Ghosts in Attics I A.1/2, Part 2
Continued from here.
The stones they had found on the surface of the planet didn’t have a name. The natives called them ‘stones’, which was logical. They looked exactly like any normal stones, which would make them impossible to find without appropriate technology. Spock further had the suspicion that over the last couple of centuries, the natives might have used quite a few of them to build their houses. This was going to be ‘fun’, as Dr. McCoy would have put it.
Spock acknowledged a vague feeling of relief that it wasn’t going to be their problem.
They had been in orbit around Rabbeas for a week now, and would stay here for another four days. It was the last possible date for them to leave so they would be on time for the rendezvous with the Lexington. The journey would lead them within twenty-five light years of Vulcan. A strange sensation ran through Spock’s body at the thought and made him frown, before he dismissed it.
In the past week, the captain had spent most of his free time down on the planet. The diplomatic relations to this world offered no challenge, and there was little for him to on the ship but listen to the reports from the scientific departments. This mission was rather like shore leave for him and everyone else not involved in the research, and the captain appeared to enjoy it, and the company of young Empress Merrana, very much.
Still Spock wasn’t sure that in four days his friend wouldn’t leave here with some eagerness.
He finished the latest report and added it to the others collected this day so they could be sent to Starfleet with the next buoy. When he was done, he hesitated. His mind calculated the estimated time needed for the further projects on his schedule to be finished. None was particularly challenging. Positive that it wouldn’t interfere with his time table, Spock decided to take a break of eight hours to meditate and perhaps sleep for an hour. He had been working for nearly two days straight, and could go on much longer before he began to suffer from exhaustion, but regulations demanded that he took a break at least once in twenty-four hours, if the situation didn’t demand otherwise, and he had no excuse to breach them.
Kirk, he knew, would come off shift in half an hour. Spock decided to deliver the reports to the bridge himself instead of having the computer send them. Perhaps the captain would be in the mood for a game of chess in his free time. It would be a welcome change from the stones and the interesting colony of dry algae Spock had been researching the past couple of days.
When he arrived at the bridge, he found it in the hands of Mr. Kyle.
“Did the captain beam down to the planet?” Spock asked when he handed the data chip to Uhura. He hid the disapproval in his voice - even when nothing could be expected to happen, the captain was supposed to inform him if he left the Enterprise.
“No, the captain is in sickbay, to pick up the last reports on the physicals,” Uhura said. “They are due today.”
“I see.”
Back in the turbolift, Spock hesitated for a moment before voicing his destination. Dr. McCoy had been more cranky than usual these days, which considering his workload was not unexpected. In Spock’s presence, he had been particularly unbearable, a behaviour directed at everyone nearby, not just him. The first officer had therefore refrained from finding excuses to enter sickbay or the medical labs. He would find out what was going on as soon as they all had time to deal with it.
He had, however, received a number of reports on the CMO from Nurse Chapel.
“I don’t know when he’s last eaten,” she’d told him one evening when they’d happened upon each other in the corridor. “He sometimes has something delivered to his office, but he barely touches it. Most of the time, he just locks himself away in his lab. Leonard has always been dedicated to his work, but this is bordering on obsessive.”
“Is his work suffering from his disregard of his physical wellbeing?” Spock had asked, and she had sighed and shaken her head.
“He’s making good progress, possibly more than anyone else. That’s the problem - if our work wasn’t so important we’d long since have sedated him and tied him to the bed.” And finally she had added, “He looks worse every day, Mr. Spock. I’m worried.”
So was Spock. The wellbeing of the doctor was on his mind almost constantly since he had first sought him out in his lab five days ago, and it would be illogical to choose any other name for this state of mind.
He hadn’t told her, naturally.
Here an opportunity presented itself to see for himself how McCoy was doing. Having made up his mind, Spock told the lift to take him to sickbay.
-
“I don’t know, Jim. Nothing seems to work.”
“But M’Benga checked you over for your physical. It must have told you something.”
Spock heard the voices of the captain and McCoy through the open door to the doctor’s office. The two men where standing beside the desk, neither of them taking notice of the Vulcan as he approached. Spock hesitated in front of the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the conversation.
McCoy, his back turned to the door, ran a hand through his hair. “It told us that there is nothing wrong with me, except for some side effects of stress and sleep deprivation.” His voice slurred more than usual.
“I’m sure it also mentioned malnourishment. Hell, Bones, did you look in a mirror lately?”
“Thank you, Jim, for your professional opinion.” McCoy sounded annoyed. “If you want to do my job, go ahead. I’m willing to share. Anyway, there was nothing. Which is a good thing, I guess. Except that if there was a problem, I could solve it.”
“And the painkillers don’t help?”
“Not at all. I suppose it’s just a side effect of too many stimulants and not enough food. It’ll pass when I have the chance to take an extended break.”
“Then take that break.” Kirk sounded concerned. “I know you have taken an oath to help where you can, but not at the cost of your own health.”
McCoy snorted in reply. “That’s kind of not very convincing, coming from you, Jim. Try again.”
“Get some proper sleep, Bones. I mean it. You can’t keep going until someone orders you to rest. We can’t keep an eye on you all the time.”
“I’m not asking you to!” McCoy snapped in a sudden flash of anger that disappeared as quickly as it had come. He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and then his temples. “There is no point. I’m not sleeping very well lately.”
“Then take some of those red pills you keep prescribing me. They work pretty well.”
“Yeah, well.” The doctor half turned, but returned his gaze to Kirk before he could spot Spock. “I’d rather not. They’d keep me from waking up.”
“I thought that was the idea.”
“The original idea was getting you to sleep in the first place. And I’m not entirely sure I even want that.”
“Why not? Bones, what the hell is wrong with you?” The concern was more evident in Kirk’s voice now.
“Damned if I knew, Jim. I’ve had some bad dreams, ‘s all.”
“What kind of dreams?” Kirk’s question induced another bout of impatience.
“Nightmares, Captain. I thought that was obvious.”
“What about, Doctor?” Judging from his voice, Jim was fighting for patience himself.
“I don’t know. Can’t remember. They just don’t make me want to return to sleep very badly, you know.”
‘He’s lying,’ Spock realised. After more than three years, he knew the doctor well enough to read the signs.
And if he could, then so could Kirk. The captain looked at McCoy, obviously trying to decide whether he should push the issue. Before he could reach a decision, though, his eyes fell on Spock.
McCoy noticed the shift in his attention and turned to see who was about to interrupt them. Spock got a glimpse of the paleness of his face, then every remaining bit of colour disappeared and the doctor jumped backwards. He was staring at Spock through wide eyes, his knuckles as white as his face as he gripped the edge of his desk.
Spock frowned in confusion and worry. He had known to expect some kind of negative reaction, but never before had McCoy shown such an obvious display of fear.
His reaction didn’t escape the captain either. Kirk stared at him, then at Spock, then at McCoy again. He opened his mouth to say something, but the doctor was faster.
“God dammit, Spock!” he gasped. “Do you have to sneak up to people like that?”
