Fic: Observer Effect (7/?)
Title: Observer Effect
Author: laughter_now
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, with a smidgeon of Sulu/Chekov thrown in if you stand on your toes and squint
Disclaimer: I keep wishing for them, but I still don't own anything.
Summary: There's something down on that planet. Something no human ever encountered before. The Observers have watched many species fight it. And there is only one common thread to all those encounters - someone always dies.
Answer to this prompt at the buckleup_meme .
Incidentally, this will also fill the prompt "experiments by evil scientists" on my hurt/comfort bingo card.
Sorry that it took me so long to get this one out. But I've had to share a room for the past week, and apparently writing requires solitude. All should be better over the course of the next week, as far as classes allow. Now all that's left to say is enjoy, and...well, trust me, okay? Thanks. :D
Previous Chapter
Chapter 6
"He's not breathing," Jim repeated, even as M'Benga was already rolling a tray of equipment up beside the scanner bed. But all Jim could think about, all he could see, was the fact that Chekov was lying there on the bioscanner bed, pale as a wraith, and not breathing.
"Step aside, Captain."
Jim did, automatically, because this at least he knew, even if it made him feel horribly helpless. But it wasn't the first time that he stood by and watched someone else save a life, and if his job right now was to stand on the sideline, then at least he knew how to do that. Surely the odds had to be in M'Benga's favor. They had saved more crewmembers than they had lost so far on their journey, most of them here in this very room, and Jim refused to allow Chekov to end up on the wrong side of that equation.
M'Benga quickly scanned Chekov once more, then he pulled out a small case and put it atop of the instrument tray. Jim's eyes were still focused on Chekov, but when he heard the doctor curse through his intercom, he turned his head - just in time to see M'Benga trying to undo the seals on the gloves of his EV-suit. Before he even knew what he was doing, Jim crossed the distance between them and slapped the doctor's hand away.
"What the hell are you doing?"
M'Benga just looked at Jim, very calmly, as he tried to pull his arms out of the Captain's grip. Jim knew that they had no time for this, that Chekov had no time for this, but he wasn't going to let M'Benga risk infection without at least a damn word of explanation. They already had one doctor out of commission.
"This equipment wasn't designed to be handled in EV-gloves." M'Benga pointed at the case lying on the tray in front of him. The lid was flipped open, but inside something small and metallic was resting in a Styrofoam indentation. He immediately saw that M'Benga was right. With those clumsy gloves, there was no way M'Benga would even get the devices out of the case, let alone use them.
The decision was as quick as it was clear. They were one doctor down already, and they couldn't afford to lose another right in the middle of a serious medical crisis.
Jim reached for the seal of his own gloves.
"Guide me through it."
This time it was M'Benga who stopped Jim from breaking the seal on his suit with a bruising grip to his wrist.
"Captain, you can't do that."
"Spock can take over command for me, Doc. But right now, this ship and her crew need a doctor a whole lot more than they need me."
M'Benga looked straight at Jim for a second, as if judging whether or not he was serious. But there was a flicker in his eyes because he, too, knew that they were almost out of time already. After only another second of hesitation, he released his grip on Jim's wrist and Jim lost no time undoing the airtight seal on first his right glove, then his left.
There would be repercussions. Of course there would be. As infectious as this virus was, Jim had no doubt about his own chances of getting out of this unscathed, but he'd have plenty of time to think about that later. It had been the right choice. And right now, Chekov needed his complete focus.
He took the helmet off, as well, and tossed it to the side, trying to ignore the fact that every breath of air he took was poisoned, and that by now the silicone virus was already making its way into his bloodstream, infecting everything it came across along its path.
Later.
"Take the electrodes and place them on his chest," M'Benga instructed as he unceremoniously tore the unconscious ensign's shirt apart to reveal his chest. "About twenty centimeters apart."
Jim took the two electrodes out of the case, unwrapped them from their packaging and placed them in the two spots M'Benga indicated. The doctor indicated the medication storage along the wall.
"We're going to need 40 units of Trinephedrine. It'll have to be injected directly into his heart."
Jim's stomach did a little plunge at those words, but his feet were already moving without any involvement from his brain at all. It seemed that his body knew that they didn't have a second to spare, because every second they wasted was another second that Chekov wasn't breathing.
He stopped in front of the shelf and reached for the emergency hypospray kit that was marked Trinephedrine. He was already reaching for it when M'Benga called out to him.
"No, not that one, that's not going deep enough. The kit below it."
