title: if i could
fandom: star trek 09
pairing: vague k/b
rating: pg13, language.
word count: 6432 (!)
edited: nah.



Jim is screaming at some minor medical officer, and the poor girl looks on the verge of tears by the time Spock and Uhura have calmed the captain down.

“You can’t fucking tell me that!” He’s screaming when they arrive, and he’s waving his hands around in a way that is not at all fitting for the captain of a starship. His behavior in general is not precisely on-par. “You can’t fucking tell me you can’t do anything about it! That’s not I want to fucking hear! God damnit! You mean to say that we have the best fucking sickbay in the entire fleet and we can’t do anything about this?”

“Captain, you are emotionally compromised. You should retreat to your quarters and attempt to meditate or expel your feelings if you wish to remain a capable leader.”

“Of course I’m fucking emotionally compromised! Look at Bones! Damnit, look at his face!” And he gestures again, tears now streaming down his face. “And they can’t even fix it, Spock! What the hell is this goddamn place here for?”

“Lieutenant Uhura, please take the captain to his quarters. I will relieve him until he can be deemed mentally sound again. Please note this in the ship’s log.”

“You can’t usurp me!”

The sickbay is now staring at the two of them, all but one. It’s not unknown for Spock and Kirk to fight - rather, it would be unusual if they didn’t - but about captaincy and mutiny is a little different than the small nuances in regulations or manners. Spock’s hands are folded neatly behind his back, his eyes dark and passive.

“First, Captain, I was unaware you were capable of using such a complex word as ‘usurp,’ despite pronouncing it wrong. Second, you are clearly emotionally compromised as you admitted yourself, and due to Regulation 619, I can remove you from duty until you are fit to return. Lieutenant Uhura, please remove him to his quarters.”

“Yes Com- -- yes, captain. Come on, Jim.”

“Spock, I will fucking kick your ass!”

“I welcome the challenge at some more opportune time, Jim.”

The sickbay doors close behind them. Spock takes a couple of meditative breaths and turns back towards the blubbering intern. “Please take a moment to compose yourself and then present me with a full report of Chief Medical Officer McCoy’s status. I assure you, though Captain Kirk can be very irrational at times, he means only the best for his ship and crew. Report?”

The girl takes a couple of breaths and wipes her face, then stands tall. Spock respects that. “Our best suspicion is that he has attracted some sort of eye parasite that is feeding on his ocular nerves. Though we removed the parasite, we detected and got rid of it far too late, and as such, though Dr. McCoy may have eyeballs and a brain, he has nothing connecting them.”

“Is there a corrective or replacement surgery for ocular nerves?”

“Even if we did it, he’d still be considered legally blind.”

Spock looks at the ceiling, and then the floor. His eyebrows knit. “Allow me to see him.”

The strange thing is, McCoy looks like he’s doing damn fine. His eyes are closed, and he’s sitting on the end of gurney looking his usual annoyed self. He has four shockingly new scars on his face, two above each eye, where the flesh was pulled back to remove the bone and then the parasite. The scars don’t bother Spock - he’s seen worse.

“Dr. McCoy,” he says. “It is Spock. I have removed Captain Kirk from duty temporarily due to the fact that your injury has left him emotionally compromised. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m god-damn peachy,” Bones nearly growls, and turns his head towards Spock’s voice. “You know, besides the blindness and parasites in my eyes. What the hell did Jim do?”

“Sir, if you did not hear him shouting earlier than perhaps the parasite has also spread to your ears.”

Bones sighs heavily and lets his shoulders fall, and suddenly he looks stunningly vulnerable. It strikes Spock, how much posture can change a man who the vulcan is accustomed to seeing so stalwart.

“Leave us,” he says to the various nurses running tests and looking at graphs. Bones nods to them.

Spock closes the privacy screen and frowns. “How bad do you suspect the damage to be, from an internal perspective?”