A number of potential replies ran through Spock’s head. In the end he settled for, “It was not my intention to ‘sneak up’ on you, Doctor. My apologies.”
If possible, Kirk looked even more confused than a second before. McCoy, on the other hand, went so far as to offer the Vulcan a shaky smile. It never stood a chance of reaching his eyes. “Never mind. I’m somewhat jumpy these days.” His hands let go of the desk, but his posture remained tense, ready to bolt. Spock neared him slowly, came to stand beside Kirk. McCoy watched his every move.
“Captain,” Spock offered an explanation for his presence. “Lieutenant-Commander Uhura is asking for the remaining data to be added to the buoy going out to Starfleet shortly.”
Kirk understood. “Of course. I’ve been keeping the doctor from his work. Bones, is there anything else that goes on the data chip?”
McCoy’s eyes flickered over to him, returned to Spock in an instant. He nodded sharply.
“The analysis of a virus we have been dealing with all day. It’s only just been completed when you came.”
“Add it, and we’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
“About time.” Not even the growl sounded convincing. Spock could see how much effort it took McCoy to move towards him and sit down in front of the computer. He turned his chair so that his back was never quite to Spock.
Kirk threw his first officer a helpless gaze, lost.
McCoy’s fingers where shaking on the controls when he keyed in the orders. His movements seemed slightly uncoordinated, a visible sign of his exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot and bruised looking, his skin covered with a thin layer of sweat. Chapel had been right: He looked ill.
The doctor spat a colourful curse at the screen when his shaking fingers hit the wrong key and the file he had been trying to copy disappeared. He opened another link, only to curse again, louder and even more colourful, before jumping out of his chair as if he’d been burned, his eyes wide.
“Christine,” he yelled. He turned his face towards the door and for a moment seemed to have forgotten even about Spock’s presence. “Christine!”
Spock hadn’t seen the head nurse when he’d entered the darkened sickbay minutes before. He was about to point that out when Nurse Chapel appeared. Her hair was unruly. She gave the impression of having been asleep until very recently.
Her gaze travelled uncertainly between the doctor, the captain and the first officer. “What is it, Doctor?”
“Where did you put the safety copy of the file on the Geng’n virus?”
She seemed confused, as if her mind had trouble grasping what was going on. Spock suspected that she had indeed been asleep.
“I didn’t… Isn’t it in the usual folder?”
“No, it goddamn isn’t!”
The nurse went pale as well. She stepped closer to look at the computer. Then she sat down and began clicking though the folders with increasing haste. “I… I think I might have forgotten to make it…” she eventually stammered.
“God! I don’t fucking believe it!” McCoy jelled, at the computer rather than the nurse. “How could you forget that? That’s one day of work, gone! Do you know what that means?”
Chapel stared at him. McCoy was known for his temper, but Spock suspected that his head nurse had never seen him lose it in quite this manner.
“Bones,” Kirk said sharply. “She’s not got much more rest than you these days. Things like that happen if you’re overworked.”
“That’s no excuse! This is Starfleet, not the goddamn kindergarten! Fuck!” McCoy kicked his desk in frustration and rage, making Chapel jump and hide behind the captain. Spock couldn’t blame her.
“Doctor,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “May I remind you that you were the one who accidentally erased the file?”
McCoy jerked his head around to stare at him, and at once Spock realised that it had been a mistake to remind the man of his presence. Conflicting emotions reflected on his features and Spock couldn’t name one of them. For a moment it looked as if the doctor would faint.
Then he turned on his heels and ran out of the room. “No one touches anything!” he ordered. Hs voice sounded hoarse.
“Oh God,” Chapel exclaimed, sitting on the chair again. “This is my fault. All that work…”
“Like I said, it happens. Even to your boss. And he knows it. Knowing Bones, he’ll apologize as soon as he’s able to think straight again.” Muttering under his breath, Kirk added, “That might be a while, though.” He exchanged one look with Spock, who left without a word to follow the doctor.
Scenes like the one he’d witnessed just now should serve as proof to everyone that it was a mistake to let their actions be governed by emotion. But Spock also knew that he should never use this moment against McCoy in one of the philosophic arguments they would hopefully have again one day.
He wouldn’t.
Analysing the situation under consideration of the work the doctor and his staff had done this week, and the work still to be done, Spock thought he could understand at least the reasons for the outburst. McCoy was ruining his health to keep up with the tasks set for him. He had accepted being miserable for days to get this done, and the mountain of work still waiting for them had to be despairing. Losing the results of one day meant having to sacrifice another day, which meant one day less for everything else. Under these circumstances, and in the face of the depth of McCoy’s exhaustion, his behaviour was easily explained, if not excused.
Spock found his fellow officer in the lab he usually occupied, working at the computer. Spock had the sense not to step into his personal space, but stood close enough to see what McCoy was doing.
Apparently the doctor was trying to recover the lost file from the trace it had left when transferred from the terminal in the lab to the one in the office. Spock raised his eyebrow, even though no one could see it. He hadn’t known McCoy understood enough of computers to attempt such a thing.
He could tell the exact moment McCoy became aware of his presence. His whole body tensed up, seemed to freeze, and his flying fingers paused briefly, to curl into claws one second later. His eyes, as far as Spock could see from his position, went wide, yet he didn’t turn around.
Spock stepped back. After a second, he thought better of it and walked around the terminal to stand right in the doctor’s field of vision. McCoy stared at his face, for a long, long time.
Eventually he forced his attention back to the screen before him. Spock didn’t move. McCoy took a deep, shaky breath and resumed his work. Sweat was running down his temple. Spock was concerned.
After a few minutes, McCoy got up and ran back to his office. If he was in a hurry to continue his work or running from Spock, the Vulcan was unable to say. He followed at a barely more reasonable pace and arrived briefly after the doctor, who supported himself on the desk with one hand and pressed the other against his forehead, breathing hard and raggedly. Kirk was standing beside him, seeming torn between supporting him and leaving him alone.
Eventually, the CMO started working again. Spock went to join Kirk and Chapel in looking over his shoulder. The nurse displayed an expression of hope born from despair.
“Is it working?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know. The file is all scattered. It’ll only be reactivated if I find all the pieces.”
“Are they even still there?” Kirk sounded doubtful.
“I don’t know!” McCoy snapped. “Dammit, Spock, stop sneaking around me!” He turned to glare at the Vulcan with eyes that were far too bright. “If you don’t have anything helpful to offer, get the fuck out of my sight!”
Chapel gasped. Kirk said nothing, watching them intently. And Spock considered leaving. He didn’t.
Instead, he found himself stepping closer to McCoy. The doctor, involuntarily, stepped back, until his back was pressing against the wall. Fury and terror fought for dominance in his face while his eyes became even wider. He seemed not even to recall the presence of Kirk and Chapel.
Fascinating. And more than a little disconcerting.
“Leonard,” Spock said, for perhaps the first time ever using McCoy’s first name. “You are being irrational.” He took one more step closer and lifted his hand to touch the doctor’s shoulder in the reassuring manner that was so important to humans. The next second he stumbled backwards, after McCoy had shoved him away with surprising strength.