Jim didn't think, he simply grabbed the right box and carried it over towards the instrument tray. It was only when he put it down and opened it that he realized what M'Benga had meant by not deep enough. Inside the case, wrapped in transparent sterile wrapping, was something that looked a little like a hypospray cylinder, with a needle attached on one end. A very big, very long needle.
"Doc?"
"No hypospray is going to get the medication right where the ensign needs it, Captain. It might look old-fashioned to you, but it works."
Jim unwrapped the injector and stepped up beside the biobed.
"What do I do?"
"Place the needle beneath his sternum," M'Benga instructed calmly, even though they were running out of time, and he had to know that, but still remained so damn calm in the face of that. "Flatten the angle a little."
Jim did, distantly wondering how it was possible that his hands weren't shaking too bad for him to hold the injector.
"Now push the needle in. One quick motion, about three centimeters."
Jim didn't give himself time to think because once he started, he was only going to hesitate. His hand moved and for a short moment he felt the resistance of Chekov's skin and muscle, and he felt his own skin crawl at the thought of what he was doing here, then the needle slid in. Jim judged the three centimeters, hoping and praying that he didn't go in too far, or not far enough.
"Push the release, and step back from the bed."
Jim depressed the small button on the side of the device, emptying the medication directly into Chekov's heart. Removing the needle was a lot less bad than inserting it had been, and as soon as the tip had cleared Chekov's skin Jim tossed it to the side and took a small step back. Bile was rising in his throat at the thought that he had just stuck a giant needle into his navigator's heart, and Jim gripped the edge of the nearest instrument table tightly enough so that the cold metal bit into his palm.
It didn't even look too bad. Just a small red dot in the middle of Chekov's pale chest. Just like a bug bite, not the mark left by a needle directly to the heart.
"Step back, Captain," M'Benga repeated, then pressed a button on the console he had been programming and suddenly Chekov's body jerked on the scanner bed, once, twice, three times. The movement nearly shook off the remains of his uniform shirt, but as M'Benga stopped the shocks his body sank back down, just as limp and lifeless as it had been before.
Jim was biting his lip, and his fingers were digging so hard into his palms, his nails were leaving marks.
"Come on, Chekov."
"300 millijoules," M'Benga announced. "Step back."
Again, Chekov started to jerk as the electric shocks ran through his system. It were more shocks, and they lasted longer this time, but the end result was the same. Chekov sank back down like a toy with the batteries removed.
"Captain…"
"Again!" Jim demanded, cutting the doctor off before he had a chance to finish that sentence. There was that tone in M'Benga's voice, the one that said it was hopeless to keep on trying. It was the tone of voice that Jim wasn't going to allow in this room. He was not going to give Chekov up. No way.
"340 millijoules."
Chekov jerked, a cruel mimicry of someone shooting half-upright after a nightmare. Only that Chekov didn't stay like that, but flopped around a little before he sank down again, muscles loose, until he came to rest on the bioscanner bed just as prone as he had been before.
Jim's heart was beating a frantic, almost desperate pace in his chest, and when he finally dared to look up at M'Benga, the doctor's dark eyes were regarding him with a pained gaze, yet his whole expression was determined and final.
"I'm sorry, Captain."
Jim was shaking his head, an almost automatic movement from one side to the other, as if he could somehow shake off the reality of what had just happened. Chekov wasn't…he couldn't be. As simple as that. He wasn't dead, and this was all a giant misunderstanding, and any moment now someone, maybe Spock, or maybe M'Benga himself, would come up with an explanation and an ingenious last-minute cure for this.
Any moment now.
Chekov couldn't be dead. It just couldn't be.
Any moment now things were going to resolve themselves.
"Captain, I need your help. We need to get Leonard into the scanning chamber."
It was a blow of reality that felt like a fist to his gut, one that knocked the air out of him and rendered him unable to breathe, but somehow Jim was moving as soon as M'Benga had spoken those words. He didn't know how he did it, where he took the strength from when he was screaming inside, screaming at the unfairness and the sheer impossibility of it all. But for now his body seemed removed from his stunned grief, and Jim found himself moving alongside M'Benga, lifting Chekov's limp form off the bioscanner bed and carrying him over towards the nearest biobed.
They needed to hurry. They needed to get Bones into the scanning chamber to give him the radiation treatment so that he didn't suffer the same fate as Chekov, but still Jim couldn't yet comprehend it, couldn't grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. Worse, and possibly one more point in his long list of personal failures, he couldn't stand to look at it.
He couldn't look at it, and Chekov had earned better than to lie here like that, dead and exposed, for all the ship to see on the video links that were undoubtedly open on the Bridge, and probably other parts of the ship as well.
