Star Trek One Shots

Seven Deadly Sins - Bones (Part Three)

       

McCoy is a little annoyed before he's even walked into medbay. He only got a few minutes with Orlo before he was called in. One of the patients is vomiting into a bucket as a nurse sticks a hypo into their neck. They swear in another language and McCoy frowns.

"Chekov?"

The pale Russian looks up, dazed and sickly.

"He was struck by one of the invaders on the ship and he's been throwing up since he woke up this morning."

"Invaders? You mean there were aliens boarding the ship yesterday?"

"Indeed sir, mainly just the bridge and a few in engineering. Chekov was the only one badly wounded but it happened while you were in surgery and we thought it best not to bother you."

"Chekov, are you telling me that a genius like yourself, was struck by an alien blade, causing the wound to open and bleed, yet you didn't think to come get it checked out??"

"Sir, it wasn't a painful cut at the time and the ship was still under attack. I- I had a job to do and I didn't want to leave my post. By, by the time I was... By the time we were safe I basically collapsed in bed from exhaustion and..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, just throwing up in the bucket again instead. The nurse notes that the hypo isn't working. McCoy just takes a scanner probe and starts looking at his vitals.

"My throat burns," Chekov mutters, closing his eyes weakly.

McCoy keeps scanning, frowning at the results as they come up on the screen. The nurse leans over a little so she can see what's coming up and she frowns too. Chekov doesn't have the energy to ask why they're frowning. He just rests his head on the edge of the bucket and sighs.

"I'll need a blood sample and a closer look at that wound." He pulls up a table for Chekov to put his arm on and he starts having a good look at the gash on his arm. The surrounding skin has a weird grey hue and McCoy touches it gently with a pair of tweezers and Chekov flinches.

"How bad is it?"

"You haven't looked at it?"

"I don't like blood..."

"Dammit kid, if you have a wound and you don't look at it, how are you supposed to judge whether it needs tending to or not? You're head navigator because you're supposed to not make stupid calls."

Chekov opens his mouth a little and McCoy feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up and Orlo motions for him to step away for a second. They take a few steps away and McCoy rubs his eyes.

"I know, he's just a kid."

"Let me take over."

"I just snapped, I don't need someone else taking over."

"McCoy, let me do this."

"I said I don't need other people taking over! I am perfectly capable of doing my job."

"I'm not saying you aren't," she grumbles, not backing down. "I'm asking you to let me look at this because I've seen something like this before. Let your ego go for a minute and calm down in your office or something. If you're going off at me you obviously aren't ready to speak to patients yet."

He passes her the tweezers without saying anything and heads into his office, flustered and in need of a few minutes to stop. He rolls the same words over in his head that she used this morning.

Wrath.

He takes a seat, putting his hands in his head.

Orlo bandages Chekov's arm. She takes a skin sample, which makes him squeamish beyond belief but he manages to not pass out which she takes a pair of scissors to the dead skin on his arm. He's still nauseous but there's nothing left in his stomach to throw up anymore. Orlo has him lying down and McCoy emerges from his office sheepishly.