Return of the Away Team, Rescue Complete?
The message came in from the bridge, and Bones jumped, even though he'd been waiting for it ever since he'd woken up.
Away team, beaming straight to sick bay.Everyone had been notified about the away team's departure while he was unconscious, and they had assembled in sickbay. Now turning to look at them, he took a deep breath and nodded ( Read more... )
Away team, beaming straight to sick bay.Everyone had been notified about the away team's departure while he was unconscious, and they had assembled in sickbay. Now turning to look at them, he took a deep breath and nodded ( Read more... )
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She followed him quickly, taking note of the information the medical scanner was reeling off, positioning herself beside a cart of surgical implements in case McCoy should need one of them. She quickly set to work treating the worst of the burns as McCoy took readings on the plant toxin, clearly focused on working out what it was, searching for some hint that the chemical was like anything they'd seen before.
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He scowled. As of yet it was like nothing he'd ever encountered, but he wasn't discouraged - there was no time for self-doubt, not now. Only two things mattered right now - finding out what this anomaly was, and getting rid of it. Nice and clinical, nice and easy. Must have seen something like it before. He set about dogging it's tracks determinedly, stabilising the erratic neurocortal activity whenever necessary, but the tricky bastard still managed to keep one step ahead of him. Never mind. Early days yet, and he'd be damned if a plant toxin was going to beat him.
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She turned to the assisting nurse. "Reynolds - we need some sterile cloths over here. Hurry."
As the nurse hurried off, Christine turned back to George. What else had the other McCoy mentioned - crushed thorax. Damn. She leaned over and gently prodded at his chest, trying to determine the extent of the damage.
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A long second later and Bones realized what she was saying- Jim was marked, looked like tattoos all over his face and neck. "See how far it goes and get them clean," he told her, keeping the horror out of his voice, but not out of his eyes at he glanced over at Tina. "We'll get to those later."
His main concerns were internal damage, that chest wound, and saving Jim's left hand.
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"Try not to exacerbate these lacerations," she murmured to Rien, the nurse assisting. "But get them as clean as you can - could be some toxins involved."
And then she focused on her own work, wielding a specialized dermal regenerator on the phaser burn. The tissues began to knit together, but slowly.
"Set up a rehydration drip, Rien," Tina said. The burns and whatever else had been done to him had left him too dehydrated to heal, even with medical assistance.
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Sam opened his eyes, but the world was a blur of blobs. Some of them moved, they had to be people. He tried to watch them, but he could not focus on and follow any of them. The lights and movement were too much, and he closed his eyes again.
At some point between the last moment Sam remembered and whenever it was he reawakened, he'd lost control of his arms and legs. He could still wiggle his fingers, Sam found, but any greater movements were beyond his control.
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She carefully turned his arm to examine it. There was a large puncture wound - the area around it was swollen and looked to be a bruise forming. There was a tiny trickle of blood dripping down the side.
Taking a deep breath, Meira pulled out her tricorder and ran it along his arm. Toxin levels were high - whatever had hit him, it had been tainted with... something. She frowned. It looked like a sedative, but not one she had seen before.
She connected the tricorder to a larger terminal, to dig deeper in case it was a rarely-documented kind, hopefully buried within the database.
In the meanwhile, she cleaned her hands and put on a fresh pair of gloves. Taking a moist cloth, she dabbed at the wound, cleaning off the blood. She then washed it off again, this time with an antiseptic - there wasn't any signs of bacterial or viral infection setting in, but it was still a likely occurrence. As she finished wrapping the wound in gauze, the tricorder beeped.
( ... )
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Sam's eyes snapped open. Things were clear enough now that he could tell he was in sickbay on the Enterprise. It was calmer now, but it might have just seemed so because he was able to track movement again.
There was a dull ache from his shoulder. Slowly he remembered he had been wounded there, and raised his other hand to touch the bandage. Pressing on it wasn't too painful, but it was still extremely tender.
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He insisted, his body tried to obey, tried to rise off the bed, escape.
It isn't even his mate's name in his mind anymore, it is a frantic sense of paintrappedinjuredmustescapeescapeescape.
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He kicked out, sent the stranger flying. He slide off the bed and slumped to the floor, biting back the pain that exploded across his eyes. He ruthlessly managed his internal systems but the damage was too great to control himself.
He needed his mate. He needed to escape.
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The stir around him was a shock after the quiet hum of the Narada, barely seeing the nurses around him as he instinctively scanned sickbay for the others. Sam, George, the other Spock, all being treated. Jim--
Jim.
The link was still active, of course, and it meant that they were still connected, in a more immediate way than they had ever experienced before. The younger man was still out, but Jim felt a rush of relief that he was here, alive, that they'd succeeded. No thanks to him. What had he done but endanger Pike's Spock, and his own? There was a faint buzz to his skin, still, pain unrelated to his own minor injury connecting the two men because Jim didn't know how to turn it off. And his own shields, untrained and instinctive, could not withstand the strain of over a day of this constant drain on his resources ( ... )
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He could hardly help it. But it was more than an awareness--it was a searing pain, in his skin, his elbow, his hand, mirroring Kirk's injuries without any external sign of them. He cried out as the pain, the terror, flooded his mind, his vitals spiking. It was not nearly as bad as Kirk himself--it was still the echo of Kirk's condition, filtered through the link and what remained of Jim's natural defenses. But he was not Vulcan. He was not Pike. He was not trained to this. And for a moment, he could not even place what was happening or why.
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"Jim," she said. "Goddamnit, what did you do?"
She held him down with her elbows and her own body, cupped his face between her hands. "Breathe, be calm. It's not you. Jim, it's not you."
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