There was a storage unit with sheets just behind the biobed, and Jim with drew one, unfolded it and draped it over the young navigator's body. He hesitated for a second with the sheet above Chekov's face, unwilling to admit the finality that was the act of covering him entirely, but once more he had to push his own feelings on the matter away.
Later.
There'd be time to think about this later, time to grieve and berate himself for what he had and hadn't and maybe could have done. For now, while there was still a chance, Jim had to help M'Benga to make sure that Bones was still going to be there when later rolled around. Without him, Jim didn't know how he'd ever be able to pick up the pieces.
Jim gently pulled the sheet over Chekov's face, then he spun around to help M'Benga lift Bones over onto the bioscanner bed. Once he had been placed, M'Benga typed a sequence into the controls, and Jim watched with bated breath as the bed slid into the scanner chamber and the access panel slid close behind him, shielding Bones from view as the radiation sequence was initiated.
Jim felt most of his strength fade as the adrenaline ebbed away all at once, and he only realized that he was swaying where he stood when M'Benga took a firm grip on his arm and steadied him. The doctor didn't say anything, but even without words Jim understood that the odds were against them on this one, and that it would be a miracle in itself if this worked and Bones came out of that chamber healthy, and free of the virus.
Jim found himself praying silently, to whoever might be listening, to grant him one more miracle in his life.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
On the Bridge, everyone was watching the video feed from Medical with bated breath. Even Spock, who was seated behind his science station and not on the Captain's chair, hadn't taken his eyes off the screen, and thus he missed the glances the other officers had exchanged as they watched the progress of the Captain and doctor M'Benga as they transported Chekov and McCoy to Medical. But even without his sharp Vulcan hearing, he couldn't have missed the gasps as the crew watched how their Captain overrode M'Benga's decision to break quarantine on his suit and took the Doctor's place instead.
The general reaction to this event on the Bridge was surprise, concern, maybe shock and, in Uhura's case, a visible confusion.
"I don't understand," she said in a low voice as Kirk took off his helmet. The precaution was unnecessary, though, because everyone else was so focused on the proceedings in Medical that they wouldn't have paid her much notice even if she had shouted the words. "This has never happened before."
Sulu, who was still watching the feed over her shoulder, turned to look at her.
"In all those centuries, nobody has ever done that before?"
Uhura shook her head. "No. Not once they knew it was hopeless."
They kept watching with a strange fascination how the Captain and the Doctor fought for the Navigator's life, how the Captain kept demanding that the resuscitation attempts were kept up long beyond the point where it was obvious that he was already dead. And they watched and saw all the strength sag out of Kirk's body as the other doctor was eventually wheeled into the scanning chamber to receive the radiation treatment. It was then that Sulu could no longer hold the silence between them.
"How many more have to die until you are willing to admit that humans are different? We have to stop this."
Uhura looked around sharply to see if anybody was watching them, but everybody else was too focused on what was going on in Medical to pay them any mind. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice to a whisper that was too low even for the Vulcan to hear on the other side of the Bridge.
"The incident isn't over. I will not depart from protocol. When the first death occurs, there's a sixteen percent chance that the rest of the crew will become infected."
"What more would that teach us about them?"
Uhura shook her head. "You are forgetting that all this would have happened whether we were here or not. We are not responsible for this."
Sulu was silent for a long moment, deliberating that statement. Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned away from her, his final words a murmur that was barely loud enough to reach her ears.
"Maybe we should be."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bones wasn't in the scanner chamber for long. Maybe a minute, two at the most. But it felt like an eternity to Jim as he stood outside and waited for the program to run its course.
He didn't know what he expected to see once they pulled Bones out of the chamber, either. Bones sitting up, grumbling and complaining up a storm that it had taken them so long to figure out a cure, Bones awake and looking at him, or just any sign that this treatment had had some sort of effect. Jim didn't know. It seemed like he no longer knew anything.
But when they pulled Bones out of that chamber and he looked just the same as he had going in, pale and covered in sweat, his cheeks flushed from fever, and his body radiating heat against Jim's hands where he placed them on Bones' shoulders, Jim knew. He knew it before M'Benga even looked up at the screen to check the latest scan results.
"I'm sorry, Captain."
Jim's hands tightened reflexively around Bones' shoulders, but not even the hard grip evoked any kind of response.
He didn't want to hear it. If he just didn't listen, he wouldn't have to acknowledge that this was happening.
Bones wasn't dying.
"It's not your fault, Doc," Jim rasped out in a voice that wasn't his own.