“It’ll be a god-damn miracle if I see again, that’s the damage. It’s so black in here I feel like I’m in space, only stuck with you and Jim.” There’s a weariness to the doctor’s voice, one that worries Spock immensely. “How the hell am I going to stay on this ship now? I can’t be a surgeon if I can’t see. I’ve looked at the surgeries for nerve replacement for this one - we had a cadet last year who got a phaser burn to the face - and they’re all terrible. Even if it was a perfect success, I’d still be seeing in blurry black-and-white for the rest of my life. There isn’t anyway for me to be a doctor anymore, not like this.”

“Have you already chosen your replacement for Chief Medical Officer?”


“Alison Herzel, you were talking to her earlier. It sounded like Jim freaked her out a little, but I know she’ll get used to it in a little bit. She’s as smart as you, I bet.” Bones runs his hands over his face. “Spock, they’re going to transfer me off the ship. Jim is going to freak out. And way worse than he just did. I’ve known that kid since we flew to the Academy together. He will never be able to handle that.”

“I will use my political force to see that you remain on the Enterprise as an advisor and perhaps psychological counselor who, in fact, has no patients.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your pity.”

“Pity?” Bones can basically hear the arched eyebrow in his voice, faint amusement. “I am not doing it out of pity, Dr. McCoy. I am doing it for crew morale.”

“If I could, I’d roll my eyes at you.” It’s a grudging comment, but there’s a strange edge on it, sadness. If I could.

*

“Admiral, I urge you. Please allow Dr. McCoy to stay aboard the Enterprise as an advisor or psychological counselor. Captain Kirk depends on his advice and his comforting shoulder heavily, and I do not believe that the degeneration in crew morale would be worthwhile to save the additional resources.”

“Spock,” Admiral Pike frowns at him, “I know what McCoy means to Jim. I was there when he smuggled that bastard on, remember? But we can’t just do it. The most important part of Starfleet is that we use the ships and the power we have efficiently.”

“The most efficient course would be to leave Dr. McCoy with Jim Kirk. Of this, I am 100% positive. Dr. McCoy has always had and continues to have a positive effect on the captain.”

Pike sits back in his wheelchair and sighs, rubbing his face with his hands, an eerily similar gesture. He sighs again and shakes his head. “Spock, you know I want to do this. How long have I known you? A long time. I know that Leonard is really important to Jim, but I talked it over with the other admirals and they don’t agree. They want to either honorably discharge him with a shockingly nice pension or reassign him to something that’s aural only. “

Spock presses his lips together. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

“Permission granted, you know that.”

At that, Spock’s eyebrows knit, and his eyes glimmer in a way that might be desperation. He clenches one hand and grinds his teeth. “Admiral, this is the worst decision you are making, on behalf of the Enterprise, on my behalf, on behalf of Dr. McCoy, on behalf of Captain Kirk, on behalf of Starfleet. Dr. McCoy does not want a nice pension. He does not want to be reassigned. He simply wants to stay on the Enterprise, even while blind. As somewhat of an expect on Jim Kirk, I foresee a high possibility of him quite literally refusing to leave the planet with him.”

“You really think Jim won’t leave Earth without McCoy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pike shakes his head. “Damn that boy. I’ll do what I can, Spock, but you know that there’s a point where…”

“Of course, Admiral. Thank you very much for your time.”

*

McCoy is sitting in the room they’ve given him in Starfleet Command. It’s a beautiful day out, and he can feel the sun shining onto his face from what he imagines is probably a lovely window, but it’s very dark in the world of Leonard McCoy. Of all people, he thinks. He had to be the one who comes down with this.

It’s funny to think that he won’t be able to practice medicine anymore. He’s been practicing medicine since he was… damn, since forever. Since before he married, even. It’s medicine that got him through that marriage, through the divorce, through space. Medicine that got him to meet Jim Kirk, becoming Chief Medical Officer of the USS Enterprise.

