FIC: A Wing and A Prayer (STXI/Reboot; PG-13) 1/2
Title: A Wing and A Prayer
Author: Emluv emluv
Beta: Danahid danahid
Fandom/Spoilers: STXI/Reboot
Characters: Kirk and McCoy, with Spock, Pike, and assorted other players
Rating: PG-13, for language
Word Count: approx. 12,200
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Star Trek is owned by the Roddenberry estate, Paramount Pictures, and probably a few others who are not me. No profit made, no infringement intended.
Archive/Distribution: Please ask.
Date: June 30, 2010
Notes: Written for hc_bingo
Summary: Jim Kirk returns from what seemed to be a successful away mission with a mysterious problem.
~*~
“The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.”
~J.M. Barrie
“I will write peace on your wings and you will fly all over the world.”
~Sadako Sasaki
“Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down.”
~Ray Bradbury
~*~
It began toward the end of alpha shift as a stiffening along his spine and upper back.
Seated in his chair on the bridge, having returned only a few hours earlier from a blissfully uneventful if rather sedentary away mission, James T. Kirk blamed his backache on the tension of the past few days. Four months into captaincy of the U.S.S. Enterprise, he was certainly becoming acclimated to the rigors and responsibilities of the job, but diplomacy and the balancing act it entailed still put him on edge. It was vital that he project the proper combination of respect, charm, intelligence, and arrogance to further the interests of the Federation, while still somehow managing to avoid any intergalactic incidents or getting his crew killed. So far he had done fairly well, collecting no more than a few bumps and bruises (shared among the crew), a concussion (his), and one case of anaphylactic shock (of course his). However, walking that line, reining in his temper or even just his natural exuberance-sometimes for days on end-left him feeling twitchy. Assuming that was at least part of his current problem, Jim resolved to work off the restless energy as soon as the shift ended. Meanwhile, he gave his shoulders a quick, unsatisfying roll, and attempted to focus on work.
Once he was officially off duty, Jim headed to his quarters to change into exercise gear. Lifting his arms to remove his uniform shirts, he felt his tight muscles pull down his back, just inside his shoulder blades. He tried to stretch out some of the stiffness but the taut sensation lingered. Not wanting to risk an injury, he decided to skip his normal weight-lifting routine and simply went for a run through the ship. Even that seemed a drain on his energies, though, and Jim was glad to return to his room and indulge in a real shower. The hot water soothed his aching back somewhat, and he settled at his desk to take a stab at the ever-present stack of reports awaiting his attention.
His effort lasted for all of an hour. The pain in his back worsened steadily until he finally gave up and crawled into bed, dropping on his stomach and burrowing his face into the pillows. The horizontal position was an immense relief, the cool sheets a pleasure against his overheated skin. Lying flat, Jim felt the tension that had been escalating all evening leech from his body. He sighed and ordered the lights off before slipping into oblivion.
~*~
Shooting pains brought Jim to full wakefulness in an instant. The dull ache in his back and shoulders that had built through the night, causing him to shift ever more restlessly in his sleep, had reached a crescendo, forcing him into consciousness. He gasped, hands fisting in the sheets as his back throbbed. His skin felt fiery all over, and his back muscles seemed to clench and knot as if they had a will of their own. Jim curled his legs under himself to support his weight, seeking any position that might lessen the pain. Gritting his teeth against the movement, he reached out and slapped at the console on his nightstand.
“Kirk to McCoy.”
It was late-some time during gamma shift, Jim had no doubt, though he couldn’t bear to roll enough to check the chrono. But if there was one surety in Jim Kirk’s universe, it was that if he needed Bones, Bones would come, no matter the time or the place.
“Damnit, Jim, why aren’t you sleepin’?”
Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be grumpy about it. Not that Jim really noticed anymore. “Bones,” he groaned, teeth clenched, never doubting his friend would hear the pain in his voice.
“Jim?” All signs of sleep were washed from the doctor’s tone, replaced by a mix of urgency and concern. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.”
Jim had no intention of moving-wasn’t even sure if he could. The throbbing in his back continued, almost rhythmic in its increasing intensity. It felt as if his entire back was pulsing beneath the surface of his skin, flexing like a mammoth heartbeat.
A few moments later he heard the door to his quarters snick open and the doctor’s determined voice ordered the lights to seventy percent. Then his friend was hovering over him and he could hear his indrawn breath.