“Bones!” Kirk called, shocked, as his friend made for the door. He managed two steps before he stumbled and nearly fell. Supporting himself on the wall, he tried to regain his balance without slowing down, managed another step and fell to his hands and knees. His thin body shook helplessly as he retched. Gall splattered onto the clean floor - not very much of it. This time, Spock knew better than to approach him.
Kirk did. He kneeled beside the doctor and tried to support him while Chapel was on the intercom, calling for M’Benga. McCoy recoiled from his touch.
“Leave me alone!” Even his voice was nearly gone. “Don’t touch me, bastard…” He tried to get back to his feet and collapsed into Kirk’s arms. His body shivered once, then lay still.
Jim was still sporting that lost, helpless expression on his face when a team of medics stormed in thirty seconds later and pulled his friend out of his arms.
-
Dr. M’Benga looked tired. It reminded Kirk that Bones wasn’t the only one suffering from overwork, but the fact registered only distantly his mind. He was too concerned for his friend, and still too unsettled by what had he had seen in Bones’ office to care.
M’Benga ran his scanner over his unconscious colleague for the third time. He sighed.
“There is nothing wrong with him that is not connected to malnourishment and exhaustion. He’s simply been pushing himself too far.”
Kirk shook his head. “I’ve seen him overworked before. This was different. He’s ill.”
“Overwork to this extent has that effect, Captain,” the doctor explained patiently.
“What about his headache? That started long before it got this bad.”
“I can only tell you what the scanner tells me,” M’Benga said. “I’ll run a few tests, but I have little hope they will reveal anything helpful.”
With some effort, Kirk refrained from snapping at him. He knew there was only so much a doctor could do when there was no obvious cause for their patient’s suffering.
Perhaps McCoy would wake up after a day of rest or two and be fine again. The captain looked down at his friend and thought that even unconscious he seemed distressed. Even after the Vians had tortured him, he hadn’t looked this bad - and then he had been dying.
“When will he wake up?”
“He might come around naturally in a few hours - hard to tell when exactly. But I’d like to give him a sedative that will keep him out until he is fully rested. Knowing Leonard, he will insist on getting back to work the moment he opens his eyes.”
Kirk nodded. “Do so, then.”
M’Benga hesitated. “Without him, we will fall even further behind schedule,” he said. “And he will probably be fine enough to keep working for another few hours. It would just be better for him if he didn’t.”
“Then don’t let him,” Kirk decided, his friend’s wellbeing more important to him than making Starfleet happy. “You have my blessing to take more personnel for the medical research. The other biological data isn’t running away. You can deal with that on the way to our rendezvous with the Lexington. Or whenever you happen to have time for it.”
For a second, M’Benga seemed confused. Then understanding dawned on his face. “Dr. McCoy has said exactly the same. He’s had almost the entire department working on the cures for two days. I thought…” He stopped.
“You thought he’d asked for permission first, or at least informed me,” Kirk said, somewhat sourly. Starfleet would love this - too bad he wouldn’t tell them. “Never mind that now. You have my permission.”
But of course this changed matters a little. Suddenly this wasn’t about making Starfleet happy, but about saving lives. Every delay would allow more people on Rabbeas to suffer and die. And losing McCoy would slow them down. M’Benga knew this, else he wouldn’t have said anything.
Still, Kirk couldn’t forget how insubstantial his friend had felt in his arms.
“Let him rest,” he decided. The doctor nodded, relieved, and with a last look at the screen above McCoy’s bed left for wherever he was needed.
Only seconds after he was gone, the intercom came to life. Since no one else was nearby, the captain answered the call himself.
“Kirk here,” he said.
“This is Uhura,” came the reply. “Captain, is there a problem with the data from sickbay? The buoy has been ready to leave for half an hour.”
Kirk sighed. He had almost forgotten about that. “There is indeed a problem, but Spock is working on it. If you don’t hear from him within another thirty minutes, send the buoy anyway. Kirk ou-“
“One more thing, Captain,” Uhura interrupted him. “Empress Merrana has been asking for you.”
He had agreed to meet her in her private residence half an hour ago. Kirk cursed silently. This was another thing he had forgotten about. “Send my apologies. Tell her, my duties make it impossible to leave the ship at the moment.”
“Understood.”
After cutting the connection, Kirk took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. He had been looking forward to spending the evening - and the night - with Merrana, both of them knowing that their shared time was almost over. But standing at Bones’ bedside it was hard to care at all.
This mission would have been boring without compare without Merrana to fill his spare time. With the focus heavy on scientific research, there had been little for him to do. Kirk had enjoyed spending time away from the Enterprise, because the Enterprise was the territory of hard working people, and in this case Kirk was not one of them. Seeing Bones work himself into the ground had made him feel guilty, but there was nothing he could have done to relief his burden, and so Kirk had gone where he couldn’t see him and felt good instead.
The captain sighed. He felt useless, was beginning to doubt himself for no reason. Usually, when he was in this state, he only needed to brood for a few minutes, and then Bones would show up and tell him exactly what he needed to hear. It was times like this that Kirk truly realised how much he counted on the doctor being there for him without him ever having to ask.
If he kept this up until Spock came in, the Vulcan would tell him he was being illogical, which also helped, in a way. Perhaps, Kirk mused, the most important thing was not what was said, but that someone cared enough to say it.
There had been something wrong with Bones for days, and Kirk had assumed that it would go away on its own once his friend had time to breathe.
The doors hissed open. Spock walked into the room. He stopped several steps away from the bed and clasped his hands behind his back, his posture straight and his expression neutral. Only for a second did his gaze linger on the still form of the CMO.
“I was able to restore the file on the Geng’n virus and delivered the data chip to Lieutenant-Commander Uhura.”
“Great,” Kirk said, and really meant it, even if his voice lacked enthusiasm.
“May I inquire as to the health of Doctor McCoy?”
Kirk shrugged, helplessly. “He’s fine. Apparently.”
Spock’s eyebrows wandered upwards.
“Yes, I know,” said Kirk. He hesitated. Took a deep breath. “Spock…”
“I fear I cannot answer the question you were most likely about to ask,” Spock said when the captain didn’t continue. “I do not know what caused the doctor to have such a negative reaction to my presence.”
“No idea at all? Something must have happened! He was terrified of you. Only of you. It can’t have come from nowhere.”
“I am unable to recall any event at any point in the past that would have justified such a strong reaction.”
“That doesn’t help.” Kirk began wandering up and down, frustrated. “He’s often been pissed at you, but you never scared him. Hardly anything does.”
Spock took a moment before he spoke his next words. “Captain. The doctor has indeed displayed once in the past a similar, if not as extreme tension in my presence, for a length of time.”
“What?” Kirk turned sharply. “When was that?”
“About two years ago. After you, the doctor, Mr. Scott and Miss Uhura had returned from the other universe.” His eyes bored into Kirk’s, as if he thought the captain had all the answers. The captain wished he had a chair to sit in.
“Oh,” he said.
