Title: Boy in the Bubble(Miracle and Wonder)

Author: Jessica
Rating:PG, PG-13
Pairings: Spock/McCoy, obviously.
Summary: I guess this takes place at the end of the fifth movie. McCoy is looking up at the stars, thinking about his father and the wondrous time he lives in.


 
McCoy stared up at the stars, thinking about how,if a starship were above them, it would only take little more than a few button presses to scatter his molecules here on the surface, and reassemble them on the ship.
 
And that very ship could travel to worlds beyond one's imagination. If not for such advances, McCoy never would have met Spock. In fact, Spock probably would never have existed, given his mother being human.
 
But even with all of the good that had come with these advances, new problems had risen from them. Those transporters could easily turn a person inside out, or split one person into two, or maybe even two into one.
 
For every disease that had been cured, new diseases were quick to take their places. Sometimes the treatments to those diseases carried side affects so horrible it was often hard not to fault the patient for giving up. There's only so long a person can fight. Eventually all you're doing is delaying the inevitable, and forcing them to hold on becomes an act of cruelty.
 
But what if a cure is discovered after you have already realsed your patient from suffering?
 
McCoy's thoughts turned to his father. For so long he had blamed himself for not making his father hold on until the cure could be developed. He realized that even if he and his father had had the benefit of hindsight, his father would still have wanted to die. He had already made peace with that decision, had suffered for long enough. So many others had benefitted from the cure. McCoy needed to stop blaming himself for one who hadn't.
 
These were the days of miracle and wonder all right. Spock, too, had died. But thanks to his passing his katra on to McCoy, and the rejuvenating powers of the Genesis planet, Spock had returned to life, and was currently playing a slow melody on his lyre.
 
McCoy was pretty sure that it was a Vulcan song.
 
"Beloved nemesis," McCoy murmured under his breath. The music stopped, and McCoy felt the familiar long fingers comb through his hair; then the warm lips against his own.

The End