“Mother of God, Jim, what the hell did you do to yourself this time?” McCoy muttered.
“What’s happening to me, Bones?” Jim half-whimpered, teeth still clenched so tightly he thought his jaw might break. He heard the whirl of the tricorder moving over the length of his back and hips and thought he heard the doctor swear. “Bones?”
“Give me a minute.”
There was more rustling and the snapping sound Jim associated with sterile gloves. Gentle fingers probed along his spine. Jim flinched away, the sudden movement drawing a pained yelp from him.
“Okay, okay, I won’t touch it, I’m sorry,” McCoy assured, his voice hushed and soothing. “Easy now, I’ve got ya.”
Jim’s eyes stung as sweat dripped down his face, leaving his hair matted in clumps to his forehead. “Hurts,” he whispered. “Throbbing. Like something’s pushing on my spine.”
“I’ve gotta give you a hypo, Jim. Not going to be able to figure anything out until we reduce that pain. Any place not hurt?”
“Leg,” Jim gasped. “Do it.”
McCoy thumbed the dial on the device, setting the dosage and double checking, then carefully eased down one side of Jim’s sleep pants and pressed the hypo into his thigh. The familiar pop and hiss sounded and he pulled the device away.
Jim let out a long moan that faded as he released the air trapped in his lungs.
“Better?”
“Some,” he responded, voice drained. “Mostly. Still aches but the throbbing has stopped.” He relaxed slowly, carefully, letting himself shift flat until he was nearly melting into the mattress.
“I’ve never seen anything like this, Jim,” the doctor admitted quietly. “Your back is inflamed and raw looking, and welts are starting to rise over your shoulder blades. Your temperature’s elevated. Normally, knowing you, I’d say it was an allergic reaction to something, but that doesn’t explain the pain or the pulsating.”
“The what?” Jim asked, twisting to look at the doctor and wincing at the effort. He dropped back down onto his stomach. “Never mind,” he muttered tiredly. “Not moving.” His eyes drifted shut, exhaustion starting to take over now that the painkiller had kicked in more fully.
“Pulsating,” McCoy replied. “You said it felt like your back was throbbing, well, it was. I could actually see the muscles rippling under the skin, as if something was palpating them.” He leaned in. “Still can, for that matter.”
“Hmm. What’d do that?” He suspected he should be more upset, but he was too worn out to muster that level of anxiety.
“That’s what we’re going to find out. I’m going to need to run some tests, Jim. Come on, before you fall completely asleep. We’ll get you tucked in down in Sickbay. Can you walk or should I go get a stretcher?”
“Hell.” Jim paused, flexing his arms and giving an experimental push to see if he could even get upright. Pain, dulled but still potent, rippled along his back. “Um, stretcher, I think.”
The doctor didn’t say anything in response to that, nor did he move away from the bed. Jim finally opened his eyes and rolled very gingerly to one side so that he could see the man’s face. “Bones?”
“Sorry, Jim, it’s just…” He looked down and busied himself with removing his gloves, with packing away his tricorder and the hypospray in his medkit.
“Just you never heard me volunteer to ride when I could walk?” Jim mumbled, beginning to understand.
The truth was, he wasn’t used to being in pain for no apparent reason. In a fight, there was that adrenaline rush that enabled him to work past his injuries. On a mission, if he was hurt, he still had responsibilities that required his focus. But this? This had blindsided him, leaving him no resources to draw upon.
A warm hand brushed the sweaty hair off his brow. “I’ll be back in a minute, kid.”
Jim let his eyes slide closed again, floating on the near-peace of his drugged state, and tried not to think about what might be wrong with him.
~*~
Inside half an hour, Jim found himself in Sickbay, stretched out on his stomach on the biobed closest to the CMO’s office. The angle of the bed had been adjusted to allow his head and upper torso to rest lower than the remainder of his body so gravity would lessen the pressure on his spine. The privacy screen had been pulled to shield him somewhat, though the other biobeds were blessedly free of patients. Whatever sleepiness he had felt earlier vanished as McCoy began running a battery of tests, keying data into the bed controls and frowning at the resulting readouts. Even as he did so, he peppered Jim with questions regarding his symptoms, including when they had started, their severity, and why precisely he had waited so long to seek out medical attention.
