Spock awoke to almost total darkness, uncharacteristically unaware of his surroundings. Cold, he was terribly cold. There was a dull, throbbing pain behind his eyes and as he turned his head in an effort to gather some information on his situation he was overcome by a brief wave of nausea.
Breathe.Turning his focus to the sounds around him, he became aware of a soft familiar beeping sound which he recognized as belonging to a lifescan machine and underlying that, the faint drone of warp coils, audible only to Vulcan ears. He attempted to move his arm but found himself somehow tethered to the bed. Restraints?No, he could sense the infusion device against his arm. It was an IV. The smell of antiseptic commingled with a cloyingly sweet smell of perfume. He was in the sickbay of a starship.
"He's regained consciousness, Doctor."
The voice was human, female, young, but not a voice he recognized. The sound of light footsteps approaching and then a figure appeared. It was a woman with shining blond hair that looked like a halo in the dim light and even in the darkness he was certain this angelic creature had soft sapphire blue eyes. Safe.
"Nurse Chapel?" he said, surprised at the effort necessary to speak the two words. Enterprise, he was in the sickbay of the Enterprise.
"Well it's about time, Sleeping Beauty." This new voice was familiar, warm, gentle, and marked by a pronounced Georgia accent "You've had us all worried."
"He's asking for a Nurse Chapel, Dr McCoy, but there's no Chapel stationed here."
"He means Dr Chapel. She transferred out when we docked at Starbase 10."
Dr. Chapel,yes Christine was a doctor now, things were coming back to him. Gone?
"Spock, there was an explosion on Dextil 3. Do you remember that?"
"Yes," he said his voice dry and raspy as he recalled the horrifying moments after the security team discovered the bomb in the High Council chambers. "The others…"
"Jim and Sulu are fine, Chekov has some broken bones, Kyle has some pretty nasty burns but I've got him in the dermal regenerator. Marks and Lane- " the Doctor swallowed hard and shook his head his face suddenly grim. "Tthey were almost on top of the thing when it went off…they didn't make it."
Yes, he remembered clearly how the valiant young men had thrown themselves atop the device muffling the explosion.
"How- Spock struggled to form the words, "how long?"
"How long were you unconscious?"
Spock attempted to nod in reply until he sensed another dizzying wave of nausea.
McCoy's fingers danced over the touchscreen of the scanner. "Almost thirty six hours. You have a concussion, nothing serious but I'm gonna need to keep you here a couple of days for observation." The doctor checked the scanner again and frowned then checked the controls of the biobed.
"Nurse," McCoy said sharply. "This bed is programmed for human body temperature not Vulcan. Bring me a thermal wrap."
McCoy adjusted the controls of the biobed as the nurse returned and wrapped him in the warm coverlet. Spock stiffened momentarily as the young woman's hands touched his bare skin and was unexpectedly subjected to a barrage of her emotions. It was never a pleasant experience, but in his weakened state he was unable to shield his mind and the sensation of the nurse's chaotic thoughts and feelings was nearly overwhelming.
"This should help get your body temp back to normal," McCoy assured him gently. Even in the dim light Spock could see the look of displeasure the doctor gave the young nurse.
"Water?" Spock asked his voice still rough from disuse.
"Not yet, but you can have a little ice to suck on. Danvers, bring me an electrolyte stick."
As the young woman scurried off to retrieve the frozen pop, McCoy adjusted the mix of fluids in the IV pack. "Sorry about that," he said, his voice low. "Most of my nursing staff is fresh out of the Academy. She's no Chapel, that's for sure," he added and for a moment Spock was sure he'd seen a momentary flash of resentment in the McCoy's eyes. "I'm gonna give you a little something to ease the pain, okay?"
Spock nodded and was relieved to find the nausea had subsided. He heard the gentle hiss of the hypospray and almost immediately the pounding in his head began to fade.
"I was afraid to give you any pain meds while you were still unconscious. After you finish your ice, I'm gonna let you go back to sleep." He held the ice stick to Spock's lips and Spock sucked in the cool fluid greedily.
"Slow down," McCoy cautioned, and Spock reluctantly released the stick from his mouth. McCoy dropped down into the chair next to the biobed. "Jim wanted to come down but you need to get some sleep first. I'll be right here if you need anything."
