what was happening to McCoy's body…but when Mr. Spock, logical, science-minded, Vulcan Spock, both verbalized understanding of the medical situation and insisted that McCoy wasn't ready to give up…..well, what could she do? This was the Enterprise. The ship had made a career out of miracles. It survived on hope.

"He promised," Kirk reminded her every morning. "He's still here."

So were Kirk and Spock.

And so was she…..to whatever end.

So as long as they were all still there, the least she could do was try to borrow back some of that hope she had shared before 'zero chance' became a rapid reality.

So she hoped.

She hoped McCoy would rally; that he would defy medical odds and resume his place at the heart of the Enterprise; that they were skilled enough to see him through the next crisis; that Kirk and Spock's unwavering dedication were enough; that a miracle could be created out of sheer love and refusal to acknowledge death.

And as she hoped, she worked. She administered medications, adjusted titrations, performed preventative care, collaborated on changes and treatment options.

For two more days, McCoy balanced just on the edge of death. Sepsis was such a rare complication in the age of genetically engineered antibiotics and localized infectious material neutralizers – they were either able to prevent it or patients died before it could take root. M'Benga scoured the literature and consulted with every specialist he and McCoy knew. Rapidly reaching the last of an already meager list of last-ditch efforts, he wrote up another protocol. Christine gathered the new drugs, stepped around Kirk and Spock's hope, and administered her own.

Twelve hours later, McCoy appeared to rally. His white cell count dropped several points. His heart rate came down and his blood pressure came up. Christine watched Kirk's eyes brighten for the first time in days, even as she warned him that this could just be the final rally before the ultimate decline.

"He promised," Kirk said again, lightly grasping McCoy's swollen hand. "That treatment was it Christine, I feel it."

Another twelve hours and the septic bacteria and damaging endotoxins were completely purged from McCoy's body. Christine's own heart beat wildly even as she reminded Kirk that while that was good news, it wasn't a miracle cure. The damage still remained.

Two hours later, she reentered the room and her heart stopped all together.

Kirk was gripping McCoy's hand tightly with his right hand while he swiped desperately at red-rimmed eyes with his left. Spock's eyes were hidden, head bowed.

Christine's hand flew to her mouth, even as she had known…..

….And then Kirk looked up at her.

And grinned.

"Sir?" she swallowed against the sudden surge in her chest.

Kirk squeezed McCoy's hand gently and held it up for Christine to see.

Barely, just barely, McCoy was squeezing back.

Christine let out a choked breath as her heart began to dance.

McCoy's chances still weren't great, but they were better than they had been.

'To whatever end' suddenly held the promise of a beginning.

As Christine pushed herself forward towards an assessment she actually wasn't dreading, she took in the three men in front of her – Kirk's openly shining eyes, Spock's nearly palpable joy…..and looking down at the bed, even though the possibility still lingered, she found that she didn't see death – not today. Today she saw McCoy.

Her gaze lingered on the image.

Yes, she always knew it would end like this.

And it would.

Someday, it would.

But not today.