Yet another intercom jingle sounded, and the nurses, anticipating the Head Doctor's orders, already began grouping around the patients as he began to speak
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It looked like he'd arrived before the commander for once. Their meals were already lying out on the desks, steam still rising off the noodles and the scent of that sauce heavy in the air. McCoy felt his stomach give a rumble. He couldn't pretend otherwise: it certainly smelled appealing. The other meals hadn't tasted half-bad either. Their (possibly alien) captors knew how to cook better than the replicators on the ship and better than most humans. It was almost worrying.
As soon as the door closed, McCoy changed into the medical scrubs and then sat down at the desk. He got out the notebook and pen, and quickly busied himself catching up on the personal logs. There was a good deal to get down, even a few thoughts on ZEX's state. None lead to anything suddenly 'eye opening about this facility's nature, no suddenly brilliant flashes of insight, but it was better than nothing.
The pen scratched line by line as he put his thoughts down. Granted they weren't the most professional or regulation-adhering in a number of places, but Spock was free to contest it if he ever got back. Putting his own touch on the log helped him focus.
Hayes was a little numb when he was escorted away from the Admiral. So Captain Zelnick had been here? And now he... wasn't. It was hard to process.
It wasn't that he'd been certain the Captain would never, ever die. You couldn't afford to ignore possibilities like that, in a war. But he'd never thought of it like this, trapped and hunted. That simply wasn't the way it was supposed to go.
Hayes reclined on his bed, eyes half-shut, trying to school his thoughts; he could have talked to his cellmate, but no words came to mind. He could have done something with his own notebook, but he was sure the same problem would be even worse for that. He could have had some dinner, but for the first time in years, Hayes found he had no appetite.
Hayes seemed content to let the silence in the air, and McCoy was equally content not to press his luck just yet. He didn't know the man well enough to know his moods. Especially after he had a hand in turning it south in the first place.
He continued writing the logs, lingering on the entry about the rec field. There shouldn't be that much to write. He hadn't directly played a part in Chekov's "incident". Yet McCoy's mind kept coming back to the same event full circle and he didn't like what he was seeing. The ensign probably didn't do anything to merit it... unless regaling anyone who'd listen about Russia having a hand in just about every invention on Earth could be considered bothersome.
All the same, McCoy just couldn't see the ensign provoking anyone. And yet that other patient had been clearly very hostile towards him. If Spock hadn't stepped in, they might've even had a Chekov-sized smear pasted on the nearest wall.
It left motive. He didn't think Chekov had done anything to warrant a retaliation. This might be a one-time incident: maybe Chekov had (accidentally) committed a social blunder to whatever that other man's home culture was. Accidents happened. He might be worrying over nothing. Maybe Mr. Spock could clear some things up.
He was moving on to the next entry when he finally glanced over at Hayes. He was reclining on his bed, eyes half-lidded. He wasn't even touching his meal, and considering the appetite he'd displayed earlier, he supposed that just might be something out of the ordinary. Something was bothering him. McCoy wasn't usually one to let things lie.
"You have the look of a troubled man, Commander," McCoy said cautiously.
Even if he did get back to his Starbase, what would he find? They'd been turning out a lot of ships and certainly had the ability to collect resources now, they wouldn't need to worry about not being able to run the synthesizers... but how much good would that really do them, when the Ur-Quan eventually dealt with whatever had them so distracted? Pretending they'd been keeping the Oath of Fealty all this time would be out of the question even if he thought for a moment it would be believed. No one-
"Huh?" Hayes, of course, had completely forgotten about anything McCoy might have said earlier. In fact, for a moment he'd almost forgotten the other man existed, hence his surprise at being addressed, but he rallied quickly. "Oh. Yes. I've just had some... unpleasant news about someone from my universe."
As soon as the door closed, McCoy changed into the medical scrubs and then sat down at the desk. He got out the notebook and pen, and quickly busied himself catching up on the personal logs. There was a good deal to get down, even a few thoughts on ZEX's state. None lead to anything suddenly 'eye opening about this facility's nature, no suddenly brilliant flashes of insight, but it was better than nothing.
The pen scratched line by line as he put his thoughts down. Granted they weren't the most professional or regulation-adhering in a number of places, but Spock was free to contest it if he ever got back. Putting his own touch on the log helped him focus.
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It wasn't that he'd been certain the Captain would never, ever die. You couldn't afford to ignore possibilities like that, in a war. But he'd never thought of it like this, trapped and hunted. That simply wasn't the way it was supposed to go.
Hayes reclined on his bed, eyes half-shut, trying to school his thoughts; he could have talked to his cellmate, but no words came to mind. He could have done something with his own notebook, but he was sure the same problem would be even worse for that. He could have had some dinner, but for the first time in years, Hayes found he had no appetite.
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He continued writing the logs, lingering on the entry about the rec field. There shouldn't be that much to write. He hadn't directly played a part in Chekov's "incident". Yet McCoy's mind kept coming back to the same event full circle and he didn't like what he was seeing. The ensign probably didn't do anything to merit it... unless regaling anyone who'd listen about Russia having a hand in just about every invention on Earth could be considered bothersome.
All the same, McCoy just couldn't see the ensign provoking anyone. And yet that other patient had been clearly very hostile towards him. If Spock hadn't stepped in, they might've even had a Chekov-sized smear pasted on the nearest wall.
It left motive. He didn't think Chekov had done anything to warrant a retaliation. This might be a one-time incident: maybe Chekov had (accidentally) committed a social blunder to whatever that other man's home culture was. Accidents happened. He might be worrying over nothing. Maybe Mr. Spock could clear some things up.
He was moving on to the next entry when he finally glanced over at Hayes. He was reclining on his bed, eyes half-lidded. He wasn't even touching his meal, and considering the appetite he'd displayed earlier, he supposed that just might be something out of the ordinary. Something was bothering him. McCoy wasn't usually one to let things lie.
"You have the look of a troubled man, Commander," McCoy said cautiously.
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"Huh?" Hayes, of course, had completely forgotten about anything McCoy might have said earlier. In fact, for a moment he'd almost forgotten the other man existed, hence his surprise at being addressed, but he rallied quickly. "Oh. Yes. I've just had some... unpleasant news about someone from my universe."
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