“Come off it, Bones,” Jim grunted at the final inquiry. “Even you can’t tell me that waiting less than twelve hours from the first sign of a problem-which, I might add, was a frickin’ backache-can be considered avoiding your tender mercies.”
“Fine, I’ll give you that one.” He stared down at his PADD and shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense,” he muttered under his breath.
“What doesn’t?”
“None of it! Vitals aren’t coming up any different than you on a good day. You haven’t triggered any allergies, nothing different in your blood stream, all bodily functions operating per usual. Your heart rate is elevated, but I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. Nothing obvious to account for the pain or the overall condition of your back. Which is, for want of a better word, changing.” He let out an exasperated breath. “Are you sure nothing out of the ordinary happened on that damn planet?”
“I told you, Bones. I was with Uhura and Matthison and the security detail the entire three days. We all ate the same things, sat in the same rooms, met the same Anterians. And every night we beamed back up to sleep in our own beds. It was quite possibly the dullest away mission we’ve had to date. And what the hell do you mean, my back is changing?” he demanded.
“Changing. Altering. Morphing. Take your pick. The contours are realigning, Jim. I’d say it was simple inflammation, but it’s clearly beyond that. It’s as if the musculature and bone structure is shifting somehow, practically right in front of my eyes, but there’s no indication how, or what’s causing it.”
That sounded really bad. And also…weird. “So, you have no ideas at all?”
“Never saw anything like this in med school, or anywhere since. I’m going to need more time to research, Jim. Meanwhile, we better get Spock up here. No way are you going back on duty until we figure out what’s going on.”
Jim groaned. The thought had actually crossed his mind earlier when he was writhing on his bed in agony, but now that the pain had receded, it was more difficult to see the need. He was acutely aware that, despite having retained his rank following his field promotion during the Narada incident, he still had plenty of detractors who would love to see him fail. He could not afford to show weakness, and time off duty due to an unexplained illness-or whatever the hell this was-only months into his command, would not be in his best interests.
McCoy clearly interpreted his non-verbal complaint, however. “None of that. Do it, Jim. Don’t make me relieve you.”
Jim let his eyes drift shut and sighed heavily. “Fine. But Bones? You better work out what’s wrong with me fast.”
~*~
“Captain, I believe that Doctor McCoy’s hypothesis holds merit.”
“Spock, don’t tell me you’re actually agreeing with Bones about something,” Jim grumbled. “And sit down, would you? I can’t have a conversation with you hovering over me like that.” He turned his head slightly to the side and raised his torso a few inches to try to meet Spock’s eyes, barely managing to look above the first officer’s waist.
Spock sat in the seat beside the biobed with no comment regarding the first half of Jim’s statement. “Your symptoms as you have described them appear to have coincided with your return from Anterius. It is logical to assume that they were brought on by something that took place during the away mission.”
“But Spock, everyone else is fine. None of the others have shown up with back pain, or rearranging bones, or anything else for that matter,” Jim argued.
“That does not rule out the possibility that the away mission did in fact contribute to your current situation.”
“Not that I’m not all in a tizzy about you agreeing with me, Spock,” McCoy drawled, “but that doesn’t exactly narrow things down. I still don’t know what’s wrong with Jim, or how to stop it.”
“I propose that we go over the transcripts of the meetings with the Anterians in order to determine if anything will suggest a solution.”
“Right,” Jim mumbled. “Because trade agreements and talk of Federation access to Anterian air space are just filled with controversy. Everyone was perfectly friendly, happy to have us there. I think I’d have noticed if one of the representatives was playing with a Captain Kirk voodoo doll under the conference table.” He shifted, stopping abruptly when pain shot along his spine.
“Damnit, Jim, that painkiller should have lasted another two hours,” the doctor told him, staring up at the monitor over the bed. “How bad is it?”
“Not bad. Not like earlier.”
“That’s not sayin’ much.” McCoy loaded another hypo and set it on the tray to the side of the biobed.
“Okay, Spock,” Jim said. “Go ahead and talk to Uhura, check out the transcripts, whatever. I don’t think you’ll find anything but it can’t hurt. Just remember you have to fill in for me on the bridge for alpha shift.”
“I am aware of your schedule, Captain, as I made up the duty roster.”
“Right.” When his first officer rose to leave, Jim reached out, just enough to catch his attention without actually touching him. “Thanks, Spock.”
