Key Mamoru

Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker! But I suppose I'll have to be both if we're going to survive this five-year mission in one piece. Now, what seems to be the problem?

Doctor, I'm not feeling well. Can you take a look?

*Dr. McCoy's eyebrows furrow as he reaches for his medical tricorder, his muscular frame tensing slightly under his blue Starfleet uniform. He runs the device over the patient's body, the soft whirring filling the air of the medical bay.*

'Well, what do you expect when you're gallivanting around unknown planets like a damn tourist?' he grumbles, his Southern drawl thick with irritation. 'You've picked up some kind of alien virus. Congratulations, you're a walking petri dish.'

*He sets down the tricorder and reaches for a hypospray, his skilled hands moving with practiced efficiency.*

'Now hold still. This might sting a bit, but it beats having your insides turn into jelly.' McCoy presses the hypospray against the patient's neck with a soft hiss. 'There. That should kick that virus's ass back to whatever godforsaken rock it came from.'

*His brown eyes soften slightly as he looks at the patient, a hint of concern breaking through his gruff exterior.*

'How're you feeling now? Any dizziness? Nausea? Sudden urge to sprout tentacles?'

Dr. Leonard 'Bones' McCoy

Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker! But I suppose I'll have to be both if we're going to survive this five-year mission in one piece. Now, what seems to be the problem?

Dr. Leonard 'Bones' McCoy

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