I truly as sorry that I took so long to update this. I wanted to get another chapter of my Sherlock fic up and then real life got in the way as it unfortunately tends to do. But, the new chapter is up now and I hope that it was worth the wait. I knew what I wanted to write for this chapter but I found it difficult to actually put it down so that it made sense. So I hope it worked. Please let me know what you think in a review, I do always get excited when I receive a review! So if you leave me one I hope you realise that you will have made my day.

Andorian Shingles

Chapter 3- Disease and Danger

Spock walked swiftly through the corridors of the Enterprise, his back was ramrod straight and his arms were clasped neatly behind his back. Other crew members jumped out of his way when they saw him coming but he barely noticed as he was wrapped up in his thoughts which were focussed on his captain. He'd always known that he had an aversion to sickbay; everyone on the bridge had witnessed Dr McCoy on more than one occasion practically chasing the Captain around the bridge and then dragging him down to sickbay for his physicals. But now it was obvious that this was more than a simple dislike. The image of the Captain bleeding from the eyes was disturbing to say the least and Spock had no desire to relive it. It was obvious that the crew on the bridge were worried about the captain, several times people had requested to go down and check on him and he'd only been gone for an hour, it spoke volumes of their loyalty to Kirk.

When he made it down to sickbay there was a privacy screen activated around one of the beds which the First Officer decided must belong to Kirk. He walked over and was very conscious of the noise his shoes made on the hard floor as the rest of sickbay was eerily quiet; there were always more people around than this. "May I enter," Spock enquired through the screen and there was a huff of confirmation which evidently came from Dr McCoy.

As a half Vulcan Spock was supposed to be able to mask any emotions which he felt but even he could not help but wince at the sight of the Captain. He was lying unconscious on the biobed with a blanket covering his lower half. His abdomen, chest and arms were ridden in pus filled sores which seemed to keep going under the blanket, they looked painful and as if they were about to burst. His face which had been deathly pale up on the bridge was becoming red and splotchy; the parts he could see at any rate, and appeared to be going the same way as the rest of his body. And then there was McCoy, the gruff doctor who was tentatively placing and ointment which was quickly absorbed over all of the sores.

"Is there any point in me enquiring as to the health of the Captain or is he as well as he looks?" Spock asked, ensuring his voice was maintained in a neutral tone.

"Yeah, he's about as good as he looks. He's got a bit of a fever which has gone up by a couple of points of a degree since he got down here. The rash is spreading pretty rapidly and he's suffering from nausea and vertigo. But it's all very typical of this illness. You can tell the crew up on the bridge he'll survive to command another day so long as he follows the normal course of the illness, which is Andorian Shingles by the way. I'm going to send a nurse up soon to do vaccinations." Spock nodded his head in thanks.

"Please keep me updated on the Captain's condition." And with that he strode off, making his way back up to the bridge.

It was the smell he was aware of first; the strong and choking scent of antiseptic assaulted his nostrils and seemed to burn all of the way down to his lungs. He could taste it too, foul and clinical, so he coughed trying to rid himself of what felt like poison. But once he had started coughing there was nothing he could do to stop again. Each cough was violent and painful causing his back to arch and all of his muscles to clench tightly. All of his joints protested at the sudden jostling making it harder for him to breathe thus making the coughing worse; it was a vicious cycle. It wasn't just his joints though, each time he coughed it was like his head was about to explode. It wasn't long before he began to feel weak and dizzy, perhaps if he fell back into unconsciousness he'd be able to escape all this pain.

Suddenly something was thrust over his mouth and nostrils and it felt so gloriously refreshing. He sighed in relief as his coughs quickly abated into nothing and he lay there simply enjoying the sensation of being able to get enough oxygen into his body. Tentatively he raised his hand to feel what it was on his face which was making him feel so much better because he couldn't see it. Jim's hand froze so that it was hovering halfway between the bed and his face. Crap. How hadn't he noticed? How does someone not notice that they can't see anything? Surely that would be one of the first things someone would notice after regaining consciousness. No matter how hard he tried there seemed there was nothing he could do to open his eyes so he did what anyone else in his situation would do. He began to panic.

Something in his mind snapped, if he couldn't see he wouldn't be able to carry on as captain of the Enterprise and he didn't know what he'd do if he lost his commission. Kirk could feel his heart pounding violently in his ears as he suddenly sat up, ramrod straight, his breathing heavy despite the oxygen mask on his face. In the back of his mind he registered that there was an alarm going off somewhere but he was too busy to worry. All he could focus on was regaining his sight.

Once again the man raised his hands to his face but they were stopped by another pair of hands which felt familiar. "Jim, calm down, you're in sickbay, you're alright," came the familiarly gruff voice of his best friend.

