Chapter Text
Alternatively: How Dr. McCoy Came to be Known as Dr. Apocalypse
--
In all honesty, the percentage of away missions that went spectacularly wrong was actually very low. Only 7%. But no one ever talked about the boring 93%.
This one, on the other hand, was one of the 2% of away missions that were complete and utter disasters and Jim was pretty sure he was going to die. Positive, in fact.
Enterprise had come to answer a distress signal from some Federation scientists on a new planet the Federation was considering for colonization. The compound where the scientists had been located was in the southern hemisphere, which was in the thick of winter. Jim had brought Spock and a small security team. He'd also brought Pavel Chekov, much to the confusion of everyone who wasn't Alpha bridge crew. The nineteen-year-old was like a mini-Spock: very smart, a good scientist, and fully capable of defending himself. The main difference was that Spock used the phaser and a nerve pinch. Chekov used knives.
When they had beamed down to the base, however, they'd found the scientists dead and a bunch of Romulans setting up an ambush. Jim had gotten separated from the team, and in the confusion had also lost his coat, which had his communicator.
Now, he was hanging from a bunch of rope and twine in a primal but very effective Romulan trap. He wasn't sure whether they'd set it up for Starfleet while they'd been planning their ambush, or if they'd been hoping to catch some dinner. Either way, Jim was well and truly stuck.
And frozen. If the Romulans didn't get here soon to finish him off, he'd die of hypothermia. Considering what Romulans were known to do to their POWs, hypothermia was very much preferred.
Unfortunately, Jim could hear snow crunching beneath someone's footsteps. He sighed and shivered. "H-Hope you br-brought a b-blanket, jerks," he said.
"Captain!"
Never, ever had he been so happy to hear Chekov's voice. Jim sagged in relief as Chekov rushed over, tugging at the ropes. "How long hawe you been here?"
"Dunno. S-Stopped sh-shivering a while ago."
"That's not good." Chekov pulled out his communicator. "Commander Spock, I found him. East of the compound. He's hypothermic."
"B-Beam up?"
"Nyet. They're jamming the signal. Ve hawe to get farther from the base."
Jim sighed. He didn't believe in no-win scenarios, but he did believe in the scenario where he died and his crew lived. "P-Pav-vel..."
"Shut up, Captain."
Jim blinked. He couldn't see what Chekov was doing, but he could hear some sort of grinding noise going on. The ropes were getting looser. "What are you..."
One of the last ropes came undone and Jim dropped to the ground, onto the snow. The good news was he was so far gone he barely felt any colder in the snow.
Chekov put away the tiny neck knife Uhura had given him. It was a thick, two-inch blade that went into a sheath that hung from his neck. Jim remembered that he gave Uhura a lot of shit for that. When the hell would the kid ever use something like that? he'd said. That thing was the size of a baby hamster, he'd said. He really should know by now not to question Uhura.
Chekov tucked the sheath under his shirt, grabbed Jim by the underarms, and pulled him up. "Come on, Captain. Let's get you to Doctor McCoy so he can yell at you and make you better, da?"
"He only yells 'cause he cares," Jim slurred. "D-Don't tell him I know that."
"I von't." Chekov dropped him against a tree and pulled off his coat. He shoved Jim's arms through the sleeves and zipped him up, then pulled some spare gloves from the pockets and shoved them on Jim's numb fingers. Jim swore the kid was psychic; he was always prepared.
Jim whined. "'S cold. You wear it."
"Captain, you hawe hypothermia and I don't. You are from Iova and I'm from Russia. You vill vear the jacket." Chekov stiffened, and tipped his head. He adjusted Jim a little more and pulled a bush around him. "Stay here," he ordered. "Don't make a sound."
Jim blinked in confusion as Chekov hurried away. He huddled in the coat, trying to think of all the reasons to stay awake when sleep was really, really tempting right now. The most primary reason was that if he passed out, Chekov wouldn't have the self-preservation to leave him behind. The petite Russian would try to drag him to safety and they'd both end up dead.