Gone.

In his hands is the letter. Of course, it was read to him, and then delivered to him in the form of a voice message, but it’s the letter that seems to hold the most significance. Here it is, on paper Bones can imagine with the Starfleet letterhead. 

Dear Leonard McCoy…

We regret to inform that due to your recent physical condition….

...will have to re-evaluate and reassign your position based on our available openings…

Failing that, a pension will be given based on your merits…

Sincerely…

Off the Enterprise.

It makes him feel a little nauseous, being on Earth. Funny, that, he was terrified of space, and now the idea of not being in it grips him in a way more frightening measure.

“Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence.”

A bitter chuckle bubbles to his lips.

What else does he have?

“Bones!”

Jim.

He crunches up the letter and stuffs it into a pocket of his shirt, not bothering to look over. “Hey, Jim. How are you?”

“Oh, all right. How’s the view over there?”

Bones can hear how strained Jim’s voice is. He can feel the way the bed shifts when Jim sits down next to him and rests his head on the doctor’s shoulder. He throws one arm around the man’s shoulders and tries to ignore the weight in his pocket. “You’re an asshole.”

At that, Jim laughs, and it sounds terrible, like the man is on the verge of cracking down the center. Bones squeezes him, once, and sighs. He probably doesn’t know about the letter yet. McCoy bets that Jim is going to be the last one to know about it. If all goes well for Starfleet, he probably won’t know until it’s too late to stop launching.

“Hey, what’s that in your pocket?”

“It’s nothing, Jim.”

But Bones can’t see to stop him from nabbing the crumbled letter, and he waits for the hammer to fall in darkness. It’s like being held under a guillotine with a bag over one’s head.

He can hear, just barely, the paper crinkling as he imagines Jim slowly folding it and putting it down. He can imagine, perfectly, the stunned expression on the man’s face as the words sink in. He can hear the bed creak, feel the pressure released as Jim gets off it.

“Jim!”

The door slams shut.

*

“Pike, I’m not going up in space if Bones isn’t coming me. That’s it. There aren’t any questions. I don’t care if I have to fucking resign my post here, I’m not going anywhere if Bones isn’t going with me. End of story. If you don’t reassign him to the Enterprise, I will quit on the spot.”

“Spock told me you’d say that.”

“Spock knew about this before me?”

“You weren’t supposed to know till you were in space.”

Kirk is suddenly disbelieving, suddenly so furious that he wants to reach over and strangle the man. He wants to toss the guy out of his wheelchair and ask him how it feels to be crippled too.

“Look,” Jim says, and there’s a snarl on the edge of his voice, an uncharacteristic kind of anger. “This is how it goes. If Bones isn’t going, I’m not going. If I’m not going, Spock isn’t going. If Spock isn’t going, Uhura’s not going. If I’m not going, Scotty and Chekov aren’t going. If Scotty and Chekov don’t go, neither is Sulu, and you have no officers for your flagship.”

“Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions a little bit about how everyone is going to drop everything for you, Jim?” Pike smiles a little, but it’s a tired smile, like trying to let down a man nicely. “You always were arrogant.”

Suffice to say, Pike is surprised as hell when Spock visits him and says in no uncertain terms that he will serve under no captain but James Kirk. When Montgomery Scott comes to him and says that Jim is the only one who will put up with his nonsense. That Chekov says no other captains respect him. That Uhura explains that there is a regulation that allows a significant others to be assigned to the same ship, even though Pike is pretty sure he heard that she broke up with Spock a month ago. That Sulu invokes the same privilege with his hand entwined in Chekov’s and the Russian boy bright red.

And he has no officers for his flagship.

*

“Jim, you can’t abandon all your duties for the sake of Leonard McCoy.”

“I can, I did, and I will, PIke.” Jim’s jaw is clenched, his hands fists at his sides. “I don’t care what everyone else does. Let them serve there without me, that’s fine. I didn’t tell them to say all that crap. But I’m not going without Bones..”