“It is my job, Captain.”
Jim let his hand drop.
~*~
McCoy gave Jim the second hypo half an hour after Spock had left Sickbay, his face a mask of concern as he took note of Jim’s vitals. “That help?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jim murmured, eyes closed. The truth was that the painkillers, while lessening the throbbing in his back, were notably less effective than the first time around. He suspected McCoy knew that, but there wasn’t much point in discussing the fact.
An hour later, Jim was starting to squirm, the fire in his blood reignited, the throbbing in his back elevating rapidly. He could see McCoy glancing in his direction from where he sat at his desk, scouring computer files in an effort to find some rationale for Jim’s condition. The next hypo was already waiting on the bedside tray, loaded immediately after the last dose had been administered.
Though the pain was severe, Jim was still able to manage it, lying perfectly still and breathing slowly in a shallow, even rhythm, trying to minimize the rise and fall of his back. Then suddenly the skin and muscles began to actively pull and stretch, as if something wanted to claw its way out of his body. Whatever pain he had felt before paled in comparison to this fresh assault.
“Bones!” he hollered, grabbing onto the edges of the bed, knuckles white. He pressed his face into the mattress to keep from breathing, every centimeter of movement prompting a wave of agony.
McCoy sent his chair crashing over in his haste to reach the captain. He crossed the distance in half a dozen steps and reached for the hypo that awaited him. Stopping to check the dosage, he caught a good look at Jim’s back, and his fingers fumbled. “Jesus,” he breathed.
“Bones, please,” Jim begged, voice half-muffled by the bedding.
McCoy pulled himself together long enough to draw down the sheet and deliver the hypo. His eyes glued to the monitor, he watched data pour out as the machine attempted to keep pace with the bed’s sensors. Then he glanced down at the device still clutched in his hand, thumbed the dial, and administered a second, smaller dose. The tension slowly seeped out of Jim’s body, his hands loosening their death grip on the railing of the bed. The doctor eased the sheet back up to just hip level.
“Fuck,” Jim breathed out.
“Jim.”
“Did you just give me two hypos?”
“Jim, listen to me.”
“Come on, Bones, I’m in enough pain without you sticking me twice.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Captain, that one dose didn’t seem to actually do anything this time,” McCoy snapped. “Right now hypos are the least of our worries.”
“Does that mean you have some idea of what’s going on?” Jim demanded, eyes snapping open.
The doctor exhaled sharply and dropped down in the chair beside the bed. “Jim, the skin on your back appears to be perforating. Ridges have formed just inside your shoulder blades, and the skin there has started to split. It looks… it looks like something is growing out of your back.”
Jim stared at his best friend. “Like what? A tumor?”
“No, not a tumor. First of all, the ridges are mirroring each other-there’s two of ‘em. The way they’re contoured, and the way they continue down your back into the gluteus region, seems to suggest…” He trailed off, eyes boring into Jim’s.
“Bones, just spit it out.”
“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you’re growing wings.”
Jim blinked. “Wings?”
“Not sayin’ that’s what it is. Just that’s what it looks like.”
~*~
A follow-up set of scans proved that McCoy’s suspicions were correct, revealing the partially developed skeletal structure of a pair of wings that, if the past few hours were any indication, were in the midst of a rapid growth phase.
Jim lay prone on the biobed, trying to absorb this new information. Nothing in his Academy training or any of his experiences prior had prepared him for something like this.
Strong, familiar fingers gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You okay, Jim?”
Drawn from his confused thoughts, Jim glanced up at the doctor. Bones had set aside the PADD with the damning test results and resumed his seat at Jim’s bedside.
“Yeah, Bones,” Jim murmured, forcing a faint smile. “That last hypo’s still working.”
“That’s not what I was asking and you know it. Don’t give me that stoic-captain crap. How are you holding up?”
“I’m growing wings, Bones. How the fuck am I supposed to hold up?” he shot back.
“Fair enough. I think it’s safe to say this has something to do with that away mission, though. Timing’s too convenient.”
“That doesn’t mean it makes any sense. Why wings of all things? And how? The Anterians were humanoid, not a wing among them. I don’t know that I even saw any birds while we were on the planet.”
“Maybe Spock’s figured something out by now. Should fill him in, either way.”
“Yeah. Go ahead and comm him,” Jim agreed.
