Nurse Chapel thanked the stars for the slow day in sick bay. McCoy had skirted out of the room 15 minutes ago to find the Captain - his communicator wasn't working, and many of the biobeds had technical failures. Thankfully, they were back online a few minutes ago.
The ship wide alarms had silenced, and she found herself rearranging some of the hypos. The door swooshed open behind her, and although she expected to hear the doctor's voice, she didn't expect it like this.
"CHAPEL! Get biobed 4C ready for Spock, quick!"
She spun around and saw what she thought she'd never see. Spock, half a Vulcan, looking ghostly pale and hardly alive. She felt her breath hitch at the sight. Christine had stubbornly resilient feelings towards him; she had since they set off on their five year mission. Though she never wished to see anyone in this state, she could detach her humanity from it so she could focus. However, it was Spock, and she found herself scared for his life.
She darted for the biobed and customized it for a half Vulcan/half human. She tried not to notice how Spock's feet dragged behind him as the two men carried him across the room.
"What happened?" She said with wide eyes as they lifted him.
"He was…look, I'm not sure yet. Give him a shot of hydrocortisone until I can get a read on his vitals." His voice cracked with strain, finally laying Spock's cold head down.
"Hydrocortisone…?" She mumbled in confusion. The Vulcan looked like he needed a lot more than hydrocortisone.
"NOW, Christine!" He shouted back. She jumped and ran for the cupboards.
McCoy waved his medical reader over Spock's body, glancing up at the screen to read it's findings. The results were confusing and inconsistent, causing him to furrow his brow and his anger to grow.
"What is it, Bones? Is he alright?" Kirk asked hurriedly, uneasy about the expression his friend was giving.
"Go back to the bridge, Jim. We've got Spock." He replied without taking his eyes off the screen. Chapel ran back over and applied the hypo.
"Go back to the…? McCoy, my first officer-!"
"Something pretty fucked up just happened up there, Jim! And this ship needs you! We're sailing God knows where, Spock was just put on display for crucification, and your crew has no idea what's happening! He's alive. Your new friend apparently wants him alive in case he needs to kill him later," Chapel grew paler with every sentence. Snatching up another hypo, McCoy took a deep breath. "and we're lightyears away from the federation. Get back up there, Jim." He finished gently.
Kirk swallowed hard and looked at Spock. He felt sick. Images of his friend's muffled screams flashed in his mind. He didn't want to leave him. He put his hand on Spock's arm and squeezed before looking into the blue eyes of the doctor.
"You're right." His voice seemed so far away. "Please, let me know if…something happens. I'll be on the bridge."
With a lasting look to Spock, he left.
Spock's vitals continued to fluctuate throughout the night, though they never dipped below a deeply concerning line. After more tests and observations, McCoy concluded that he had no idea what happened to Spock. There was no lasting damage, but his body was in shock and highly weakened. Halfway through the night, he surmised that it was just unadulterated pain that would have killed Spock.
'Can I even call this shit 'night' anymore? Why do we do that? There's no sun out here in this God forsaken vacuum.' He thought grimly.
He pulled up a chair and positioned it near the still unconscious Spock. It was 2200 hours shiptime. After seeing the pigmentation of Spock's skin hardly improve, he decided he felt very uncomfortable leaving him unobserved. He could have an overnight staff do so, it was an easy enough task…but…he wasn't comfortable with that either. Besides, he was to filled with anger to sleep.
Seeing Spock, of all people, held captive by unknown forces and shown Hell firsthand was one of the worst things McCoy ever witnessed. The hopeless feeling he had was suffocating as he watched the life drain from the Vulcan's brown eyes. Rage filled him when his body hit the ground.
He rubbed his tired eyes with one hand as he recounted the memory. He put his hand back in his lap and looked at Spock in the low light. The movement of his breathing chest was relieving. Hours ago, his breathing was erratic and uneven. Now it had calmed into a slow rise and fall.
As a doctor, the entire ordeal was frustrating beyond the obvious fact that Spock was almost killed. Frustrating because there was hardly anything McCoy could do to help Spock recover. Only sit and wait for him to wake.