Spock started to tell the Doctor that wouldn't be necessary but instead closed his eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
He awakened a few hours later and was pleased to find Jim had replaced the doctor.
"Glad you could join us, Mr. Spock."
"It is most gratifying to see you as well, Captain. I am pleased that you and Mr. Sulu are uninjured and saddened by the loss of the two Security Officers"
Kirk's face grew solemn at the mention of the dead officers. Though the prospect of death was an inescapable reality of life on a Starfleet vessel, Spock knew that Jim felt the loss of a crew member as a personal loss, and a personal responsibility.
"Bones says you'll be back to the bridge in forty eight hours."
"As usual, I believe the good doctor has exaggerated the seriousness of my condition."
"Well, this time let's err on the side of caution." Kirk responded.
Spock struggled to sit up, but was prevented from doing so by the IV unit attached to his left arm.
"The situation on Dextil 3-" he began his protest.
"The terrorists who planted the bomb have all been apprehended. They were part of a small splinter group hoping to thwart an alliance between Dextil 3 and the Federation."
"Part of a group, then there are others…"
"Taken into custody as well, so, we're back on standard mapping duty until further orders."
"But still," the Spock continued though it was becoming clear that he would have to serve out his full sentence under McCoy's questionable ministrations.
"No 'buts', Commander," Kirk said in a tone that broached no compromise. "You are to remain in Sickbay until Dr. McCoy releases you for duty. Do I have to make that an order?"
"No, Jim, that won't be necessary," he responded noticing the trace of pleasure that crossed the Kirk's face at the familiar form of address. Not long ago he would have felt shame at the feelings of friendship and caring he saw in those warm, hazel eyes and the reciprocating feelings he held for James Kirk. Feelings he had tried to extinguish in the monastery at Gol, feelings that V'ger for all its wisdom gathered across myriad universes could not begin to fathom.
"Doctor Chapel," Spock asked, "she has left the ship?"
"She left the ship ten days ago when we put in at Starbase 10," McCoy said curtly as he joined the the pair. "Not that you noticed."
"No one informed me that Dr. Chapel was being transferred." Spock recalled seeing the same flash of animosity in the doctor's eyes last night when he'd mentioned Christine Chapel. He had not understood McCoy's brief burst of emotionalism the night before; but he felt certain now that the doctor considered him in some way responsible for Dr. Chapel's hasty departure.
"Chris was offered a billet as Assistant Director of Emergency Operations at Fleet. Admiral Noriga himself made the appointment," Kirk said with obvious admiration in his voice. "It came with a Bay view office and a Commander's stripe."
"Fascinating," Spock responded thoughtfully, nodding his head.
"You don't think she deserves it?" McCoy asked, and again Spock felt the doctor's unspoken anger directed at him.
"Quite the contrary Doctor, Dr. Chapel is one of the brightest, most compassionate and most empathetic healers I have encountered. It is logical that Starfleet would want to make the best advantage of her abilities. I am regretful that I was not afforded the opportunity offer my congratulations to her."
"You should be regretful." McCoy grumbled as he disconnected the IV unit from Spock's arm.
"Bones," Kirk cautioned his friend, then shifting into a more affable tone added. "When can I have my First Officer back?"
McCoy studied the readout over the bio bed carefully.
"How does thirty six hours sound?"
"Really Doctor, I see no need to drag this out any longer."
"I wasn't askin' you." McCoy responded grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Thirty six hours sound fine Bones." Kirk answered unable to suppress a grin at the aggrieved look on the Spock's face.
….
Spock looked at the food on the tray Danvers left before him and felt his nausea return. "Nurse, please take this away."
"I'm sorry sir but Doctor McCoy says you have to eat something."
Something, he thought, but not the unappetizing contents of the tray. He remembered in his previous confinements to Doctor McCoy's chamber of horrors, Nurse Chapel had brought him a cold creamy dish she called "egg custard". He had forgotten how much he'd enjoyed that dish and felt a sudden pang of guilt about how he had scolded her for her insistence upon bringing him food. He had tried to impress upon her that it was unseemly for a woman to serve a man in such a personal manner if they were not bonded, yet she had persisted with the practice.
But now he realized that the fault had lain with him. He had judged her behavior by Vulcan sensibilities, despite the fact that she was not a Vulcan woman. It was simply her nature to be kind, nurturing, to care for others. It was an integral part of what had made her such a gifted healer.
