Chapter Text
It was one of those days when Leonard knew almost immediately after waking up that it wasn't going to end well.
After only three hours of sleep due to a nighttime emergency, he shuffled yawningly to the replicator—only to find a meager puddle in his cup instead of a large coffee.
"Damn it!" he grumbled sleepily and repeatedly hammered the button that was supposed to produce his much-desired beverage. But the machine only responded with a deafening roar before going into error mode. That was it.
Grunting loudly, he threw his cup into the sink and grabbed his PADD to send a clear message to the machine. He needed coffee to survive—and desperately hoped that at least Chapel would serve him a cup in the infirmary.
Half an hour later, showered and shaved, he reported for his Alpha shift—and found utter chaos.
“Acute outbreak of the Romulan flu,” M’Benga explained to him as he passed by. “We wanted to let you sleep as long as possible after your shift last night!”
How merciful, the doctor thought, pulling on his protective gear in the locker room.
While the Romulan flu was as mild and uncomplicated for most people as the Terran flu, the vaccine was only fifty percent effective—enough, in the worst-case scenario, to incapacitate half the crew for several days. Unthinkable if an attack were to occur during that time.
The CMO was particularly worried about one person—Jim Kirk.
Due to his allergies, he couldn't be vaccinated, but as captain, he was—along with the medical personnel—among those most at risk of infection. And that with his already compromised immune system.
The protocol stipulated that bridge crew members had to be tested before their shifts began, and Kirk was to wear a face mask outside the bridge or his quarters—something the child, of course, vehemently refused, as McCoy had already learned from Chapel.
The CMO sighed. He knew Jim had a phobia of face masks. To the uninitiated, this might seem like the eccentricity of a conceited captain—after all, Kirk threw himself into every adventure and even flew through space in a spacesuit—but for Leonard, it was nothing unusual. Even over two hundred years ago, when the first filter masks were used to contain pandemics, wearers complained of the feeling that they couldn't breathe properly.
Objectively, nonsense—a purely subjective sensation, each with its own psychological cause. Just like with Jim, whose experiences on Tarsus IV had triggered this fear of face masks.
After spending half his shift treating infected personnel and ordering isolations, Leonard paid a visit to the bridge to confront the stubborn captain.
Jim greeted him with a friendly, "Bones! How are you?" and patted him on the back. McCoy knew he was trying to show that he was perfectly healthy—and once again couldn't understand why there was so much fuss about him.
"One word, Captain. In private," the CMO said grimly and headed toward the small ready room behind the bridge.
With an exaggerated shrug and a broad smile, Jim followed him, glancing back at his crew.
"I know what you're going to say, Bones," he began as soon as the door closed. "But I'm not going to walk the corridors in protective gear like a leper."
Leonard folded his arms and jutted his chin forward. “No problem, Jim. I’ll have the corridors cleared and disinfected every time you head to your quarters or the bridge.”
Kirk’s eyes widened. “I don’t want isolation—I need to be able to move freely around my ship and, as captain, have personal contact with my crew!”
“As a good captain…” Leonard stepped closer, “…you should listen to your Chief Medical Officer and protect yourself from potential infection. Especially since your immune system will have to work harder to fight the virus than the others. So, do you really want to be lying in sickbay with a high fever and severe pain? Not to mention that you won’t be able to command the ship.”
The captain stood tall. “I have a very good first officer.”
Leonard could only laugh. Sure, Spock was excellent at his job—but Spock wasn’t Jim.
“I’m not going to discuss this any further. As CMO, I’m authorized to override your orders if your health is at risk. Don’t force me to do so.”
``` Jim slumped and rolled his eyes. “Okay, where’s that damn mask?”
The doctor took a thin, clear plastic face mask out of his medkit bag.
“Use this,” he said, placing it in Jim’s hand. “Just put it on. The membranes filter the viruses from the air. You’ll have enough air to breathe.” He tried to calm Jim, whose eyes widened in panic at the sight of the mask.
“This is hell, Bones!”
Leonard patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll only be for a few days.”
“I hope so!”