“I had wondered if something might have happened between McCoy and my counterpart from that universe. But the doctor never gave me an opportunity to approach the topic, and his official report indicated nothing of the sort. You wouldn’t happen to know otherwise?” Spock’s voice hadn’t changed at all; Kirk wondered why all of a sudden he felt like he was being interrogated.
“I don’t see any relation between Bones’ behaviour two years ago and his considerably more extreme behaviour now.”
“Your reaction when I first mentioned the time of interest leads me to believe that something did happen that you know about.” It was almost scary how Spock could transmit displeasure with his voice perfectly even and without so much as moving a muscle in his face. Something happened with a man who could have been him, and they kept it from him. He was not amused.
“Don’t you agree it would be illogical to waste time with something that can’t possible be connected to the problem at hand?” Kirk tried to save himself. “After all, it was years ago. He’s probably forgotten about it by now.”
Spock was merciless. “It would be illogical not to inform me about the only occasion that shows any connection to the current situation, however small.” He raised an eyebrow, his face showing motion for the first time since the topic came up. “Jim,” he added.
Kirk gave up. “There was something he kept out of his report, but it wasn’t exactly dramatic, at least not in the long run. Actually, it might have saved our lives.”
“And yet, you chose not to tell me.”
“Bones asked me not to. Since the moral standards of both humans and Vulcans were quite different in that universe, he was afraid it might insult your Vulcan sensibilities or something like that.”
“I never knew the doctor to be so considerate.” Was that a hint of sarcasm? Kirk took it as a good sign.
“You’d be surprised.” He looked at Bones, half expecting to find him awake and ready to rip off his head for breaking his promise, but his friend hadn’t moved and didn’t look like he would anytime soon. Unable to resist the notion, Kirk laid a hand on his forehead and found it as hot as before. “He wouldn’t even have told me, but I asked about it. You recall that your counterpart got hurt and Bones stayed behind to save him? When the two of them came to the transporter room about ten minutes later, the other Spock knew who we were and where we came from. I was distracted then, but later asked Bones how he had found out.”
“How?” Only Spock’s lips moved, and his eyes, flickering from Kirk to McCoy. “Did he hurt him?”
“No,” Kirk assured him. “That’s what I thought as well. But Bones told me he took the information right out of his mind, after taking him by surprise.”
The barely visible signs of relief Kirk had been expecting never came. Instead Spock tensed up even more, stood perfectly still. “He forced a meld,” he said flatly.
“Well, yes. McCoy felt bad for not having been able to keep him out of his mind, but in the end the situation developed to our advantage, and he assured me it wasn’t that bad.”
“Not that bad.” Spock was still speaking in that terrible flat voice that told of deep shock. His eyes were back on Kirk. Spock had never looked at him like this.
“Well, he didn’t suffer any ill effects from it.” But Kirk’s own certainly wavered. He’d taken Bones’ word for it, but when had Bones ever been open about his own troubles? He’d seemed fine after their return, but the weeks after that had been busy, and Kirk had rarely seen him in private. “Did he?”
But Spock only repeated, as if to himself, “He forced a meld,” and walked away. His hands, Kirk noticed, were balled into fists.
-
Consciousness returned slowly. McCoy felt like he was drifting up from the bottom of an endlessly deep well, and it was tempting to just sink under the surface again and keep sinking. But something kept him going up, something he had to do. It wouldn’t let him rest.
He opened his eyes to dim light and the ceiling of sickbay. He wasn’t in pain. The observation amazed him, and for a while he just lay there, feeling dazed. The pain in his head had been such a constant companion for days that in its absence he almost felt lost.
Eventually, he discovered that it was there after all. But it had become a dull ache in the back of his head, hardly worth mentioning. It was barely stronger than his usual Stressful Day Headache.
The next thing he noticed was that he was actually feeling good. Rested. His heart wasn’t reaching, he wasn’t covered in sweat and he wasn’t terrified. He acknowledged the fact with dull amazement.
“Good evening, Doctor.” Christine Chapel’s face appeared in his field of vision. “I hope you are feeling better.”
“Evening?” McCoy asked, suddenly remembering what it was he had to do. He had no time for sleep. That he felt so well rested was not a good sign. “How long did I sleep?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“Nineteen hours, and believe me, you needed it.” She moved to support him when he sat up, but he didn’t need her help. “Do you recall what happened?”
McCoy looked at her and tried. Jim had come to his office, because of the reports, and he had lost the file, and then Spock…
He closed his eyes for a second, willing the image to lave his head as his equilibrium threatened to shatter. “No,” he lied, and added, “But I get the feeling I owe you an apology.”
She smiled, never one to hold a grudge. “Forget that. I was my fault, after all. I would have been angry too.”
“I was at least as much at fault, Chris. And even if you were the only one to blame, it would not excuse how my behaviour.”
“Let us agree to share the blame and forget everything else,” the nurse offered. “Actually, we can forget the blame as well. Mr. Spock has managed to recover the file. Nothing was lost.”
The relief was like a deep hole to fall in. It mingled with the dread at the mention of Spock’s name, but for once the positive feeling dominated. “Wonderful,” he said empathetically. Getting out of bed, he discovered that he was in one of their charming sickbay pyjamas. “Where are my clothes?”
“I’ll get them for you. I suppose I can’t talk you into taking it easy for a while?”
“No need,” he said cheerfully. “I feel fantastic. And I suppose you left me some work for the final days.”
“Plenty,” Christine said regretfully. McCoy’s mood fell.
“I’m sorry. I got to sleep in and left you to do all the work…”
“Don’t be silly.” Chris frowned, honestly annoyed. “You didn’t even lose the time you spared before by never taking a break. Which was the reason for you collapsing in the first place.” McCoy wasn’t convinced of that, but she had taken on her scolding tone, and so he only rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, mom.”
She left, and returned shortly after with his uniform. “Promise me not to overdo it, Leonard,” she said earnestly. “I mean it.”
“I’ll try,” he promised, and didn’t mean it at all. “If I get the chance.”
“Oh, you might. There’s still a lot to do, but chances are we might actually make it on time.”
Her words caused McCoy to beam at her, feeling a lot more optimistic that he had in ages. “Fantastic!” he exclaimed, before chasing her out so he could change. As a nurse, she had seen plenty of naked men in her life, and after recent events it was quite possible that he was among them, but there was no excuse for exposing her to the sight without reason.
After he’d slipped into his uniform, the CMO of the Enterprise informed himself on the progress his team had made in the last nineteen hours. In his mind he was already working on the next problem.
He had slept well, his headache was almost gone and, baring accidents, they would be able to help the sick down on the planet to the best of their abilities before they left. Things could only get better now.
Someone entered the room just when Christine finished her report. Sensing the opening of the door more than he heard it, McCoy turned to see who it was and saw no one.
“What is it?” Chapel asked, following his gaze.
Frowning, McCoy shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “If you need me, I’ll be in my lab.”
He left, and buried himself in his work for the next hours, trying to ignore the feeling that he was never quite alone in the room.