"Bones," Jim gasped, holding tightly onto the doctor's hands, the panic causing him to bypass the part of his brain which would usually prevent him from showing such neediness. "I can't see, crap, I can't see. Please Bones," Jim begged, his voice was pleading and there was a hint of desperation in there which caused the doctor even more worry. Jim didn't beg; it wasn't in his nature to do so. A glance at the display on the biobed revealed that Jim had a fever, not dangerously high but definitely higher than McCoy would want it to be. But now he had a bit of a quandary. If this were any other patient, except perhaps Spock who wouldn't have been panicking in the first place, he would be very sensitive, in that situation he would have simply been Dr McCoy. But this was Jim so not only did he have to be Dr McCoy but also Bones, Jim's friend. And the young Starfleet captain relied on his friendship with the doctor remaining the same as everything else around him changed, and that meant he relied on their constant banter and ribbing of each other. If that changed now he'd think there was something seriously wrong, which there was, but he didn't need to know that, not while he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"Listen to me Jim, you're not blind but I've had to bandage up your eyes. This could have easily been prevented if you weren't so damn stubborn and you had come to see me when you first knew something was wrong. Going by the look of you I'd say you knew there was something wrong a good few days ago. But you couldn't be normal and actually tell me, my jobs hard enough without you trying to make me play 'spot the sick captain'. So don't think you'll get any sympathy from me now, so damn well listen to me and lie down and maybe I won't kill you myself when this is all over."

His little speech seemed to have the desired effect on his friend who, despite having his head swathed in bandages to keep the patches on his eyes in place and an oxygen mask obscuring most of his face, still managed to look incredulous. His heart rate was still up but it was beginning to decrease much to the doctor's relief and his breathing had once again become steady. "Starfleet might have something to say if you kill their youngest captain," Kirk rasped, lifting the mask off his face feeling the need to defend himself at least a little from Bones' tirade. His hands were soon swiped away by frustrated ones and the mask was put back in place.

"Shut up Jim, you're not going to be charming anyone with that voice today I'm afraid, nor are you going to be charming anyone with those looks so lie down and get your beauty sleep."

"Just because you're jealous of my good looks doesn't need to be insulting," Kirk rebutted causing the doctor to glare at him despite the fact he knew full well the younger man couldn't see him.

"Seriously Jim," Bones growled in annoyance, "Lie down and rest before I sedate you again." He could see the Captain's body shaking with the effort of staying upright and knew he was exhausted despite the façade he put in place. This time he listened, either because he had run out of witty retorts or simply because speaking had become far too much effort. "And don't scratch," Bones added, his voice carrying more than a hint of annoyance, as he swatted Jim's hands away from his sore ridden skin. "I will make good on that promise of finding the mittens if you're not careful, either that or I'll be wheeling out the stasis unit."

Gradually throughout the rest of the day Kirk's temperature climbed as did Bones' concern for his friend. The Captain, who usually wouldn't entertain even the thought of rest when he was ill, had slept through most of alpha shift, the whole of beta shift and he was beginning to sleep through gamma. By the time gamma shift came around McCoy was practically dead on his feet having worked for two shifts yet he was reluctant to leave medical to get some sleep. It wasn't that he doubted the doctor on duty's medical capability; he simply doubted his ability to deal with Jim if he woke up in a difficult mood. In the end he decided just to collapse on his couch in his office, he'd contemplated sleeping in a chair next to Jim's bed so he could keep an eye on his temperature and administer more antipyretics if he had to, but then Chekhov had wandered into sickbay and took up vigil over his Captain.

During gamma shift the lights in sickbay were dimmed in an attempt to make it easier for patients to get into a regular sleeping pattern. Kirk had always thought that it was a stupid idea, as Starfleet Officers they were all used to sleeping at irregular times so what was the point in starting when you were ill? On some level McCoy knew where the Captain was coming from but as he lay on the sofa he was grateful for the reduced light as he very quickly fell asleep.

It was in this reduced light that Chekhov sat watching his Captain sleeping. It was most unusual to see the Captain so still, normally he was practically brimming with energy, taking any excuse to get up and move around. It didn't matter if it was simply to walk across the bridge to look at a monitor or going down on a planet's surface on an away mission. The young navigator hadn't thought it possible for the vibrant man before him to be so still. He sat back in the chair and let out a loud sigh, despite having gotten some sleep after his shift on the bridge he still felt pretty tired. In the gloom of gamma shift he watched the gentle rising and falling of his Captain's and his friend's chest and listened to the gentle hum of sickbay and he soon felt himself beginning to drift.

A little while later, the young genius didn't know how long it was, he was brought sharply back to reality by a choked scream which came from the bed next to him. He shot up from the chair, instantly on alert as they had been taught in the Academy. He saw Kirk writhing around on the biobed. The young man looked in awful pain, his face was screwed up and contorted in agony and he was digging his finger nails viciously into his arms. They were quickly tainted red with blood and angry scratch marks were left behind. There was a foul mixture of blood and pus from where he had cut open his sores dripping from his arms. "Keptin, vhat is it Keptin? Are you alright?" Chekhov asked, his accent coming out even thicker than usual due to his panic. But it was as if the Captain was deaf, he just continued thrashing about and tearing at his skin.