McCoy stepped into his office and Jim heard his low voice as he quietly requested Spock’s presence in Sickbay. When he returned, he settled automatically into the chair next to Jim’s bed.
“How much longer, do you think?” Jim asked after a few moments. “Before the…wings…are fully developed.”
“Can’t say for certain. Not like I studied avian biology in med school. Not sure it would help if I had. But based on the rate of growth between the two scans, I reckon we’re looking at three, maybe four hours tops.”
“How big?”
“How big will the wings be? No way to tell. Human beings have solid skeletons-as opposed to a bird’s hollow frame-which is why we were never meant to fly; too much weight. But if you want to use historical renderings of angels and the like in art as an indicator, given your height, I’d say at least six feet, with a minimum nine- to twelve-foot wing span.”
“Nine to twelve…what the hell, Bones? How am I going to even maneuver through the ship?”
“That’s only full extended, Jim,” he replied, then paused and shook his head. “I cannot believe we are having this discussion.”
“You and me both.” Jim sighed. “Better add ‘fucked-up shit’ to your list of space attributes, right after disease and danger.”
The doctor did not bother to reply, merely gave the captain’s hand a consoling pat. They sat in silence, the only sounds coming from the quiet activity on the other side of the privacy screen, the peace of Sickbay serving as an incongruous backdrop to the two men’s shared tension.
~*~
Spock arrived with a PADD tucked under his arm. “We have set a return course to Anterius, Captain. My examination of the away-mission transcripts indicates that the Anterian high priest conveyed a blessing upon you shortly before you beamed back aboard the Enterprise. This is the only variance in behavior over the course of the meetings, as no other crew member experienced this honor. While there is no direct link to the pain that you have been suffering, I believe that we will find that the universal translator has been imprecise in defining the term used by the Anterians as a ‘blessing.’”
“Try plugging in ‘wings’ for ‘blessing,’ Mr. Spock, and you’ll be on the right page,” McCoy remarked.
Spock’s eyebrows rose, even as his gaze settled on the captain’s raw and reddened back. “Wings?”
“Yeah, Spock, seems I’m growing wings.”
“Fascinating.”
“Not from where I’m sitting,” Jim grumbled. “So, any idea why the Anterians would have considered them a neat parting gift?”
“As I was not a member of the away team for this particular mission, and therefore have no direct experience with the Anterian race, it is illogical for me to offer a conjecture.”
“Try anyway, Spock,” Jim bit out.
“Very well, Captain. It is possible, given the overall success of the meetings and the welcoming demeanor of the delegation, that they did, indeed, believe that they were rewarding you in some way by presenting you with what they perceived to be an honor at the close of the final session.”
“But wings?” He knew he was starting to repeat himself, but really, the question begged repeating.
“Wings have historically been used as a positive metaphor in Terran culture,” Spock pointed out. “For instance, the phrase ‘stretch one’s wings’ refers to finding one’s independence and path in life, and ‘soaring’ is often used to suggest success. Perhaps the high priest wished to ensure your continued achievement.”
“Who cares what they thought as long as they can reverse it,” the doctor interjected. “How soon before we’re back in orbit?”
“Approximately seven point two five hours, ship’s time.”
“Terrific. I should be flying all over the place by then.” Jim shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, and winced at the echoing pain down his spine.
“That painkiller wearing off again?” McCoy demanded.
“Starting to,” he admitted.
“I can’t up the dosage on the current analgesic any more than I have, Jim. I’m going to have to switch to the other one next go around.”
“You mean the one with the sedative?” Jim groaned.
“Sorry, kid, but it’s probably for the best. Just knock you out for the duration.”
“Doctor McCoy is correct, Captain. One would assume that, if you are manifesting wings, there will come a point when their development is complete and you will cease to feel pain from the alteration to your physiology. It is only logical to remain unconscious during this period that is bringing you such discomfort.”
“So I just take a nap and wake up with wings?” Jim closed his eyes. “I can’t say I’m thrilled with that idea.”
“Neither am I, Jim, but there’s nothing we can do until we’re back dirtside and figure out what the Anterians did to you. And the pain’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Captain, the-”
“For God’s sake, Spock,” he snapped, eyes flying open, “I’m lying here with wings sprouting out of my back, and I’m most definitely not on duty. Can’t you just call me Jim?”