August 31, 2009
Continued in Part I A.2
The stones they had found on the surface of the planet didn’t have a name. The natives called them ‘stones’, which was logical. They looked exactly like any normal stones, which would make them impossible to find without appropriate technology. Spock further had the suspicion that over the last couple of centuries, the natives might have used quite a few of them to build their houses. This was going to be ‘fun’, as Dr. McCoy would have put it.
Spock acknowledged a vague feeling of relief that it wasn’t going to be their problem.
They had been in orbit around Rabbeas for a week now, and would stay here for another four days. It was the last possible date for them to leave so they would be on time for the rendezvous with the Lexington. The journey would lead them within twenty-five light years of Vulcan. A strange sensation ran through Spock’s body at the thought and made him frown, before he dismissed it.
In the past week, the captain had spent most of his free time down on the planet. The diplomatic relations to this world offered no challenge, and there was little for him to on the ship but listen to the reports from the scientific departments. This mission was rather like shore leave for him and everyone else not involved in the research, and the captain appeared to enjoy it, and the company of young Empress Merrana, very much.
Still Spock wasn’t sure that in four days his friend wouldn’t leave here with some eagerness.
He finished the latest report and added it to the others collected this day so they could be sent to Starfleet with the next buoy. When he was done, he hesitated. His mind calculated the estimated time needed for the further projects on his schedule to be finished. None was particularly challenging. Positive that it wouldn’t interfere with his time table, Spock decided to take a break of eight hours to meditate and perhaps sleep for an hour. He had been working for nearly two days straight, and could go on much longer before he began to suffer from exhaustion, but regulations demanded that he took a break at least once in twenty-four hours, if the situation didn’t demand otherwise, and he had no excuse to breach them.
Kirk, he knew, would come off shift in half an hour. Spock decided to deliver the reports to the bridge himself instead of having the computer send them. Perhaps the captain would be in the mood for a game of chess in his free time. It would be a welcome change from the stones and the interesting colony of dry algae Spock had been researching the past couple of days.
When he arrived at the bridge, he found it in the hands of Mr. Kyle.
“Did the captain beam down to the planet?” Spock asked when he handed the data chip to Uhura. He hid the disapproval in his voice - even when nothing could be expected to happen, the captain was supposed to inform him if he left the Enterprise.
“No, the captain is in sickbay, to pick up the last reports on the physicals,” Uhura said. “They are due today.”
“I see.”
Back in the turbolift, Spock hesitated for a moment before voicing his destination. Dr. McCoy had been more cranky than usual these days, which considering his workload was not unexpected. In Spock’s presence, he had been particularly unbearable, a behaviour directed at everyone nearby, not just him. The first officer had therefore refrained from finding excuses to enter sickbay or the medical labs. He would find out what was going on as soon as they all had time to deal with it.
He had, however, received a number of reports on the CMO from Nurse Chapel.
“I don’t know when he’s last eaten,” she’d told him one evening when they’d happened upon each other in the corridor. “He sometimes has something delivered to his office, but he barely touches it. Most of the time, he just locks himself away in his lab. Leonard has always been dedicated to his work, but this is bordering on obsessive.”
“Is his work suffering from his disregard of his physical wellbeing?” Spock had asked, and she had sighed and shaken her head.
“He’s making good progress, possibly more than anyone else. That’s the problem - if our work wasn’t so important we’d long since have sedated him and tied him to the bed.” And finally she had added, “He looks worse every day, Mr. Spock. I’m worried.”
So was Spock. The wellbeing of the doctor was on his mind almost constantly since he had first sought him out in his lab five days ago, and it would be illogical to choose any other name for this state of mind.
He hadn’t told her, naturally.
Here an opportunity presented itself to see for himself how McCoy was doing. Having made up his mind, Spock told the lift to take him to sickbay.
-
“I don’t know, Jim. Nothing seems to work.”
“But M’Benga checked you over for your physical. It must have told you something.”
Spock heard the voices of the captain and McCoy through the open door to the doctor’s office. The two men where standing beside the desk, neither of them taking notice of the Vulcan as he approached. Spock hesitated in front of the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the conversation.
McCoy, his back turned to the door, ran a hand through his hair. “It told us that there is nothing wrong with me, except for some side effects of stress and sleep deprivation.” His voice slurred more than usual.
“I’m sure it also mentioned malnourishment. Hell, Bones, did you look in a mirror lately?”
“Thank you, Jim, for your professional opinion.” McCoy sounded annoyed. “If you want to do my job, go ahead. I’m willing to share. Anyway, there was nothing. Which is a good thing, I guess. Except that if there was a problem, I could solve it.”
“And the painkillers don’t help?”
“Not at all. I suppose it’s just a side effect of too many stimulants and not enough food. It’ll pass when I have the chance to take an extended break.”
“Then take that break.” Kirk sounded concerned. “I know you have taken an oath to help where you can, but not at the cost of your own health.”
McCoy snorted in reply. “That’s kind of not very convincing, coming from you, Jim. Try again.”
“Get some proper sleep, Bones. I mean it. You can’t keep going until someone orders you to rest. We can’t keep an eye on you all the time.”
“I’m not asking you to!” McCoy snapped in a sudden flash of anger that disappeared as quickly as it had come. He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and then his temples. “There is no point. I’m not sleeping very well lately.”
“Then take some of those red pills you keep prescribing me. They work pretty well.”
“Yeah, well.” The doctor half turned, but returned his gaze to Kirk before he could spot Spock. “I’d rather not. They’d keep me from waking up.”
“I thought that was the idea.”
“The original idea was getting you to sleep in the first place. And I’m not entirely sure I even want that.”
“Why not? Bones, what the hell is wrong with you?” The concern was more evident in Kirk’s voice now.
“Damned if I knew, Jim. I’ve had some bad dreams, ‘s all.”
“What kind of dreams?” Kirk’s question induced another bout of impatience.
“Nightmares, Captain. I thought that was obvious.”
“What about, Doctor?” Judging from his voice, Jim was fighting for patience himself.
“I don’t know. Can’t remember. They just don’t make me want to return to sleep very badly, you know.”
‘He’s lying,’ Spock realised. After more than three years, he knew the doctor well enough to read the signs.
And if he could, then so could Kirk. The captain looked at McCoy, obviously trying to decide whether he should push the issue. Before he could reach a decision, though, his eyes fell on Spock.
McCoy noticed the shift in his attention and turned to see who was about to interrupt them. Spock got a glimpse of the paleness of his face, then every remaining bit of colour disappeared and the doctor jumped backwards. He was staring at Spock through wide eyes, his knuckles as white as his face as he gripped the edge of his desk.
Spock frowned in confusion and worry. He had known to expect some kind of negative reaction, but never before had McCoy shown such an obvious display of fear.
His reaction didn’t escape the captain either. Kirk stared at him, then at Spock, then at McCoy again. He opened his mouth to say something, but the doctor was faster.
“God dammit, Spock!” he gasped. “Do you have to sneak up to people like that?”