“You’re being ridiculous. You could get court-martialed because of this! You’re going to get court-martialed because of this!” Pike slams his hands on the desk. “Do you really want that, Jim?”

“I don’t care!” This time Jim stands up and slams right back, and he manages to hit hard enough to have all of Pike’s trinkets and paperweights shift slightly. “Really, I don’t. I don’t care if you fucking toss me in prison for the rest of my life. I’m not going on that ship without my Chief Medical Officer, Leonard McCoy.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it. You’re going to get court-martialed. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

*

“Jim’s going to get court-martialed?” Bones asks Spock, who is standing in his doorway.

“His behavior is the very definition of insubordination, a punishment that is tried by court-martial. He could face prison, a fine, even an execution. Under traditional Starfleet Regulations, myself, Mr. Scott, Mr. Chekov, and Miss Uhura are all liable for court-martial due to insubordination.”

“You? That’s not logical at all.”

There’s a long pause, in which Bones imagines Spock struggling to rationalize his behavior. It’s kind of funny to watch (okay, think about) how Spock is so human, how the vulcan parts of him have to catch up sometimes. How it happens in reverse as well.

“I feel that Starfleet should only experience my most spectacular performance. If the spectacular performance is only one I can accomplish under Captain Kirk, it is logical that I stay with him alone.”

Bones likes the sound of that. “And what did Chekov and Scotty and Uhura have to say about why they aren’t working? And what about Sulu, then?”

“Ensign Chekov claimed that none of the other captains take him responsibly because of his age, and he does not approve of the possibility of serving under someone who will undervalue and double or triple-check his calculations. Chief Engineer Scott claims that no other captains, and I quote ‘will put up with his nonsense.’ Lieutenant Uhura invoked a regulation that allows two enlisted Starfleet officers to serve on the same ship, claiming we were still in a relationship - however, we are not, and she is lying. Hikaru Sulu is not lying, however, about his relationship with Ensign Chekov.”

Those two make Bones snigger.

“I can’t believe you’re going to get court-martialled for Jim’s sake. I thought you were colder and more emotional than that.”

“And I believed you could see deeper than that,” Spock’s voice is just barely mocking.Bones actually looks at him this time, even though the world remains perfectly black. He imagines Spock is grinning at him in that vulcan way, with the corners of his lips.

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised none of the other med officers came around. I haven’t even seen Chekov or Scotty.” He shifts slightly, moving back to stare out the window. It’s nice to have the sun in your face, nice to feel the warmth, even if you can’t see it. “You think those two would have liked me enough to come visit me. Damn bastards.”

“I imagine they are quite absorbed in their own projects.”

Bones falls back on his bed. “I guess I’ve really reached a new low when my confidante is a pointy-eared emotionless bastard.”

Spock might have actually just chuckled.

*

“Captain!” It’s Scotty’s voice. “Captain, where’s Dr. McCoy? We need to talk to him right away!”

Jim looks up from where he’s awaiting to be court-martialed. He thinks it’s just a little mean of the engineer to bring the guy up at all.

But Scotty looks too excited considering Jim’s mood, considering Bones’ status. Scotty looks like he just won a million credits. His entire face is alive, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Did you find him?”

Sulu comes up behind him, Chekov in hand.

“Not yet.”

“I’ll go to his room!” The Russian boy announces and bolts.

*

“Dr. McCoy!”

Bones knows that voice anywhere.

“Hello, Chekov. I’m glad to hear you finally decided to see me. I was wondering of you’d forgotten all about me or something.

“We can fix your eyes! We built you new eyes! We have to put them in though! And so we need your face so it can be operated on!”

“Admittedly, the idea of you operating on my face is not the most welcome prospect.” He smiles wryly at that.

“Well, how about me?”