And it wasn't M'Benga's fault. It was nobody's fault but Jim's, because eventually it was always his fault when the people he cared for, the people he loved, came to harm. One way or another, no matter how distant and seemingly insignificant the correlation, it always was his fault.
M'Benga kept talking, even though Jim's eyes were still locked to Bones' pale and unmoving face.
"There's…there's nothing more I can do for Leonard, Captain. But you still have a few hours left. Commander Spock and I will keep working on this. We still have some time."
Jim nodded, even though he couldn't care less about whether or not M'Benga and Spock even bothered to find a cure. They hadn't managed to save Chekov and Bones, and right now it didn't feel as if his own life was worth saving when they hadn't been able to save them.
Besides, even though M'Benga was trying, he wasn't a very good liar. Jim knew that other than the radiation treatment, he and Spock hadn't come up with another way to cure this virus. Still, working on it would keep the crew occupied, would give them time to prepare for the inevitable. And it would give Jim some time alone with Bones, and with Chekov, and the way he had failed them both.
He forced himself to look up at M'Benga.
"You should be working from the Bridge, or the Science labs. Less chance of exposure than here."
M'Benga nodded. "We'll keep looking, Captain."
Jim forced himself to smile. "I'll be right here."
M'Benga looked as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end he merely gave another nod and turned towards the door. Jim waited until he heard the hiss of the door sliding close again, then he sagged a little against the bed that held Bones, his eyes focused on his friend's pale face as he breathed deeply a couple of times to get his voice back under control.
"Kirk to Spock."
He didn't doubt for one second that the comm lines from Medical towards the Bridge were still wide open, and he wasn't disappointed when Spock answered immediately.
"Spock here."
"I take it you've seen what happened."
"I have," Spock merely replied, and just this once, Jim would have wished for some sort of reaction, for any trace of an emotional response. Just this once, Jim would have been reassured to know that he wasn't the only one who felt suffocated by what had just happened, and what was yet to come. But even after all these years, Spock still couldn't get out of his skin, couldn't give Jim the response he was hoping for.
"Then you know that you are now officially in command."
"I am aware, Captain."
"Jim," Jim corrected almost automatically. There'd be no medical miracle for him, and there was no time like the present for Spock to get used to the fact that it was his title now.
"Jim," Spock acquiesced. "I will resume my research with Doctor M'Benga promptly."
Jim only nodded, even though he knew that Spock had to be aware how hopeless this endeavor was.
"You do that. Let me know if you find anything. Just do me one favor, Spock."
"What would that be?"
Jim drew a breath and looked up at the nearest monitor, where Spock's face was calmly looking back at him.
"Cut the video feed."
For what was about to come next, Jim really didn't want or need an audience, and this time, the Vulcan seemed to understand. Spock nodded solemnly.
"Of course. I will contact you again to update you on our findings."
"You do that. Kirk out."
Spock nodded once more, then the video screen went blank and Jim sagged against the side of the scanner bed with a deep sigh.
"God, Bones." One hand unclenched from the bed's hard edge to seek out Bones' warmth, only to find unnatural heat as it settled against his chest. "Don't do that to me."
Because that was what it eventually boiled down to, wasn't it? His own selfish needs, his own unwillingness to let go. But it wasn't Bones' time yet, either, and it seemed so wrong to let him go now, long before he was old and grey and had lived a lifetime of grumping and griping about everyone and everything in the entire universe. It wasn't Bones' time to go.
Only that it was, and the chest underneath Jim's hand was struggling to lift with every slow, labored breath he took. Jim felt himself drifting, clawing at every available straw as his world crumbled around him, but there was no escaping it. Every time Bones drew a week breath it was a relief, a fragment of a second of hope flaring up, only to be replaced by the gut-churning fear that this had been the last one, that there'd be no more to follow.
Every time Bones' chest rose underneath Jim's hand, he had to choke down a small sob of relief, and every second in between those breaths turned something inside of him to ice. He wanted to shake Bones, wanted to yell at him and demand or order him not to go, but he couldn't move, could only stand there and keep his hand pressed against Bones' chest, waiting for the slow rise of the next breath, and the terrifying moments between the exhale and the next breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Unconsciously, Jim's own breathing matched itself to Bones', as if he could somehow breathe for his friend, breathe for both of them until Spock and M'Benga had figured out a cure.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Bones' breaths were getting more labored, more infrequent, and the pauses in between grew longer. Jim was biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, but he was completely and utterly helpless against this.
And when finally Bones' chest lowered with one last, deep exhale and didn't rise again, there was nothing Jim could do but stand there and let him slip away.
TBC...
Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.
