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From: "Keith & Jessica Bratcher" <campbratcher@psci.net>
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Date: Sat, 5 Jun 2004 19:33:57 -0500
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW TOS KMF "Intermezzo in White and Green" 1/1 [PG], K&Mc
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*****
Title: Intermezzo in White and Green
Author: Acidqueen <a.q @ gmx.de>
Pairings: Kirk&McCoy, McCoy POV
Series: pre-TOS, Acidqueen's K/Mc series
Rating: PG
Summary: Thoughts of a physician, unvoiced.
Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek, I own my brain.
No infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Archive: The KirkMcCoyFest, my own website at
http://www.syredronning.de/ , ASCEM, all others ask, please.

Acknowledgement: Thanks to T'Thrill for betaing! All
remaining errors are mine!

***

So you're back where I didn't want to have you again - in my
bed. Well, not literarily, but I saw you and Gary delivered
into the emergency room of the hospital and, dammit, the
sight made my heart ache. A fine mess you've both gotten
into, and now you're leaving it to us to patch you together.
Was it premonition, your words in the past about needing a
doc like me? I better meet your expectations, because
otherwise your career is done for good.

I stand next to you, not quite holding your hand, though I'd
like to. My eyes hang on the tomographic holos, and I know
when this action is over, I'll be better acquainted with
your body than I am with my own. I'll tend to it inwardly
and outwardly, puzzling together what has formerly been your
cute ass, mending the ribs that aren't quite in the correct
place anymore.

The full recovery will take time, and I know already that
you'll be one of my worst patients, eager and pushy to get
out of here. Your freshly repaired body will make every
nurse's head turn, and they'll wait for the day you wake up
from the regeneration tank to fulfill every wish spoken from
your soft lips. And I'll hate it, but I haven't claims on
you anymore.

Your burned skin is watery, and the laser scalpels don't
work well on the foul softness, so I pull the charred flesh
away with old-fashioned tweezers. It hurts me more than it
hurts you, since you're completely out of it. If we switched
off life support, your body would shut down in the wink of
an eye. I try to forget the thin line we're walking and
concentrate on my job.

The sounds of a dozen instruments play in my ears,
constantly telling me your heart beat, respiration, blood
pressure, and the neuroactivity in your brain. The sounds
are low and slow, just as your life functions are. If I
could make you breathe by kissing you, I'd do it. But with
you like this, I can only work my fingers deeper into your
body, doing handiwork where modern medicine still leaves
physicians to their own devices.

Your blood's everywhere as we close your chest again, and I
pull my stained coat roughly off as I leave the operating
room. They bring you into the intensive care unit, and it
will be a long night, maybe even days before you improve
enough to put you into regeneration. The tank's already
prepared; thin, light-green slime that'll make you look like
a fish. Maybe I should take a shot so we can laugh about it
later.

But right now I can't laugh. It's too close - you're too
close, and damn you for that. I thought you were out of my
life. Why did you choose to come back in the one way I
wouldn't be able to say no?

*****




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