Bones immediately recognizes that voice, too. It’s Alison, his replacement CMO. Unlike on the ship, she sounds confident and even a little haughty, and the doctor can imagine her with her red hair pulled back in a no-nonsense manner, with that serious expression and her hands on her hips. He can just see her dark blouse under the white medical coat. “I’m a little more comfortable about you.”

“Did you forget that ophthalmology was my specialty before I enrolled in Starfleet?” She says, and Bones is reminded of Jim, “I’ve actually done the surgery to replace the optic nerve a number of times, but we’re just gonna toss the whole thing out and give you new eyeballs instead. I got genius number one here who can calculate pi up to seven thousand digits and figure out how fast electricity travels over a neuron and how to create the exact charge necessary to create the color blue, and then I have genius number two here, who can literally take a tin can, some blue paint, and seven transistors and make a starship, and genius number three here, who can not get lost in space. Not very useful for creating a bionic eye, but definitely good moral support for genius number one and two.”

If genius one is Chekov, then genius two must be..Scotty. And then genius three is obviously Sulu.

“So, how do you feel about some experimental surgery? We’re - and I mean, me and the rest of the surgeons from Enterprise - basically going to take your face off, give you some new eyeballs and new optic nerves, and sew it back on. It’ll probably take a while to do, and I don’t know if it’s gonna work, but it’s better than the alternative, which is blindness or seeing like a cow for the rest of your life.”

Bones has to stop and breathe for a little while, looking at where he imagines they might be standing. He hopes he looks dumbfounded right now. He’s totally fine with Alison being his replacement, but she sometimes gets a little ahead of herself, not unlike Jim. However, she has proven to be good at hypo-spraying on the run, which makes her quite the asset.

“Wait, wait,” he says, and shakes his head as if the speech has dislodged some of his brain. “You, Scotty, and Chekov made a bionic eye?”

“Two. And, well, genius three helped. Surprisingly enough, depth perception is really important for navigation in space. Also, for seeing.”

Honestly, his first reaction is to balk. Experimental surgery almost never goes well, especially when your prime ideas of it come from a Russian whiz-kid and an alcoholic Scot. And on his eyes.

Then again, what does he have to lose?

“All right,” he says, and stands up. “Lead the way.”

*

When Leonard McCoy wakes up, he wonders if he still has a face. He certainly feels something attached to his neck, lying on the pillow, but above his ears all he really feels is the dull sensation of pain, painkillers and the abstract concept of something. It certainly doesn’t feel like his face, at least. There’s pain, especially where his eyes would be, around his eye sockets and his eyelids. His brain hurts, especially the back. The occipital lobe, he thinks. The visual cortex.

Oh Christ, he thinks, and wonders what the hell has happened to him. It’s dark, but that’s nothing new, really. It’s dark, and then -

Light floods in through his eyelids. It’s a stunning feeling, after being in the dark for over a week, for it to suddenly be bright. He knows, though, it’ s not really bright at all - his eyes are just weak.

That doesn’t stop it from being stunning. It’s strange to think about, but it’s hard to imagine light when you don’t have any. He flinches, slightly, and when his face shifts he feels pulling everywhere. He probably has a lot of stitches right now. A lot of stitches.

A hand comes up to touch his face, and this is a very confirmed fact: there’s a line of stitches under his nose, that stretches behind his ears and around in a full circle. He’s also, he can feel now, been shaved bald, but that hardly bothers him. Brain surgery sure is something, he thinks. He’s always been a pathologist first, and brain surgery even wows him a little. And with this kind of surgery, this kind of serious skull removal, he finds it difficult to believe this took any less than six or seven hours.

He tries to think about the members of his med team. Do they even have a brain surgeon? They must (it’s required) but the kind of neuroscience to recalculate and reattach artificial eyeballs to one’s brain are, even without having to do the electrical work involved, mind-blowing. It must have been someone from here.

“Dr. McCoy?”

“Alison?”