A number of potential replies ran through Spock’s head. In the end he settled for, “It was not my intention to ‘sneak up’ on you, Doctor. My apologies.”
If possible, Kirk looked even more confused than a second before. McCoy, on the other hand, went so far as to offer the Vulcan a shaky smile. It never stood a chance of reaching his eyes. “Never mind. I’m somewhat jumpy these days.” His hands let go of the desk, but his posture remained tense, ready to bolt. Spock neared him slowly, came to stand beside Kirk. McCoy watched his every move.
“Captain,” Spock offered an explanation for his presence. “Lieutenant-Commander Uhura is asking for the remaining data to be added to the buoy going out to Starfleet shortly.”
Kirk understood. “Of course. I’ve been keeping the doctor from his work. Bones, is there anything else that goes on the data chip?”
McCoy’s eyes flickered over to him, returned to Spock in an instant. He nodded sharply.
“The analysis of a virus we have been dealing with all day. It’s only just been completed when you came.”
“Add it, and we’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
“About time.” Not even the growl sounded convincing. Spock could see how much effort it took McCoy to move towards him and sit down in front of the computer. He turned his chair so that his back was never quite to Spock.
Kirk threw his first officer a helpless gaze, lost.
McCoy’s fingers where shaking on the controls when he keyed in the orders. His movements seemed slightly uncoordinated, a visible sign of his exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot and bruised looking, his skin covered with a thin layer of sweat. Chapel had been right: He looked ill.
The doctor spat a colourful curse at the screen when his shaking fingers hit the wrong key and the file he had been trying to copy disappeared. He opened another link, only to curse again, louder and even more colourful, before jumping out of his chair as if he’d been burned, his eyes wide.
“Christine,” he yelled. He turned his face towards the door and for a moment seemed to have forgotten even about Spock’s presence. “Christine!”
Spock hadn’t seen the head nurse when he’d entered the darkened sickbay minutes before. He was about to point that out when Nurse Chapel appeared. Her hair was unruly. She gave the impression of having been asleep until very recently.
Her gaze travelled uncertainly between the doctor, the captain and the first officer. “What is it, Doctor?”
“Where did you put the safety copy of the file on the Geng’n virus?”
She seemed confused, as if her mind had trouble grasping what was going on. Spock suspected that she had indeed been asleep.
“I didn’t… Isn’t it in the usual folder?”
“No, it goddamn isn’t!”
The nurse went pale as well. She stepped closer to look at the computer. Then she sat down and began clicking though the folders with increasing haste. “I… I think I might have forgotten to make it…” she eventually stammered.
“God! I don’t fucking believe it!” McCoy jelled, at the computer rather than the nurse. “How could you forget that? That’s one day of work, gone! Do you know what that means?”
Chapel stared at him. McCoy was known for his temper, but Spock suspected that his head nurse had never seen him lose it in quite this manner.
“Bones,” Kirk said sharply. “She’s not got much more rest than you these days. Things like that happen if you’re overworked.”
“That’s no excuse! This is Starfleet, not the goddamn kindergarten! Fuck!” McCoy kicked his desk in frustration and rage, making Chapel jump and hide behind the captain. Spock couldn’t blame her.
“Doctor,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “May I remind you that you were the one who accidentally erased the file?”
McCoy jerked his head around to stare at him, and at once Spock realised that it had been a mistake to remind the man of his presence. Conflicting emotions reflected on his features and Spock couldn’t name one of them. For a moment it looked as if the doctor would faint.
Then he turned on his heels and ran out of the room. “No one touches anything!” he ordered. Hs voice sounded hoarse.
“Oh God,” Chapel exclaimed, sitting on the chair again. “This is my fault. All that work…”
“Like I said, it happens. Even to your boss. And he knows it. Knowing Bones, he’ll apologize as soon as he’s able to think straight again.” Muttering under his breath, Kirk added, “That might be a while, though.” He exchanged one look with Spock, who left without a word to follow the doctor.
Scenes like the one he’d witnessed just now should serve as proof to everyone that it was a mistake to let their actions be governed by emotion. But Spock also knew that he should never use this moment against McCoy in one of the philosophic arguments they would hopefully have again one day.
He wouldn’t.
Analysing the situation under consideration of the work the doctor and his staff had done this week, and the work still to be done, Spock thought he could understand at least the reasons for the outburst. McCoy was ruining his health to keep up with the tasks set for him. He had accepted being miserable for days to get this done, and the mountain of work still waiting for them had to be despairing. Losing the results of one day meant having to sacrifice another day, which meant one day less for everything else. Under these circumstances, and in the face of the depth of McCoy’s exhaustion, his behaviour was easily explained, if not excused.
Spock found his fellow officer in the lab he usually occupied, working at the computer. Spock had the sense not to step into his personal space, but stood close enough to see what McCoy was doing.
Apparently the doctor was trying to recover the lost file from the trace it had left when transferred from the terminal in the lab to the one in the office. Spock raised his eyebrow, even though no one could see it. He hadn’t known McCoy understood enough of computers to attempt such a thing.
He could tell the exact moment McCoy became aware of his presence. His whole body tensed up, seemed to freeze, and his flying fingers paused briefly, to curl into claws one second later. His eyes, as far as Spock could see from his position, went wide, yet he didn’t turn around.
Spock stepped back. After a second, he thought better of it and walked around the terminal to stand right in the doctor’s field of vision. McCoy stared at his face, for a long, long time.
Eventually he forced his attention back to the screen before him. Spock didn’t move. McCoy took a deep, shaky breath and resumed his work. Sweat was running down his temple. Spock was concerned.
After a few minutes, McCoy got up and ran back to his office. If he was in a hurry to continue his work or running from Spock, the Vulcan was unable to say. He followed at a barely more reasonable pace and arrived briefly after the doctor, who supported himself on the desk with one hand and pressed the other against his forehead, breathing hard and raggedly. Kirk was standing beside him, seeming torn between supporting him and leaving him alone.
Eventually, the CMO started working again. Spock went to join Kirk and Chapel in looking over his shoulder. The nurse displayed an expression of hope born from despair.
“Is it working?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know. The file is all scattered. It’ll only be reactivated if I find all the pieces.”
“Are they even still there?” Kirk sounded doubtful.
“I don’t know!” McCoy snapped. “Dammit, Spock, stop sneaking around me!” He turned to glare at the Vulcan with eyes that were far too bright. “If you don’t have anything helpful to offer, get the fuck out of my sight!”
Chapel gasped. Kirk said nothing, watching them intently. And Spock considered leaving. He didn’t.
Instead, he found himself stepping closer to McCoy. The doctor, involuntarily, stepped back, until his back was pressing against the wall. Fury and terror fought for dominance in his face while his eyes became even wider. He seemed not even to recall the presence of Kirk and Chapel.
Fascinating. And more than a little disconcerting.
“Leonard,” Spock said, for perhaps the first time ever using McCoy’s first name. “You are being irrational.” He took one more step closer and lifted his hand to touch the doctor’s shoulder in the reassuring manner that was so important to humans. The next second he stumbled backwards, after McCoy had shoved him away with surprising strength.
