My Star Trek One-Shots

McCoy

The doors to Sickbay whooshed open and chaos swept in with them.

A security officer staggered in, bleeding from a nasty gash along his ribs. Behind him, Lt. Sahri Talin held pressure on the wound with one hand while guiding him with the other. She moved with fierce grace, her boots barely touching the deck as she navigated the noise, the blood, and the scatter of personnel.

"Coming through!" she barked. "Major vent trauma and possible arterial nick. I need suction, sealant, and someone to stop getting in my damn way!"

McCoy appeared from the far corner, brow furrowed like a thundercloud. "What the hell happened?"

"Training accident," Sahri said without looking up. "Phaser rifle malfunction. Idiot had it on active diagnostics and tripped."

"Brilliant," McCoy muttered, already pulling on gloves. "Get him on the biobed."

Sahri lifted the man with a gust of carefully controlled air that carried him to the nearest surgical platform like a leaf on the wind. She landed beside him in a crouch, one hand already glowing faint blue as she manipulated the air around the wound to clear blood and apply pressure.

"I've got him stable," she said. "But you're going to need to go in manually. He's got a fracture near the sixth rib pressing on the artery."

McCoy glanced at her, then down at the vitals.

"Damn it, you're right."

She smirked. "I usually am."

He scowled. "Don't start."

"I didn't. You did."

He muttered something under his breath and reached for the vascular sealer. "Stop hovering."

"I'm not hovering," she said, even though she was literally hovering—slightly off the floor, balancing mid-air while holding tools in a windless breeze that curled gently around them both.

"You always do this," he grumbled. "Bend the damn air like you're putting on a show."

"It's not a show, it's precision airflow control in a confined surgical environment." She leaned in closer. "Besides, I thought you liked working in a sterile bubble. I'm literally providing one."

"You're impossible."

"You're grumpy."

They locked eyes. Something heavy hung between them for a beat too long—until the patient groaned.

Sahri blinked and immediately returned her attention to the field. "Pulse is dropping. You need to move now, Bones."

McCoy swore, then leaned in and worked quickly. Moments later, the bleeding was sealed, the vitals steady. The danger passed. McCoy finally exhaled and peeled off his gloves.

"You did good," he muttered.

Sahri looked at him, caught off guard for once. "What?"

He was already walking away. "You heard me."

A faint smile tugged at her lips—but it vanished the moment Captain Kirk strolled into the room.

"Well, that was fun," Kirk said with a knowing grin. "Nice save, both of you. Also, and I say this with love, but if I have to listen to you two bicker like a married couple one more time in front of a dying ensign, I might ask Spock to perform a nerve pinch on both of you."

Sahri crossed her arms and raised a brow. "You're just mad you can't keep up."

McCoy didn't even turn around. "She's insufferable."