“Shit, you’re awake. Can you see?”

“I can sense light.”

“Shit, really?”

He hears her footsteps come closer, check on the stitches, tug on the skin on his face a little bit. “Damn, you’re melding back together way better than I thought would. Considering the fact we basically pulled most of your face off and cut off like, half your skull. You know, I think they designed brains so that they were hard to get to, but I’m not sure why. It’s a pain.” He can hear her shuffling around, probably looking at the various charts he’s attached to. “If this works, I’m gonna be really famous. Will you help me write about this? You know I’m not really good at the reports, just at the poking at people’s eyeballs part.”

Bones nearly laughs, but the tugging on his face stops him from doing so. “Yeah, I will. So, was this, you know authorized? Have you been doing rogue ophthalmological and brain surgery on me for the past six hours without anyone realizing it? We are in a hospital, right?”

“Well, the surgery was authorized to get you some new optical nerves, but we sort of… carried it into the next step. I don’t think anyone will mind though, you know?”

“So no one knows you replaced my eyes with optical implants?”

“Can you tell?”

“They grate on my face. I think it’s just a matter of getting the muscles and nerves to regrow around them and growing the scar tissue on the insides of my eyelids so they don’t scrape too much.” He reaches up, gingerly, and touches his eyelid, pressing down on it slightly. There’s definitely something hard in there, something eye-shaped but feeling more mechanical than organic.

“Well, open them. Slowly.”

And so he does.

The first sensation is that he can feel the mechanical iris closing slightly to accustom to the bright room. But everything seems to be order, besides his face having been put back together and not all healed yet. Alison’s red hair is still red, her coat is white, and he’s seeing all the proper colors where he remembers them.

She shines a light into both of his eyes and he blinks reflexively.

“That’s incredible. Even though we replaced your eyes, the blink reflex remains. Though only one downside - we couldn’t find any paint or tinter that was safe to possibly enter your bloodstream or put in your eyes, so you look a little strange. Here, I’ll get you a mirror.”

She walks over to a dresser, and McCoy can watch her walk. Watch her walk, see the way her legs move, watch the muscles in her calf contract as she takes a step. He can follow the slight ripple in her lab coat and watch the monitors read out his vital statistics. He can see. Holy hell, he can see. She hands him the mirror, grinning from ear to ear, and he can see himself.

There’s no arguing: he looks like a mess and a half. The stitches run from under his nose and across his face, circling the whole circumference of his head. That’s why it hurts so much when he talks, simply because everything has to be used of being moved again, and because there are so many muscles in one’s face, it’s important everything is put together very, very tight. He’s shaved bald, too.

And his eyes.

It freaks him out, at first. The eyes look like they’re covered in some sort of clear plastic to protect his eyelids, but he can see the tiniest adjustments and contraction of the electronic-blue eyes. The white of his eye isn’t white, isn’t even solid. He can see all the different little technological parts, small grey bits lodged into one another. He definitely looks like a cyborg. No two ways about it.

“I can just hear what Jim is going to say,” he hears himself speak, even if he’s more in awe of that face than whatever’s coming out of it. “Oh man,” his voice is a mockery of Jim’s, and he hears the other doctor laughing, “It’s Robot Bones!”

He puts down the mirror and slowly looks around again, trying to re-accustom himself with seeing. “Am I cleared to leave?” He asks her, trying not to stretch his face too much. “Or what?”

“I think you’re fine,” Alison shrugs. “Go find geniuses one through three. They want to get all excited at you. And see if you can find Captain Kirk. I think his proceedings are supposed to start today or tomorrow. I’m not sure. Either way, the sooner you tell him you can see, the sooner he can not get court-martialied. And I really don’t want to be CMO for anyone but him anyway, he’s a really cool captain. And cute.”

Despite the pain, Bones laughs. “It’s not very difficult to sleep with him. I’ll ask him, if you want.”