“Of course. As I was about to say-Jim-it is illogical to suffer needlessly.”
“Right,” he huffed. “Bones, do what you have to. Not like I have much of a choice. Just…not until the last hypo’s worn off, okay?”
“Well of course not, Jim. I’m trying to ease your pain, not put you out of your misery for good.”
~*~
When Jim woke up, he was disoriented. All he knew was that he was lying on his stomach in a darkened room, arms and legs tied down, and he had the mother of all headaches pressing behind his eyes. He tensed, tried to shift with what limited movement he had been allowed, hoping he could figure out where he was-what had happened-but the instant he moved an alarm went off nearby.
He could hear footsteps, running. Panicked, he struggled against his bindings, panting at the effort. A shadow moved over him and he felt an odd rippling in his back muscles, but no pain, nothing like…
And recollection raced toward him, reminding Jim of everything he had experienced in the past twenty-four hours. He relaxed onto the biobed just as he heard the footsteps grow closer and McCoy’s quiet, soothing voice breaking the bubble of silence surrounding him.
“Jim, it’s all right, calm down. I’m going to remove the restraints, but I need you to relax for me. Can you do that, kid?”
“Bones?” he rasped out, mouth dry, lips cracked and painful.
“Yeah, it’s me, Jim. I got ya. Just hang in there a minute and I’ll get you some water. Take a deep breath for me and let it out slow, okay?”
Jim did as he was instructed. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched as the room gradually brightened. He felt a light blanket come to rest over him, gentle and comforting, and let his eyes droop the rest of the way shut. The well-known scents and sounds of Sickbay wrapped around him, now that he wasn’t overwhelmed by panic.
“Tired, Bones,” he whispered. “Just woke up. How can I be tired?”
“I’m not surprised that you’re tired, Jim. You’ve had a hell of a day.”
The doctor made short work of releasing the restraints that held Jim’s arms and legs bound to the sides of the bed. “Sorry about these,” McCoy murmured, rubbing the circulation back into one of Jim’s wrists. “You were thrashing around pretty badly for a while there. Didn’t have much choice.”
Jim hummed lightly, then stopped, eyes snapping open as the doctor’s words sunk in and he realized exactly why he must have been so restless. “Is it…over?”
McCoy sighed. “I don’t know about over, but if you mean do you have wings yet? Yeah, it’s over.”
Glancing around from his limited vantage point, Jim realized that his surroundings had changed somewhat. The privacy screen that separated his bed from the next had been opened, while the next screen over had been deployed, widening the space considerably. The small table normally situated next to the biobed had also been removed. Bones was forced to walk around the second bed in order to fetch him a glass of water from the far table.
Slowly, Jim pulled his arms in beneath him and pressed up onto his hands and knees. There was a rustling sound and the sensation of lifting, and suddenly the shadow that had unnerved him a few moments before had returned, blocking out the lights in the ceiling above. He felt an extraordinary extending of his back muscles, as if they were reaching for the edges of the room.
“Careful there,” Bones murmured.
Jim nodded automatically, eyes glued to the broad expanse of wing stretching out to his left. He could see the upper arch, a strong line covered by a mix of rich brown and golden feathers with a coppery iridescent sheen. The underside of the wing was a lighter gold, fading to butter yellow where the feathers were smaller and more downy. Even as he stared, he felt a shifting in his back and the wing began to descend and furl. Jim gradually lowered his hips so he was sitting on his heels, chest canted forward as his wings pulled back over his body and closed.
“Did you do that on purpose?” McCoy asked. He had moved around to the top of the biobed, well clear of Jim’s wings.
Jim turned and looked at him, accepting the water glass when McCoy held it out. He drank down a few gulps and ran his tongue over his lips, then took another sip before clearing his throat.
“Yeah,” he said, voice sounding more normal. “I, um, I’m pretty sure I did.” His gaze rested somewhere in the middle of the doctor’s chest, but he lifted it now, met his friend’s eyes. “Bones, I really have wings.”
“I know, Jim. We’re about an hour out of Anterius. We’ll find a way to fix this.” His dark eyes grew more focused, honing in on Jim’s expression. “How are you feeling? Any residual pain?”
“No, I’m fine. Well, except for the obvious,” he added, grin sheepish.
“You want to take a look at them? You can use the head in my office. I think the mirror in there’s big enough for you to get a decent view.”