It would be illogical to protest against our natures. It seemed a lifetime ago he'd spoken those words to her. He sighed softly. Ironic, he mused that Christine had embraced her own nature while he'd buried his under the icy mantle of Vulcan logic. Christine? The only thing she had ever asked of him was to call her by her name. Why had he made such an issue of her simple request?
"Could I have some egg custard?" he asked.
"Certainly, I'll order some from the replicator," she said cheerily as she set down the chartpad next to the biobed and cleared away the tray.
A few minutes later she returned with a dish of custard and a spoon. He took a small spoonful and bristled. It was a pasty substance, cloyingly sweet; it was a test of his Vulcan sense of decorum to swallow it rather than spitting it out.
"What is this?" he asked.
"It's egg custard, just like you wanted."
"This isn't like the egg custard that Dr. Chapel gave me in the past," he retorted, making no effort to mask the irritation in his voice.
"I programmed the replicator for egg custard and that's what it gave me," she answered defensively.
Spock closed his eyes sighed. "It would appear that I am more fatigued than I realized. Perhaps I will be able to eat something later," he said attempting an air of earnestness.
"Alright," she agreed cautiously, no doubt considering the possibility of facing another scolding from the McCoy. She picked up the container of pudding and returned to the nursing station.
Glancing to the end of the bed Spock realized Nurse Danvers had forgotten to take the chartpad with her. He considered calling her back, but instead stretched down to retrieve it. At his touch the unit came alive, the screen filled with his identifying information, his name, rank, serial number, a retinal scan, blood type followed by a string of icons. He touched the first one and saw his most recent brain scan, McCoy had been correct; the concussion he'd suffered had indeed been serious.
The next icon opened to reveal extensive bloodwork. He touched the third icon and found himself looking into the clear blue eyes of Doctor Christine Chapel.
"These are auxiliary nursing notes for use in the treatment of Commander Spock USS Enterprise. As you may have already figured out, the Commander is one of the two worst patients on this vessel, the other being Captain James T Kirk. The only thing worse than having Captain Kirk or Commander Spock in Sickbay is having them both in Sickbay at the same time. It's sort of like herding tribbles, except a thousand times harder," Chapel said with a gentle laugh.
"The two biggest challenges with the Commander, outside of the physiological and cultural differences which are outlined in a separate file, are keeping him from disregarding medical orders and returning to the bridge AMA, and getting him to eat.
"Good luck with the first one, I've never had any luck keeping him in bed… hmm maybe I should rephrase that?" She laughed again but there was something fleeting in her expression that he couldn't quite identify. "Basically, you need to bandage him up as best you can, get some drugs and hopefully some food into him then stand aside."
"I do have a couple of tricks for getting him to eat something. The Commander is inordinately fond of plomeek soup and egg custard, although he pretends that he isn't and acts like a big butthead when you make it for him. Sulu didn't have any ripe plomeek in the hydroponic garden, but I made a huge batch of my mom's egg custard and filled six stasis containers. They're on the bottom shelf of the cabinet next to the desk at the nurses' station. Dr. Christine Chapel out."
Butthead? Spock raised an amused eyebrow at the crude, almost insubordinate appellation, and then returned his attention to the image of Christine Chapel on the pad. Her hair, which he recalled as being elaborately styled and various shades of blonde, was now a dark brown, pulled back from her face and simply styled accenting her smooth pale skin and classic features. The young sweet nurse who had cared for him unconditionally was gone; before him on the screen was a beautiful, confident woman, a talented doctor who had embraced her nature and moved on with her life. He was surprised by the pang of loss the realization brought to him. That feeling would require meditation, but not just now, he decided.
Gingerly he extricated himself from the biobed, and padded around the corner to the nurses' station. Finding the station unattended he laid the chartpad on the console before removing one of the stasis containers from the bottom shelf of the supply cabinet, then slowly making his way back to the biobed.
He removed the lid from the container, and was reassured to see the soft golden color, and to smell the delicate aroma of vanilla and nutmeg. He was suddenly struck by the illogical thought that if comfort had a scent it would be the smell of Christine Chapel's egg custard.
"Thank you, Christine," he said, without any effort to stifle the smile that was spreading across his lips.