At the scarlet flush that matches her hair, his laugh curls down to a small, amused smile.

*

“These proceedings call to order the court-martial of Captain James T. Kirk,” says Admiral Cherin, as he shuffles papers slightly. Jim stands in the center, in his captain’s uniform. The room is dim, in a dramatic sort of way, “James Kirk, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He shakes his head. “I stand by my original claims, Admiralty. I believe the Starfleet has taught me many things about myself, my crew, and the nature of success. The most important thing I have learned, however, is loyalty.”

“Ironic, Captain, as you are disobeying a direct order,” Chein replies, his lip curling in displeasure. “Whatever lessons you may have learned have obviously been misconstrued.”

“I do not mean loyalty to one’s superiors, Admiral. My history with my superiors is spotty at best and at one point knocked me unconscious and dropped me onto a frozen planet. What I mean is loyalty to one’s friends and oneself. I have always believed that the Enterprise does so well because of the officers’ bond. Because I know without a doubt that my crew will support me in what I do. They follow all of my crazy schemes with, on quite a few occasions, all of you have disagreed with; they drag me out of prisons across the galaxy and mend fences where I break them. And in return, the only I can do is stay with them, when they need my help. It’s the only right thing to do. Chief Medical Officer McCoy does not need to be grounded. He doesn’t even need a pension. And me and all my officers know that. And as he has spent hours fixing me up, he deserves my support. Considering the fact he’s saved my life.. hundreds of times, the least I can do is give my rank for him.”

“That’s very touching, Captain, but it does disguise your constant insubordination. The admiralty puts up with your nonsense because it works, though in this case, there is nothing to work. Though Starfleet will miss your skill as captain, we cannot deny this newest rebellious act.”

Then, suddenly, the doors burst open, and the light from outside blasts in. The four admirals look at each other, and then collectively glare at the a figure strides in.

“Commander Spock, your presence is not desired here. Explain your rudeness,” demands Cherin, his teeth gritted. Jim looks at Pike, on the corner, who is suppressing a smile. He’s very good, Jim thinks, but Spock’s way better, and he can see them on Spock.

“Admiralty, I apologize immensely for my disruption. However, I believe I am capable of settling the matter of Captain Kirk’s insubordination, and I often am forced to. However, to establish this end, I have a series of queries.”

“We will not allow your logic to disrupt these proceedings, Commander Spock,” Cherin sounds pissed now.

“Let him talk,” Pike interrupts, from the other side. The three of them look at Admiral Pike, who’s always been known to support the crazy Captain Kirk. “Surely we have nothing if not time to spare? We have many of these proceedings to do, including Commander Spock himself. If he proves to be further insubordinate than he already has been, we will simply use that as evidence in his own trial. Continue, Commander.”

“Captain,” Spock turns to Kirk, “Your only reason for your disobedience is that you demand to serve with Dr. Leonard McCoy, correct?”

“That is correct, Commander,” Kirk’s expression is faintly confused as Spock talks, but he can read the vulcan better than anyone else, and whatever this is, he’ll play along, at least for now. Surely Spock wouldn’t dig himself in a deeper hole unless he knew he could climb. That wouldn’t be logical at all.

“And, Admirals, the only reason Dr. Leonard McCoy cannot serve as Chief Medical Officer is his hindered vision, correct?”

“That is correct, Commander,” Pike’s actually openly smiling a little bit now, and Jim can tell that something good is going to happen. He’s half-expecting Bones to just walk back here with eyeballs that work perfectly fine.

“Then, logically, if Dr. McCoy’s vision is restored to an acceptable level, he will be cleared to retake his position aboard the Enterprise?”

“Commander Spock,” Pike again, “Has the Enterprise found more technology from the future that has created something we don’t have yet?”

“I have conflicting answers to your query, Admiral. Through a combination of optometry, engineering, and neurology, we have created something new, however it is not at all from the future.”