Jim eased himself backward toward the edge of the bed and sat upright, allowing the bottom of his wings to hang down the side. They were surprisingly light and self-supporting, but it was still an odd sensation to have something so large attached to his back, and sitting up made it all the more obvious. The feeling bore no resemblance to carrying a pack, which was really the only experience he had for comparison.
He pushed himself a little straighter, sighing as his shoulders and hips popped at the movement after so many hours lying flat. “Honestly? I’m not sure I want a decent view,” he admitted. “I’m not even sure I can walk around with these things.”
“You’re going to need to try, Jim. At the very least, you’ll have to get down to the transporter room. I’m assuming you’re going to want to go down to Anterius to get answers.”
“Damn right, I am.” He looked down at his legs, clad in scrub pants Bones had given him somewhere over the course of the day. They rode low in the back to allow for where the wings emerged from the upper part of his hips.
“So, what exactly does a person wear when they’re sporting wings?” he grumbled.
~*~
By the time the Enterprise had reached orbit around Anterius, McCoy had assisted Jim in cutting two long slits in one of his regulation black shirts and a gold command tunic, each running from the back bottom hem to nearly the neckline of the garments. When he put the shirts on, the newly formed flaps fell to either side and between his wings, enabling the captain to appear clothed in his usual fashion. Unfortunately, the fitted black pants that comprised the remainder of his uniform would not adapt easily to such treatment, and so Jim had settled for pulling on a pair of loose black workout pants with a drawstring waist that allowed them to ride low on his hips and buttocks beneath his wings. The makeshift arrangement was both comfortable and presentable, but, as he carefully paced beside his biobed in an attempt to adjust to his new center of gravity, Jim sincerely hoped it was temporary.
With the change in course, Spock had been forced to notify Starfleet regarding the circumstances that prompted their return to Anterius, though following a discussion with both the captain and Dr. McCoy, he had edited the details of the situation, omitting any direct reference to the captain’s altered physiology. Needless to say, Command had been less than understanding about the vague report, but an off-the-record discussion between Spock and Admiral Pike had bought them a brief window to operate at their own discretion.
“What exactly did you tell them, Commander?” Jim asked, when Spock appeared in Sickbay to report.
“I intimated that a parting gift from the Anterians proved less innocent than was initially apparent and that we wished to ascertain whether their intentions toward the Federation were as well-meaning as they claimed during your meetings.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that put their panties in a twist,” McCoy remarked.
“What did Pike say?” Jim asked.
“That he expects a complete report once we’ve solved whatever mess you have gotten yourself into, Captain,” Spock replied, his tone leaving no doubt in either of the other men’s minds that he was quoting their superior.
Jim snorted. “Yeah, well, let’s hope we can all laugh about it then. So, I’m guessing we’re ready to beam down?”
“Affirmative, Captain. The away team is awaiting our presence in the transporter room. The Anterians have been apprised of our wish to meet with them and have arranged for the high priest to meet us at the arrival point.”
“Who exactly has been briefed on the reason for our return to Anterius, Spock?”
“The senior command team, Captain, and the security detail assigned to accompany us down to the planet. Beyond that, I am aware of only Nurse Chapel.” His gaze darted toward McCoy.
“ I had to fill her in, Jim,” the doctor added. “She’s been keeping the rest of the med staff out of the way for me.”
“It’s fine, Bones. You know I trust Chapel.” Jim watched as his friend gave him a distracted nod, occupied as he was with double-checking and restocking the contents of his medkit. The doctor had dark circles under his eyes, and the captain realized he had most likely remained on duty since Jim had commed him during gamma shift. They were now well into beta, and McCoy had taken on the slightly frayed appearance that indicated he was resorting to stimulants in order to maintain his edge. It occurred to Jim to suggest McCoy stay behind, but he knew better than to actually voice the idea.
“Captain. Jim,” Spock corrected, his tone somehow conveying a level of sympathy and understanding that the captain knew he would never admit to feeling. “I have taken the liberty of clearing the decks between Sickbay and the transporter room. You will be able to travel there at this time without drawing any undue attention.”
Jim smiled warmly at his first officer. It was moments like these when he saw a glimmer of the friendship they might one day enjoy. “Thanks, Spock. Well, gentlemen, let’s get this show on the road.”
~*~
(Part 2)