“Bones!” Kirk called, shocked, as his friend made for the door. He managed two steps before he stumbled and nearly fell. Supporting himself on the wall, he tried to regain his balance without slowing down, managed another step and fell to his hands and knees. His thin body shook helplessly as he retched. Gall splattered onto the clean floor - not very much of it. This time, Spock knew better than to approach him.
Kirk did. He kneeled beside the doctor and tried to support him while Chapel was on the intercom, calling for M’Benga. McCoy recoiled from his touch.
“Leave me alone!” Even his voice was nearly gone. “Don’t touch me, bastard…” He tried to get back to his feet and collapsed into Kirk’s arms. His body shivered once, then lay still.
Jim was still sporting that lost, helpless expression on his face when a team of medics stormed in thirty seconds later and pulled his friend out of his arms.
-
Dr. M’Benga looked tired. It reminded Kirk that Bones wasn’t the only one suffering from overwork, but the fact registered only distantly his mind. He was too concerned for his friend, and still too unsettled by what had he had seen in Bones’ office to care.
M’Benga ran his scanner over his unconscious colleague for the third time. He sighed.
“There is nothing wrong with him that is not connected to malnourishment and exhaustion. He’s simply been pushing himself too far.”
Kirk shook his head. “I’ve seen him overworked before. This was different. He’s ill.”
“Overwork to this extent has that effect, Captain,” the doctor explained patiently.
“What about his headache? That started long before it got this bad.”
“I can only tell you what the scanner tells me,” M’Benga said. “I’ll run a few tests, but I have little hope they will reveal anything helpful.”
With some effort, Kirk refrained from snapping at him. He knew there was only so much a doctor could do when there was no obvious cause for their patient’s suffering.
Perhaps McCoy would wake up after a day of rest or two and be fine again. The captain looked down at his friend and thought that even unconscious he seemed distressed. Even after the Vians had tortured him, he hadn’t looked this bad - and then he had been dying.
“When will he wake up?”
“He might come around naturally in a few hours - hard to tell when exactly. But I’d like to give him a sedative that will keep him out until he is fully rested. Knowing Leonard, he will insist on getting back to work the moment he opens his eyes.”
Kirk nodded. “Do so, then.”
M’Benga hesitated. “Without him, we will fall even further behind schedule,” he said. “And he will probably be fine enough to keep working for another few hours. It would just be better for him if he didn’t.”
“Then don’t let him,” Kirk decided, his friend’s wellbeing more important to him than making Starfleet happy. “You have my blessing to take more personnel for the medical research. The other biological data isn’t running away. You can deal with that on the way to our rendezvous with the Lexington. Or whenever you happen to have time for it.”
For a second, M’Benga seemed confused. Then understanding dawned on his face. “Dr. McCoy has said exactly the same. He’s had almost the entire department working on the cures for two days. I thought…” He stopped.
“You thought he’d asked for permission first, or at least informed me,” Kirk said, somewhat sourly. Starfleet would love this - too bad he wouldn’t tell them. “Never mind that now. You have my permission.”
But of course this changed matters a little. Suddenly this wasn’t about making Starfleet happy, but about saving lives. Every delay would allow more people on Rabbeas to suffer and die. And losing McCoy would slow them down. M’Benga knew this, else he wouldn’t have said anything.
Still, Kirk couldn’t forget how insubstantial his friend had felt in his arms.
“Let him rest,” he decided. The doctor nodded, relieved, and with a last look at the screen above McCoy’s bed left for wherever he was needed.
Only seconds after he was gone, the intercom came to life. Since no one else was nearby, the captain answered the call himself.
“Kirk here,” he said.
“This is Uhura,” came the reply. “Captain, is there a problem with the data from sickbay? The buoy has been ready to leave for half an hour.”
Kirk sighed. He had almost forgotten about that. “There is indeed a problem, but Spock is working on it. If you don’t hear from him within another thirty minutes, send the buoy anyway. Kirk ou-“
“One more thing, Captain,” Uhura interrupted him. “Empress Merrana has been asking for you.”
He had agreed to meet her in her private residence half an hour ago. Kirk cursed silently. This was another thing he had forgotten about. “Send my apologies. Tell her, my duties make it impossible to leave the ship at the moment.”
“Understood.”
After cutting the connection, Kirk took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. He had been looking forward to spending the evening - and the night - with Merrana, both of them knowing that their shared time was almost over. But standing at Bones’ bedside it was hard to care at all.
This mission would have been boring without compare without Merrana to fill his spare time. With the focus heavy on scientific research, there had been little for him to do. Kirk had enjoyed spending time away from the Enterprise, because the Enterprise was the territory of hard working people, and in this case Kirk was not one of them. Seeing Bones work himself into the ground had made him feel guilty, but there was nothing he could have done to relief his burden, and so Kirk had gone where he couldn’t see him and felt good instead.
The captain sighed. He felt useless, was beginning to doubt himself for no reason. Usually, when he was in this state, he only needed to brood for a few minutes, and then Bones would show up and tell him exactly what he needed to hear. It was times like this that Kirk truly realised how much he counted on the doctor being there for him without him ever having to ask.
If he kept this up until Spock came in, the Vulcan would tell him he was being illogical, which also helped, in a way. Perhaps, Kirk mused, the most important thing was not what was said, but that someone cared enough to say it.
There had been something wrong with Bones for days, and Kirk had assumed that it would go away on its own once his friend had time to breathe.
The doors hissed open. Spock walked into the room. He stopped several steps away from the bed and clasped his hands behind his back, his posture straight and his expression neutral. Only for a second did his gaze linger on the still form of the CMO.
“I was able to restore the file on the Geng’n virus and delivered the data chip to Lieutenant-Commander Uhura.”
“Great,” Kirk said, and really meant it, even if his voice lacked enthusiasm.
“May I inquire as to the health of Doctor McCoy?”
Kirk shrugged, helplessly. “He’s fine. Apparently.”
Spock’s eyebrows wandered upwards.
“Yes, I know,” said Kirk. He hesitated. Took a deep breath. “Spock…”
“I fear I cannot answer the question you were most likely about to ask,” Spock said when the captain didn’t continue. “I do not know what caused the doctor to have such a negative reaction to my presence.”
“No idea at all? Something must have happened! He was terrified of you. Only of you. It can’t have come from nowhere.”
“I am unable to recall any event at any point in the past that would have justified such a strong reaction.”
“That doesn’t help.” Kirk began wandering up and down, frustrated. “He’s often been pissed at you, but you never scared him. Hardly anything does.”
Spock took a moment before he spoke his next words. “Captain. The doctor has indeed displayed once in the past a similar, if not as extreme tension in my presence, for a length of time.”
“What?” Kirk turned sharply. “When was that?”
“About two years ago. After you, the doctor, Mr. Scott and Miss Uhura had returned from the other universe.” His eyes bored into Kirk’s, as if he thought the captain had all the answers. The captain wished he had a chair to sit in.
“Oh,” he said.
