[Closed starter @notacaptainanymore]
This was fucking ridiculous. The crew of the Enterprise was allowed a few weeks of leave planet side before she was scheduled to embark on one hell of a long journey. Five years in space. God. This was going to be hell. Space was a death trap of disease. Five years. In. Space. While everyone else was enjoying the time off, the last few weeks before being stuck on a ship to go off and explore uncharted territory, McCoy had been given an assignment. No holiday for the good doctor so it seemed. Hell, he was happy to set his feet back on Earth after not thinking he'd ever see his home planet again but not if it meant work. His complaint of, “What the hell do you mean I don't get any information ‘till I'm there?” had been received with silence and red tape.
Now he was strapped in on a shuttle, soaring over a white wasteland of snow and ice across the North Atlantic Ocean. McCoy didn't like not knowing. He preferred to have information, not clouded mystery. As a doctor; it was important to know what he was dealing with when it came to a patient if he had hopes to diagnose and treat them properly. This was no different. He hated not knowing where he was going besides a ‘block of ice’.
After a slightly bumpy landing, Bones had a parka shoved in his hands, conveniently matching the snow pants that crinkled annoyingly with his movements. Shivering outside, fur-lined hood pulled as tightly over his head as was possible, McCoy was in a sour mood. “D-dammit man, I'm a doc-doctor not an Eskimo!” He complained through teeth chattering. He was from Georgia. Cold really wasn't his cup of tea. At all. He could picture Jim laughing at him and calling him a marshmallow in his overly puffy coat. It kept him slightly warm and broke the icy wind at least. The doctor’s insulated boots crunched on the carpet of snow as he followed a mixed group of researchers and Starfleet personnel towards what looked like a hunk of metal sticking out of the ice. A ship? “I am also not a mechanic,” he muttered under his breath.
McCoy’s curiosity was getting the best of him as he was harnessed and lowered down into the hull of the ship. It wasn't like any ship he had ever set foot on however, not that he’d voluntarily been on many. It seemed ancient, employing materials that no star ship manufacturer would even think about using at this star date. He didn't continue to follow the men further into the ship, stubbornly standing his ground and tearing back his hood to remain in a thick black hat. “I won't take another step until y’tell me what is goin’ on.”
A man, who introduced himself as Arthur Strukter, was the first to speak up, seemingly in charge of the operation. “You remember your ancient Earth history McCoy?” Now he was getting somewhere, yet he hadn't wanted to be answered with a question. The doctor leaned back on his heels, arms crossing over his puffy chest. “Sure. Any grade schooler should.”
“Well. Think back to the second Great War of the human race.” Wow. That far back. McCoy scratched at his head with gloved fingers and nodded, waiting for him to continue. “The army of the United States had a beyond classified operation. Operation Rebirth that produced the world’s first successful super soldier-”
Back at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco, Bones kept a watchful eye over his patient. The now thawed war hero was set up in a bed, dressed in casual clothing that was meant for Starfleet cadets as his uniform had been torn up. The doctor’s fingers ran across the screen of his PADD eying records from the Second World War of the human race. Fascinating. He had learned about the sleeping man before him and was feeling slightly giddy about the prospect of him being alive after all these years. Not that he’d admit it, much too professional. Or stubborn. Bones was being called Starfleet's proclaimed expert on cryogenics after his success with the 72 augments of Khan’s crew. Hell if he knew what he was doing but clearly he had brought Steve Rogers out of his natural cryo and the soldier’s brain activity seemed unharmed. “Damn you're big,” he muttered to himself, eyeing the effects of the ancient serum produced. Oddly enough, the serum hadn't been brought up to McCoy. He wasn’t stupid though. The doctor had a weird feeling about what exactly Starfleet wanted out of this man. Of course bringing Rogers back to life essentially was a given but McCoy knew there was more in store. Especially with the serum coursing through his veins. Of course the soldier was his patient now and like hell if they were going to try anything without him stepping in.