Please don't repost any part of this entry, or your comments to it, on Facebook or Twitter. Thanks a lot.
Author: laughter_now
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, with a smidgeon of Sulu/Chekov thrown in if you stand on your toes and squint
Disclaimer: I keep wishing for them, but I still don't own anything.
Summary: There's something down on that planet. Something no human ever encountered before. The Observers have watched many species fight it. And there is only one common thread to all those encounters - someone always dies.
Answer to this prompt at the buckleup_meme .
Incidentally, this will also fill the prompt "experiments by evil scientists" on my hurt/comfort bingo card.
Sorry that it took me so long to get this one out. But I've had to share a room for the past week, and apparently writing requires solitude. All should be better over the course of the next week, as far as classes allow. Now all that's left to say is enjoy, and...well, trust me, okay? Thanks. :D
Previous Chapter
Chapter 6
"He's not breathing," Jim repeated, even as M'Benga was already rolling a tray of equipment up beside the scanner bed. But all Jim could think about, all he could see, was the fact that Chekov was lying there on the bioscanner bed, pale as a wraith, and not breathing.
"Step aside, Captain."
Jim did, automatically, because this at least he knew, even if it made him feel horribly helpless. But it wasn't the first time that he stood by and watched someone else save a life, and if his job right now was to stand on the sideline, then at least he knew how to do that. Surely the odds had to be in M'Benga's favor. They had saved more crewmembers than they had lost so far on their journey, most of them here in this very room, and Jim refused to allow Chekov to end up on the wrong side of that equation.
M'Benga quickly scanned Chekov once more, then he pulled out a small case and put it atop of the instrument tray. Jim's eyes were still focused on Chekov, but when he heard the doctor curse through his intercom, he turned his head - just in time to see M'Benga trying to undo the seals on the gloves of his EV-suit. Before he even knew what he was doing, Jim crossed the distance between them and slapped the doctor's hand away.
"What the hell are you doing?"
M'Benga just looked at Jim, very calmly, as he tried to pull his arms out of the Captain's grip. Jim knew that they had no time for this, that Chekov had no time for this, but he wasn't going to let M'Benga risk infection without at least a damn word of explanation. They already had one doctor out of commission.
"This equipment wasn't designed to be handled in EV-gloves." M'Benga pointed at the case lying on the tray in front of him. The lid was flipped open, but inside something small and metallic was resting in a Styrofoam indentation. He immediately saw that M'Benga was right. With those clumsy gloves, there was no way M'Benga would even get the devices out of the case, let alone use them.
The decision was as quick as it was clear. They were one doctor down already, and they couldn't afford to lose another right in the middle of a serious medical crisis.
Jim reached for the seal of his own gloves.
"Guide me through it."
This time it was M'Benga who stopped Jim from breaking the seal on his suit with a bruising grip to his wrist.
"Captain, you can't do that."
"Spock can take over command for me, Doc. But right now, this ship and her crew need a doctor a whole lot more than they need me."
M'Benga looked straight at Jim for a second, as if judging whether or not he was serious. But there was a flicker in his eyes because he, too, knew that they were almost out of time already. After only another second of hesitation, he released his grip on Jim's wrist and Jim lost no time undoing the airtight seal on first his right glove, then his left.
There would be repercussions. Of course there would be. As infectious as this virus was, Jim had no doubt about his own chances of getting out of this unscathed, but he'd have plenty of time to think about that later. It had been the right choice. And right now, Chekov needed his complete focus.
He took the helmet off, as well, and tossed it to the side, trying to ignore the fact that every breath of air he took was poisoned, and that by now the silicone virus was already making its way into his bloodstream, infecting everything it came across along its path.
Later.
"Take the electrodes and place them on his chest," M'Benga instructed as he unceremoniously tore the unconscious ensign's shirt apart to reveal his chest. "About twenty centimeters apart."
Jim took the two electrodes out of the case, unwrapped them from their packaging and placed them in the two spots M'Benga indicated. The doctor indicated the medication storage along the wall.
"We're going to need 40 units of Trinephedrine. It'll have to be injected directly into his heart."
Jim's stomach did a little plunge at those words, but his feet were already moving without any involvement from his brain at all. It seemed that his body knew that they didn't have a second to spare, because every second they wasted was another second that Chekov wasn't breathing.
He stopped in front of the shelf and reached for the emergency hypospray kit that was marked Trinephedrine. He was already reaching for it when M'Benga called out to him.
"No, not that one, that's not going deep enough. The kit below it."