“I had wondered if something might have happened between McCoy and my counterpart from that universe. But the doctor never gave me an opportunity to approach the topic, and his official report indicated nothing of the sort. You wouldn’t happen to know otherwise?” Spock’s voice hadn’t changed at all; Kirk wondered why all of a sudden he felt like he was being interrogated.
“I don’t see any relation between Bones’ behaviour two years ago and his considerably more extreme behaviour now.”
“Your reaction when I first mentioned the time of interest leads me to believe that something did happen that you know about.” It was almost scary how Spock could transmit displeasure with his voice perfectly even and without so much as moving a muscle in his face. Something happened with a man who could have been him, and they kept it from him. He was not amused.
“Don’t you agree it would be illogical to waste time with something that can’t possible be connected to the problem at hand?” Kirk tried to save himself. “After all, it was years ago. He’s probably forgotten about it by now.”
Spock was merciless. “It would be illogical not to inform me about the only occasion that shows any connection to the current situation, however small.” He raised an eyebrow, his face showing motion for the first time since the topic came up. “Jim,” he added.
Kirk gave up. “There was something he kept out of his report, but it wasn’t exactly dramatic, at least not in the long run. Actually, it might have saved our lives.”
“And yet, you chose not to tell me.”
“Bones asked me not to. Since the moral standards of both humans and Vulcans were quite different in that universe, he was afraid it might insult your Vulcan sensibilities or something like that.”
“I never knew the doctor to be so considerate.” Was that a hint of sarcasm? Kirk took it as a good sign.
“You’d be surprised.” He looked at Bones, half expecting to find him awake and ready to rip off his head for breaking his promise, but his friend hadn’t moved and didn’t look like he would anytime soon. Unable to resist the notion, Kirk laid a hand on his forehead and found it as hot as before. “He wouldn’t even have told me, but I asked about it. You recall that your counterpart got hurt and Bones stayed behind to save him? When the two of them came to the transporter room about ten minutes later, the other Spock knew who we were and where we came from. I was distracted then, but later asked Bones how he had found out.”
“How?” Only Spock’s lips moved, and his eyes, flickering from Kirk to McCoy. “Did he hurt him?”
“No,” Kirk assured him. “That’s what I thought as well. But Bones told me he took the information right out of his mind, after taking him by surprise.”
The barely visible signs of relief Kirk had been expecting never came. Instead Spock tensed up even more, stood perfectly still. “He forced a meld,” he said flatly.
“Well, yes. McCoy felt bad for not having been able to keep him out of his mind, but in the end the situation developed to our advantage, and he assured me it wasn’t that bad.”
“Not that bad.” Spock was still speaking in that terrible flat voice that told of deep shock. His eyes were back on Kirk. Spock had never looked at him like this.
“Well, he didn’t suffer any ill effects from it.” But Kirk’s own certainly wavered. He’d taken Bones’ word for it, but when had Bones ever been open about his own troubles? He’d seemed fine after their return, but the weeks after that had been busy, and Kirk had rarely seen him in private. “Did he?”
But Spock only repeated, as if to himself, “He forced a meld,” and walked away. His hands, Kirk noticed, were balled into fists.
-
Consciousness returned slowly. McCoy felt like he was drifting up from the bottom of an endlessly deep well, and it was tempting to just sink under the surface again and keep sinking. But something kept him going up, something he had to do. It wouldn’t let him rest.
He opened his eyes to dim light and the ceiling of sickbay. He wasn’t in pain. The observation amazed him, and for a while he just lay there, feeling dazed. The pain in his head had been such a constant companion for days that in its absence he almost felt lost.
Eventually, he discovered that it was there after all. But it had become a dull ache in the back of his head, hardly worth mentioning. It was barely stronger than his usual Stressful Day Headache.
The next thing he noticed was that he was actually feeling good. Rested. His heart wasn’t reaching, he wasn’t covered in sweat and he wasn’t terrified. He acknowledged the fact with dull amazement.
“Good evening, Doctor.” Christine Chapel’s face appeared in his field of vision. “I hope you are feeling better.”
“Evening?” McCoy asked, suddenly remembering what it was he had to do. He had no time for sleep. That he felt so well rested was not a good sign. “How long did I sleep?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“Nineteen hours, and believe me, you needed it.” She moved to support him when he sat up, but he didn’t need her help. “Do you recall what happened?”
McCoy looked at her and tried. Jim had come to his office, because of the reports, and he had lost the file, and then Spock…
He closed his eyes for a second, willing the image to lave his head as his equilibrium threatened to shatter. “No,” he lied, and added, “But I get the feeling I owe you an apology.”
She smiled, never one to hold a grudge. “Forget that. I was my fault, after all. I would have been angry too.”
“I was at least as much at fault, Chris. And even if you were the only one to blame, it would not excuse how my behaviour.”
“Let us agree to share the blame and forget everything else,” the nurse offered. “Actually, we can forget the blame as well. Mr. Spock has managed to recover the file. Nothing was lost.”
The relief was like a deep hole to fall in. It mingled with the dread at the mention of Spock’s name, but for once the positive feeling dominated. “Wonderful,” he said empathetically. Getting out of bed, he discovered that he was in one of their charming sickbay pyjamas. “Where are my clothes?”
“I’ll get them for you. I suppose I can’t talk you into taking it easy for a while?”
“No need,” he said cheerfully. “I feel fantastic. And I suppose you left me some work for the final days.”
“Plenty,” Christine said regretfully. McCoy’s mood fell.
“I’m sorry. I got to sleep in and left you to do all the work…”
“Don’t be silly.” Chris frowned, honestly annoyed. “You didn’t even lose the time you spared before by never taking a break. Which was the reason for you collapsing in the first place.” McCoy wasn’t convinced of that, but she had taken on her scolding tone, and so he only rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, mom.”
She left, and returned shortly after with his uniform. “Promise me not to overdo it, Leonard,” she said earnestly. “I mean it.”
“I’ll try,” he promised, and didn’t mean it at all. “If I get the chance.”
“Oh, you might. There’s still a lot to do, but chances are we might actually make it on time.”
Her words caused McCoy to beam at her, feeling a lot more optimistic that he had in ages. “Fantastic!” he exclaimed, before chasing her out so he could change. As a nurse, she had seen plenty of naked men in her life, and after recent events it was quite possible that he was among them, but there was no excuse for exposing her to the sight without reason.
After he’d slipped into his uniform, the CMO of the Enterprise informed himself on the progress his team had made in the last nineteen hours. In his mind he was already working on the next problem.
He had slept well, his headache was almost gone and, baring accidents, they would be able to help the sick down on the planet to the best of their abilities before they left. Things could only get better now.
Someone entered the room just when Christine finished her report. Sensing the opening of the door more than he heard it, McCoy turned to see who it was and saw no one.
“What is it?” Chapel asked, following his gaze.
Frowning, McCoy shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “If you need me, I’ll be in my lab.”
He left, and buried himself in his work for the next hours, trying to ignore the feeling that he was never quite alone in the room.
August 31, 2009
Continued in Part I A.2