A Preference for Rare Pairs

For once, the Enterprise was not the only ship within range of answering the distress call. Thirty hours after the earthquake that took out the entire colony, a small fleet of ships orbited the planet and a small army of rescue and medical personnel scoured every inch of the colony for anyone missed by scanners or unable to be teleported out.

The latest ships brought a fresh wave of emergency responders, and Spock teleported down to monitor the changeover as well as gather the Enterprise’s scattered medical team. Dr. M’Benga, obviously running on adrenaline and stimulants, managed to direct him towards Dr. McCoy’s location before he and Nurse Chapel made their slow way to the makeshift teleport room, leaving Spock to track down the missing CMO.

Spock heard him before he saw him.

“…pretty little horses.”

Rounding a corner brought him to a makeshift nursery, the adults tending to the children looking only slightly more aware than their charges. And in the middle of it sat Dr. McCoy, voice gravelly and raw, singing softly to a child in his arms.

“Way down yonder, down in the meadow, poor little baby crying mama.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow when he caught sight of Spock waiting in the entranceway, the lullaby not losing an ounce of tenderness despite the shift in attention, and Spock felt a new tendril of logic unfold.

Fascinating.