Jim didn't think, he simply grabbed the right box and carried it over towards the instrument tray. It was only when he put it down and opened it that he realized what M'Benga had meant by not deep enough. Inside the case, wrapped in transparent sterile wrapping, was something that looked a little like a hypospray cylinder, with a needle attached on one end. A very big, very long needle.
"Doc?"
"No hypospray is going to get the medication right where the ensign needs it, Captain. It might look old-fashioned to you, but it works."
Jim unwrapped the injector and stepped up beside the biobed.
"What do I do?"
"Place the needle beneath his sternum," M'Benga instructed calmly, even though they were running out of time, and he had to know that, but still remained so damn calm in the face of that. "Flatten the angle a little."
Jim did, distantly wondering how it was possible that his hands weren't shaking too bad for him to hold the injector.
"Now push the needle in. One quick motion, about three centimeters."
Jim didn't give himself time to think because once he started, he was only going to hesitate. His hand moved and for a short moment he felt the resistance of Chekov's skin and muscle, and he felt his own skin crawl at the thought of what he was doing here, then the needle slid in. Jim judged the three centimeters, hoping and praying that he didn't go in too far, or not far enough.
"Push the release, and step back from the bed."
Jim depressed the small button on the side of the device, emptying the medication directly into Chekov's heart. Removing the needle was a lot less bad than inserting it had been, and as soon as the tip had cleared Chekov's skin Jim tossed it to the side and took a small step back. Bile was rising in his throat at the thought that he had just stuck a giant needle into his navigator's heart, and Jim gripped the edge of the nearest instrument table tightly enough so that the cold metal bit into his palm.
It didn't even look too bad. Just a small red dot in the middle of Chekov's pale chest. Just like a bug bite, not the mark left by a needle directly to the heart.
"Step back, Captain," M'Benga repeated, then pressed a button on the console he had been programming and suddenly Chekov's body jerked on the scanner bed, once, twice, three times. The movement nearly shook off the remains of his uniform shirt, but as M'Benga stopped the shocks his body sank back down, just as limp and lifeless as it had been before.
Jim was biting his lip, and his fingers were digging so hard into his palms, his nails were leaving marks.
"Come on, Chekov."
"300 millijoules," M'Benga announced. "Step back."
Again, Chekov started to jerk as the electric shocks ran through his system. It were more shocks, and they lasted longer this time, but the end result was the same. Chekov sank back down like a toy with the batteries removed.
"Captain…"
"Again!" Jim demanded, cutting the doctor off before he had a chance to finish that sentence. There was that tone in M'Benga's voice, the one that said it was hopeless to keep on trying. It was the tone of voice that Jim wasn't going to allow in this room. He was not going to give Chekov up. No way.
"340 millijoules."
Chekov jerked, a cruel mimicry of someone shooting half-upright after a nightmare. Only that Chekov didn't stay like that, but flopped around a little before he sank down again, muscles loose, until he came to rest on the bioscanner bed just as prone as he had been before.
Jim's heart was beating a frantic, almost desperate pace in his chest, and when he finally dared to look up at M'Benga, the doctor's dark eyes were regarding him with a pained gaze, yet his whole expression was determined and final.
"I'm sorry, Captain."
Jim was shaking his head, an almost automatic movement from one side to the other, as if he could somehow shake off the reality of what had just happened. Chekov wasn't…he couldn't be. As simple as that. He wasn't dead, and this was all a giant misunderstanding, and any moment now someone, maybe Spock, or maybe M'Benga himself, would come up with an explanation and an ingenious last-minute cure for this.
Any moment now.
Chekov couldn't be dead. It just couldn't be.
Any moment now things were going to resolve themselves.
"Captain, I need your help. We need to get Leonard into the scanning chamber."
It was a blow of reality that felt like a fist to his gut, one that knocked the air out of him and rendered him unable to breathe, but somehow Jim was moving as soon as M'Benga had spoken those words. He didn't know how he did it, where he took the strength from when he was screaming inside, screaming at the unfairness and the sheer impossibility of it all. But for now his body seemed removed from his stunned grief, and Jim found himself moving alongside M'Benga, lifting Chekov's limp form off the bioscanner bed and carrying him over towards the nearest biobed.
They needed to hurry. They needed to get Bones into the scanning chamber to give him the radiation treatment so that he didn't suffer the same fate as Chekov, but still Jim couldn't yet comprehend it, couldn't grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. Worse, and possibly one more point in his long list of personal failures, he couldn't stand to look at it.
He couldn't look at it, and Chekov had earned better than to lie here like that, dead and exposed, for all the ship to see on the video links that were undoubtedly open on the Bridge, and probably other parts of the ship as well.