“What the hell are you getting at, Spock?” All three of them look at Admiral Cherin, who looks like he’s about to either bust a gut or punch the vulcan in the face. “Just get to the point, for once.”

Spock’s face twitches in a way that Jim knows is a smile. He pulls his shoulders back and nods. “Very well. I present Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the USS Enterprise.”

McCoy steps inside the brightened room.

“Holy shit, Bones!”

Spock glares at his captain.

“Er, my apologies, Admiralty.”

The four admirals don’t even notice Jim’s outburst; all eight eyes are focused on the doctor, who is trying to shift as little as possible under all those stares. Bones’ face still hurts, even more now - the pain medications are beginning to wear off, and his face throbs under the stitches. He can feel the mechanical irises making minor, slight changes as he shifts his head to allow light to travel inside from the outdoors, feel the way the fake eyes rub just slightly against his skull.

“Dr. McCoy, please come closer,” Chiren beckons. “What color shirt am I wearing?”

“Gold, sir,” Bones says, and Jim finds that he’s barely holding back the urge to hug the man. “And your Starfleet ring on the index ringer of your right hand. And your commendation for valor in danger. And, if I may speak so freely, the scar on your hand looks particularly roguish today.”

The four admirals look at each other, pull in and whisper for a few long moments as Kirk, Spock and McCoy stare at each other in attempt to figure out what the hell is going to happen next.

“Dr. McCoy, how is this possible?”

“My second-in-command, Alison Herzel, specialized in ophthalmology before she came to Sfarfleet, and continues to do so. Another one of the Enterprise’s medical officers, Bthael’ara, is one of the most foremost neurological surgeons on the post. Together with the engineering prowess of Montgomery Scott and the physics of Pavel Chekov, they were able to conceive and invent a biological eye that mimicked the human eye and could interface with the occipital lobe.” He blinks. It scrapes, a little.

“We were not told about this.”

“It was sort last-minute.”

Pike cocks his head to the side. “You last-minute built a fully functioning cybernetic eye and correctly surgically attached it?”

“Correct, sir. I know it’s hard to believe, but this is the Enterprise. We frequently do things that are conceived of as impossible.”

Jim, Spock, and Bones share a small smile.

*

“So, can you really come back to the ship now?” Jim loves sitting in his chair on the Enterprise, the Captain’s Chair, where he can see Spock and Uhura and Chekov and hear Spock behind him, and be one communicator away from Scotty. Normally, Bones would be in Sickbay, but he’s on the bridge until he’s all healed up again - four weeks. “How the hell did you pull that off, guys?” He asks, after turning on the comm to Engineering so Scotty can hear the conversation. “I mean, Bones does look a little like a robot now, but I could get used to it. How long is your face gonna take to heal? You look like you made out with a porcupine.”

Bones frowns, just a little, as to not pull his stitches.

“I’ve passed all the vision tests they give to everyone else, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to. I mean, it’s possible that they’ll be so goddamn pissed at you that we can all go except for you, which wouldn’t surprise me. I mean, not that I would get on that ship without you anyway. I’d sooner be court-martialed.”

“Thanks guys,” Jim looks at his officers and he feels a swell of pride inside him, like a warm hug, even from Spock. “You guys didn’t have to stand up for me like that.”

“Of course we did, Captain. That is what a ship’s crew does; it supports its captain regardless of how illogical he can be,” Spock says, from behind him.

Kirk just laughs. “I’m your captain again, and I’m not afraid to take advantage of my power. Bones, you still need some time to fix your face, right? So promote your eye surgeon and Sulu, disengage from space dock. We need to head over to Tellarite space. Everything ready, Sulu?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m tired of being court-martialed.”

Bones looked at him, and despite how straight he was trying to keep his face straight, he still managed to look shockingly annoyed. “You will never stop getting court-martialed.”

“Ready to warp, Captain.”

““Come on, robot Bones. Get out of here.”