So, this story was created to infuriate a dear friend of mine as she was taking too long in writing me into her story. However, I started enjoying this creation too much and decided to not kill her off in a short, one chapter story with a horrible, gruesome death sugar-coated in anger, despair and the fiery depths of Hell. Instead I chose to develop it and the idea constantly changes and expands. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.


Chapter One: Conundrum

The Ensign smiles proudly at the work she's accomplished in the last few hours, knowing the delights of a hot chocolate and good novel awaited her company back at her quarters. Though she only had 3 years of Starfleet training and was the newest crewman of the glorified and renowned ship Enterprise, she had an accomplished life working amongst the engines of ships and stations, making her skill set highly sought after. She was talented, and a fast worker, ensuring she remain a valuable member of their crew. Aiming to one day run the engineering crew on a USS ship, she is content with her current position aboard the Enterprise and beneath the brilliant Montgomery Scott until she is prepared to do so.

Passing a fellow Ensign who had also just finished duty, they engage in small talk as they leave the Engine rooms. Not normally one for idle chit-chat and much preferring to be engrossed in her novel, Ensign Bocking flatters her partner in gossiping about the strange flu symptoms affecting a handful of people, Mr Scott among them.

"He vas acting wery strange yesterday and looked paler than I'we ewer seen him," Ensign Carly Belikov explains. She, like Ensign Chekhov, were Russian, though her accent is much less noticeable compared to his. She still carries a slight mispronunciation with each word containing 'w' and 'v', but she adjusted well to a more Americanised speech from her Starfleet Academy years based in San Francisco. "I'm telling you, Emily. He vas ill vith the wirus. He exhibited all the symptoms."

Ensign Bocking had heard some in passing, like nausea, fatigue, sweat, restlessness; but she remembers nothing of Mr Scott looking unwell. "Is it fatal?"

She shrugs, "I knov nothing. They're being wery secretiwe if you ask me."

"Is it contagious?" A look of worry flashes over her features.

Again, Ensign Belikov shrugs, "I'we not heard of anyone else admitting themselwes to sickbay since Mr Scott." She turns to scan the area. "Ah, this is my stop. I promised a friend I'd meet him at the restaurant this ewening. I'll see you tomorrov, Emily."

Departing, Ensign Bocking farewells her friend and continues towards her quarters. She takes out her communicator and opens it, thinking to call her superior, but her mind wanders back to Mr Scott yesterday, when she had last seen him. He didn't appear pale, or no more than usual. She frowns, recalling the events, remembering his subtle advances and flirtatious commentary, which she had written off as a characteristic of his Scottish charm at the time.

"Engineering to Ensign Bocking. We need you down here," her communicator suddenly blares, startling her back to reality. She realises her train of thought had detoured her as she stands outside of sickbay. She remains there, rigid and awkward as a nurse suddenly recognises her presence.

"May I help you?" she asks kindly.

Shaking her head as if she is experiencing a seizure, she stumbles upon her words. "I- I er... came to visit Mr Scott," she lies.

Dr McCoy suddenly steps around the corner, examining her with his permanently stern look and a raised eyebrow. The Ensign fancies him slightly, ever since her first encounter with the senior officer upon boarding the ship. She likes his serious eyes and his constant use of metaphors; his crude humour and pessimistic attitude always manages to evoke a swirl of confusion and attraction within her. "He's not here," he says with a frown.

"Ensign, I'm not getting any younger down here," her communicator speaks again.

It suddenly dawns on her the individual that voice belongs to, as well as the sickbay staff. Dr McCoy stares at Ensign Bocking as his nostrils flare in anger.

"You tell that jackass to get back to medical. He needs treatment immediately or he might infect the entire ship!" McCoy demands.

The realisation of the serious situation at hand startles the Ensign. She nods in response and awkwardly presses her communicator. "Sir, Dr McCoy requires you return to medical promptly."

"You tell McCoy that he can kiss me arse," Mr Scott snidely responds. "Ensign, to engineering. Now. I won't ask you again."

"I haven't discharged you, and you're in no state of mind to go galavanting around the ship and making orders. You don't take the bomb if you leave your disarming equipment at home," he yells into her communicator, confusing the Ensign momentarily. "Return immediately or I'll relieve you of duty."

A childish retort is heard with an accompaniment of delirious laughter. "Can't relieve me if you can't reach me, Doctor!" Mr Scott responds in a manic tone, followed by an abrupt disconnection to leave the Ensign's mouth hanging agape and her face pale in shock.

"Dammit, man!" McCoy groans and runs a hand through his hair. "The delirium's setting in."

"Delirium?" Ensign Bocking stares, unsure of how to react in this situation. Her superior demanded her presence, not once, but three times, and she ignores it. Meanwhile, a man she only met sporadically upon feeling ill used her like a phone booth. However, figuring the circumstance, she thought it wise to trust the instinct of a doctor, choosing to reject the consistent shrieks of Mr Scott over the communicator.

McCoy is pacing about the ward, devising what she can only assume is a plan of attack. His eyes dart infrequently towards her, and she feels uneasy, knowing that she is surely a part of his scheme. He runs a hand over his mouth and tugs at his chin as if he possesses a goatie; Ensign Bocking finds it slightly amusing until he pounces on her, taking her arm and dragging her into sickbay.

"Doctor...?" she asks worriedly.

"Sending security officers to retrieve him will only make him fearful of attack, and he may do something dangerous or stupid," he is talking rapidly as he sits her down on a bed. He gets to work with the nurses, scurrying about the lab, collecting equipment. Ensign Bocking watches as they pull a hypodermic needle from a case containing few others. McCoy continues, "We need him to feel like he's in control. He's asked for you."

The Ensign absorbs the information. "So you're saying I'm the bait."

"Regrettably. Now, it is contagious if one is exposed to it for a long duration, but this should prevent you from acquiring the virus for maybe, an hour," he presses a cold, cylindrical device to her neck and she feels the shot, causing her to wince. "Sorry," he says apologetically.

She nods understandably, but raises a hand to her neck regardless.

"We have to bring him back to sickbay, or the entire ship may become a playground to pathogens." He passes her a hypodermic syringe filled with a liquid. "This, when injected into his bloodstream, will cause a short blockage of haemoglobin to the brain."

Upon seeing Ensign Bocking's confusion, the nurse translates, "He'll pass out."

"But it will need about a minute to take effect," he adds. "We'll send some security to follow you, and after he falls unconscious, they'll bring him back for treatment."

"What if I can't get close enough to inject him?" she asks as she slips it into the top of her high boots.

McCoy pauses for a brief moment, then passes her a phaser locked on stun, and she takes it warily. "Stun him only if you absolutely have to. We've isolated the location of the virus in other patients to the dorsal nerve chord, so when you fire the phaser, he'll spasm like a hula girl on a dashboard. It will cause him to become more aggressive as his primitive brain will respond, but it may grant you enough time to inject him then high tail it like a robber fleeing with a bag of cash."

She nods and slides it into her belt, not failing to hear the 'may' within his theory. This mission is dangerous, but a man she admires is unstable and destructive enough to risk the lives of the whole crew in his delirium. She knows this must be done.

McCoy stares at her with uncertainty, knowing the hazards of her quest. His jaw sets and he frowns deeper, and the Ensign basks in his attractively stern gaze. Imagining him looking at her like that constantly, she feels warmth flushing over her cheeks as she blinks back to reality and her mission ahead.

"Ready?" he asks.

The Ensign nods, takes a breath and opens her communicator. "Ensign Bocking to Mr Scott. I'll be there presently."