There was a storage unit with sheets just behind the biobed, and Jim with drew one, unfolded it and draped it over the young navigator's body. He hesitated for a second with the sheet above Chekov's face, unwilling to admit the finality that was the act of covering him entirely, but once more he had to push his own feelings on the matter away.
Later.
There'd be time to think about this later, time to grieve and berate himself for what he had and hadn't and maybe could have done. For now, while there was still a chance, Jim had to help M'Benga to make sure that Bones was still going to be there when later rolled around. Without him, Jim didn't know how he'd ever be able to pick up the pieces.
Jim gently pulled the sheet over Chekov's face, then he spun around to help M'Benga lift Bones over onto the bioscanner bed. Once he had been placed, M'Benga typed a sequence into the controls, and Jim watched with bated breath as the bed slid into the scanner chamber and the access panel slid close behind him, shielding Bones from view as the radiation sequence was initiated.
Jim felt most of his strength fade as the adrenaline ebbed away all at once, and he only realized that he was swaying where he stood when M'Benga took a firm grip on his arm and steadied him. The doctor didn't say anything, but even without words Jim understood that the odds were against them on this one, and that it would be a miracle in itself if this worked and Bones came out of that chamber healthy, and free of the virus.
Jim found himself praying silently, to whoever might be listening, to grant him one more miracle in his life.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
On the Bridge, everyone was watching the video feed from Medical with bated breath. Even Spock, who was seated behind his science station and not on the Captain's chair, hadn't taken his eyes off the screen, and thus he missed the glances the other officers had exchanged as they watched the progress of the Captain and doctor M'Benga as they transported Chekov and McCoy to Medical. But even without his sharp Vulcan hearing, he couldn't have missed the gasps as the crew watched how their Captain overrode M'Benga's decision to break quarantine on his suit and took the Doctor's place instead.
The general reaction to this event on the Bridge was surprise, concern, maybe shock and, in Uhura's case, a visible confusion.
"I don't understand," she said in a low voice as Kirk took off his helmet. The precaution was unnecessary, though, because everyone else was so focused on the proceedings in Medical that they wouldn't have paid her much notice even if she had shouted the words. "This has never happened before."
Sulu, who was still watching the feed over her shoulder, turned to look at her.
"In all those centuries, nobody has ever done that before?"
Uhura shook her head. "No. Not once they knew it was hopeless."
They kept watching with a strange fascination how the Captain and the Doctor fought for the Navigator's life, how the Captain kept demanding that the resuscitation attempts were kept up long beyond the point where it was obvious that he was already dead. And they watched and saw all the strength sag out of Kirk's body as the other doctor was eventually wheeled into the scanning chamber to receive the radiation treatment. It was then that Sulu could no longer hold the silence between them.
"How many more have to die until you are willing to admit that humans are different? We have to stop this."
Uhura looked around sharply to see if anybody was watching them, but everybody else was too focused on what was going on in Medical to pay them any mind. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice to a whisper that was too low even for the Vulcan to hear on the other side of the Bridge.
"The incident isn't over. I will not depart from protocol. When the first death occurs, there's a sixteen percent chance that the rest of the crew will become infected."
"What more would that teach us about them?"
Uhura shook her head. "You are forgetting that all this would have happened whether we were here or not. We are not responsible for this."
Sulu was silent for a long moment, deliberating that statement. Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned away from her, his final words a murmur that was barely loud enough to reach her ears.
"Maybe we should be."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bones wasn't in the scanner chamber for long. Maybe a minute, two at the most. But it felt like an eternity to Jim as he stood outside and waited for the program to run its course.
He didn't know what he expected to see once they pulled Bones out of the chamber, either. Bones sitting up, grumbling and complaining up a storm that it had taken them so long to figure out a cure, Bones awake and looking at him, or just any sign that this treatment had had some sort of effect. Jim didn't know. It seemed like he no longer knew anything.
But when they pulled Bones out of that chamber and he looked just the same as he had going in, pale and covered in sweat, his cheeks flushed from fever, and his body radiating heat against Jim's hands where he placed them on Bones' shoulders, Jim knew. He knew it before M'Benga even looked up at the screen to check the latest scan results.
"I'm sorry, Captain."
Jim's hands tightened reflexively around Bones' shoulders, but not even the hard grip evoked any kind of response.
He didn't want to hear it. If he just didn't listen, he wouldn't have to acknowledge that this was happening.
Bones wasn't dying.
"It's not your fault, Doc," Jim rasped out in a voice that wasn't his own.