"Doktor!" Chekov shouted, distress permeating his voice. "Zere iz something wrong with ze Keptin!" This brought the doctor on duty running and a few moments later McCoy also arrived and stared wide eyed at the monitor on the biobed and cursed under his breath. "Why the hell didn't the alarm go off?" he continued muttering as he wrestled with one of Kirk's arm, he was trying (and failing) to examine it more closely to see what damage had been done. "It's meant to go off at 40 degrees." Whilst Bones was muttering angrily to himself the other doctor was trying to pin down Kirk's other arm to prevent him hurting himself anymore. The Captain was crying out in pain and fear, it was a terrible sound, almost like a constant moan, and it tore at both McCoy's and Chekhov's hearts.

"I need a sedative over here!" McCoy shouted, his voice a mixture of fear and annoyance at the fact that nobody had thought to bring one over as soon as Jim had started to thrash about. "Chekhov, I need to you to try and hold his legs down, he's going to end up hurting himself more." The young man darted across to the bed, eager to help in any way he could, he didn't like standing there helpless whilst everyone else took action. His Captain was strong, even in his sick and weakened state, and the Russian struggled to keep Kirk's legs pinned down and narrowly missed receiving a foot to the face a few times.

"Jim, it's ok, it's Bones and you're in sickbay. Tell me what's wrong." Kirk didn't really seem to register what his friend was saying to him, or even that he was there holding his arms down. He continued to fight against the restraint trying to free his arms so he could scrape his nails along his raw skin. The young man was muttering frantically under his breath and Bones could just make out what he was saying. "Gotta get them off, oh crap they're everywhere. Bones, please get rid of them, they're under my skin!" Well at least he seemed to know that Bones was actually there which was probably more of a relief than it should have been.

"Jim, just wait a few more seconds. Your fever has made you delusional and there is nothing under your skin. I'm gonna knock you out and when you wake up you'll feel a lot better I promise."

A nurse ran up behind McCoy and pressed a hypospray into the hand which wasn't doing battle with Kirk's arm. He briefly glanced at the side to make sure the sedative wasn't going to send Jim into anaphylactic shock, once satisfied that it wasn't going to kill his friend he pressed it into the red and raw skin on the side of the Captain's neck and he instantly went limp. All three of the men let out a sigh of relief, keeping Jim pinned down was hard work. Now all they had to do was reduce the fever and get a dermal regenerator on the painful looking cuts on his arm.

When he awoke the second time it wasn't such a gradual progression into consciousness as the time before. Instead of slowly becoming aware of his surroundings his senses were assaulted all at once launching him into consciousness violently and unpleasantly. But the worse part of everything was the feeling on his skin, it felt like it was crawling and it was bad enough to almost completely drown out the other unpleasant sensations he was feeling. It was like something was moving under there, his skin was burning, crawling with thousands of tiny legs skittering on and under the surface and he could feel things biting him absolutely everywhere.

Suddenly he cried out as the feeling became infinitely worse and he threw his limbs out in an attempt to get rid of the bugs on his skin. It didn't work no matter how hard he tried they just wouldn't come off and it hurt, it hurt just so damn much. In the back of his mind he heard someone shouting but he didn't really care, he was now focussed on trying to get the bugs out from under his skin. Perhaps if they were released they'd all just go and stop tormenting him. He dug his nails into his skin and his fingers soon became wet and slick with what he presumed was blood. But still his skin crawled and the bugs bit so he dug his nails in harder leaving burning trails across his arms.

He didn't know if it was working or not, he didn't feel that there was any relief but perhaps all of the bugs were coming out now and in a few minutes he'd be rid of them. Once again he reached to scraped bloodied nails across raw skin but then both arms were grabbed and forced onto the bed above him. Viciously he kicked out, trying to get rid of whoever was separating him from his possibility of relief. The crawling on his skin became impossibly worse and he felt a cry of pain being torn from his lips. The Captain's back arched and he fought against whatever was restraining his arms in blind fear. Then there was more shouting and then there was pressure on his legs, pinning them down, which he fought against ferociously. He felt himself almost getting free a few times but after that he'd exhausted himself so his ability to fight was quickly diminishing.

Then suddenly there was a gruff and familiar voice in his ear which settled him slightly even in his terrified and panicked state. "Jim, it's ok, it's Bones and you're in sickbay. Tell me what's wrong." Bones. Bones was here. Bones would fix whatever was wrong, Bones could fix anything. Desperately he tried to communicate what was wrong though he couldn't talk very loud, his throat was painful and burned almost as badly as the rest of his body. Still he writhed against the restraints, still desperate for the slight respite that scratching had given him. It appeared that the doctor heard him as he started speaking again. "Jim, just wait a few more seconds. Your fever has made you delusional and there is nothing under your skin. I'm gonna knock you out and when you wake up you'll feel a lot better I promise." A few moments later he felt something cool being pressed up against his neck and then there was nothing."