Jim didn't notice the Romulans until they were practically on top of them. There were three, all armed. One of them spotted him. "I found Kir--!"
A throwing knife found its way into his throat. His companions looked up just as the second knife found its way into another Romulan's heart. The last survivor fired blindly into the trees. He started running when the third knife was thrown, missing a kill shot and ending up in his shoulder. He staggered and switched the phaser to his other hand, but a fourth knife went through his eye and brain before he could fire another shot.
Jim watched the snow turn crimson with disinterest. Chekov dropped from one of the lower branches and collected his knives, slipping them in the sheath he kept hidden around his left forearm. His right arm had an impressive phaser burn that he ignored completely.
"On your feet, Captain," Chekov said, hauling him up and supporting him over his left shoulder. "Let's get you home, da?"
--
"How is he?" Pavel asked, as soon as McCoy came out of Kirk's room.
McCoy rolled his eyes as he studied the phaser burn on Pavel's arm. "Severely hypothermic, but he'll live. We're pumping him full of warming fluids and buried him under some blankets."
"He'll vant to take a varm shower later. Vater, not sonics. It'll be wery helpful."
"I don't doubt it," McCoy said. "Especially coming from the Russian."
"Ve should get him some hot chocolate, too," Pavel continued as McCoy positioned the dermal regenerator. "Or maybe coffee. He likes coffee."
"He's not getting a drop of that while he's in here," McCoy grumbled. "He's supposed to sleep." He turned on the regenerator, then paused. The way he was looking at Pavel made the young navigator want to squirm.
"Vhat?" he asked.
"...nothing. Just remembering something from your medical file."
"Vhat about it?"
McCoy shook his head. "It's not important."
Pavel thought, recalling all the trips he'd ever taken to the hospital and all the injuries that had ever been recorded. It was difficult: he'd had an awful lot of injuries in his life and most of them had gone untreated, taken care of by himself. Except one time...
Pavel barked a laugh. "Don't vorry, Doctor. That time I fell in the lake vas truly by accident. Andrei vasn't ewen there."
The tension in McCoy's shoulders immediately unwound. "Oh, really?"
"Uh-huh. I vas vith Uncle Wadim, and ve vent up a little mountain to get a good wiew of a meteor shower. Ve vent ice-fishing, too, and I vandered onto some thin ice and fell through. Wadim got me out right avay and took me to the hospital. I vas upset because he'd left the fish ve'd caught behind so ve didn't get to eat them, but he said that it'd be a good present for the bears," Pavel explained.
His happiness faded into the old sorrow and anger that came whenever he thought of his uncle Vadim. Whatever story he told, even if it was a good one, inevitably led to the memory of when he'd found him dead on the floor with four knives in his chest, courtesy of one Andrei Chekov.
"Your uncle was a good man," McCoy said quietly. "If he could see you now, he'd be proud."
"I know," Pavel said. "That's vhat makes it sad."
McCoy gave a tight smile. "He'd also probably have some words about all the knives you carry around."
Pavel sputtered. "I only brought the neck knife, the throwing kniwes, and the Sviss! The Wulcan dagger isn't meant for cold temperatures and the Bovie knife vouldn't be able to get out of its sheath because of the frost. And you're glad I hawe them because I sawed the captain's life, thank you wery much."
McCoy shook his head and sighed. "For a scientific genius, you sure like being stuck in the Dark Ages."
"So do you, Doctor Apocalypse."
"Oh, now there's a good name," Chapel said, coming into the room.
McCoy sputtered. "What does that even mean?!"
"Leonard, if I had a credit for every time you went on a tangent on all the horrible ways people can die out in space or on an alien planet, I'd have enough money to buy the Enterprise. It's a lot like how people waited for the End of Days during the Dark Ages. Hence, I now christen you Dr. Apocalypse."
"Don't you dare," McCoy growled. She just smiled at him.
Two days later, everyone was calling McCoy Dr. Apocalypse. McCoy never did forgive Pavel for that.