And it wasn't M'Benga's fault. It was nobody's fault but Jim's, because eventually it was always his fault when the people he cared for, the people he loved, came to harm. One way or another, no matter how distant and seemingly insignificant the correlation, it always was his fault.
M'Benga kept talking, even though Jim's eyes were still locked to Bones' pale and unmoving face.
"There's…there's nothing more I can do for Leonard, Captain. But you still have a few hours left. Commander Spock and I will keep working on this. We still have some time."
Jim nodded, even though he couldn't care less about whether or not M'Benga and Spock even bothered to find a cure. They hadn't managed to save Chekov and Bones, and right now it didn't feel as if his own life was worth saving when they hadn't been able to save them.
Besides, even though M'Benga was trying, he wasn't a very good liar. Jim knew that other than the radiation treatment, he and Spock hadn't come up with another way to cure this virus. Still, working on it would keep the crew occupied, would give them time to prepare for the inevitable. And it would give Jim some time alone with Bones, and with Chekov, and the way he had failed them both.
He forced himself to look up at M'Benga.
"You should be working from the Bridge, or the Science labs. Less chance of exposure than here."
M'Benga nodded. "We'll keep looking, Captain."
Jim forced himself to smile. "I'll be right here."
M'Benga looked as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end he merely gave another nod and turned towards the door. Jim waited until he heard the hiss of the door sliding close again, then he sagged a little against the bed that held Bones, his eyes focused on his friend's pale face as he breathed deeply a couple of times to get his voice back under control.
"Kirk to Spock."
He didn't doubt for one second that the comm lines from Medical towards the Bridge were still wide open, and he wasn't disappointed when Spock answered immediately.
"Spock here."
"I take it you've seen what happened."
"I have," Spock merely replied, and just this once, Jim would have wished for some sort of reaction, for any trace of an emotional response. Just this once, Jim would have been reassured to know that he wasn't the only one who felt suffocated by what had just happened, and what was yet to come. But even after all these years, Spock still couldn't get out of his skin, couldn't give Jim the response he was hoping for.
"Then you know that you are now officially in command."
"I am aware, Captain."
"Jim," Jim corrected almost automatically. There'd be no medical miracle for him, and there was no time like the present for Spock to get used to the fact that it was his title now.
"Jim," Spock acquiesced. "I will resume my research with Doctor M'Benga promptly."
Jim only nodded, even though he knew that Spock had to be aware how hopeless this endeavor was.
"You do that. Let me know if you find anything. Just do me one favor, Spock."
"What would that be?"
Jim drew a breath and looked up at the nearest monitor, where Spock's face was calmly looking back at him.
"Cut the video feed."
For what was about to come next, Jim really didn't want or need an audience, and this time, the Vulcan seemed to understand. Spock nodded solemnly.
"Of course. I will contact you again to update you on our findings."
"You do that. Kirk out."
Spock nodded once more, then the video screen went blank and Jim sagged against the side of the scanner bed with a deep sigh.
"God, Bones." One hand unclenched from the bed's hard edge to seek out Bones' warmth, only to find unnatural heat as it settled against his chest. "Don't do that to me."
Because that was what it eventually boiled down to, wasn't it? His own selfish needs, his own unwillingness to let go. But it wasn't Bones' time yet, either, and it seemed so wrong to let him go now, long before he was old and grey and had lived a lifetime of grumping and griping about everyone and everything in the entire universe. It wasn't Bones' time to go.
Only that it was, and the chest underneath Jim's hand was struggling to lift with every slow, labored breath he took. Jim felt himself drifting, clawing at every available straw as his world crumbled around him, but there was no escaping it. Every time Bones drew a week breath it was a relief, a fragment of a second of hope flaring up, only to be replaced by the gut-churning fear that this had been the last one, that there'd be no more to follow.
Every time Bones' chest rose underneath Jim's hand, he had to choke down a small sob of relief, and every second in between those breaths turned something inside of him to ice. He wanted to shake Bones, wanted to yell at him and demand or order him not to go, but he couldn't move, could only stand there and keep his hand pressed against Bones' chest, waiting for the slow rise of the next breath, and the terrifying moments between the exhale and the next breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Unconsciously, Jim's own breathing matched itself to Bones', as if he could somehow breathe for his friend, breathe for both of them until Spock and M'Benga had figured out a cure.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Bones' breaths were getting more labored, more infrequent, and the pauses in between grew longer. Jim was biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, but he was completely and utterly helpless against this.
And when finally Bones' chest lowered with one last, deep exhale and didn't rise again, there was nothing Jim could do but stand there and let him slip away.
TBC...
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