Chapter Three
Spock sat straight-backed in the chair next to Jim's bed, watching the human's restless sleep. He was alone in the isolation room, but knew that either Doctor McCoy or a nurse would return shortly. Jim was not left alone for very long and it was these moments of solitude, where he could sit unobserved, that Spock savored the most. His mother would do this when he was sick as a boy. He wondered now if his presence comforted his friend the way his mother's presence had once comforted him.
He suspected McCoy thought him illogical in this very un-Vulcan behavior of keeping a vigil.
"You know, he won't be awake for hours," McCoy warned, making notes on the thin PADD in his hands. "It's better for him if he sleeps."
"I will not disturb him."
McCoy scowled deeply. "I don't need my staff tripping over you while trying to treat Jim."
"I shall not be in the way."
They stared at one another for a long moment, the hazel eyes unusually dark. McCoy's lips drew into a thin line and he let out a quick breath before turning away abruptly to busy himself with the IV regulator.
That had been three hours ago and Spock had not moved except to give the nurses access to Jim as they drew blood, monitored his vitals and inspected various catheter sites. During those moments, Spock discreetly kept his gaze averted, knowing how much his friend hated being vulnerable and dependent. It was his small gesture to offer the man in the bed a modicum of privacy that the very nature of medicine rebuffed. Still, there was little in the way of concealment for the young captain. The medical staff had been caring for Jim's body for days and, despite all precautions, Spock had observed the details of that care.
A low moan drew his attention. A soft blanket covered Jim to just below his ribs, leaving his chest bare and exposed. The IV catheter was taped in place to pale skin that was slick with sweat. McCoy had been trying to reduce the fever that ravaged Jim, but had made minimal progress.
"It's his body's way of fighting off the toxin," McCoy said. "But it's taking a hell of toll."
They both stood at the foot of the bed, studying the unconscious, restless form.
"He's not responding very well to the antipyretic, but I hadn't expected him to."
"Is there a danger?"
"There's always a danger with fever."
He studied the colorless face with brows wrinkled in distress. Even unconscious, Jim was not completely free of pain. Spock looked at the injured knee, which was elevated in an immobilizer. The exposed knee was discolored various shades of purple and blue and swollen to a misshapen form that barely resembled its normal anatomy. The cells and muscles around the injury were slowly dying, the toxin clinging to the entry wound like hungry predators on a stout carcass. He could see the ugly, red incision McCoy had made extracting the arrow. Butterfly stitches held the wound closed, but the swelling stretched the temporary sutures and a thin line of blood stained the straight cut.
A faint beep sounded from the monitor.
He looked up at the display that revealed a myriad of information, most of which he was not trained to interpret. He knew that McCoy had been closely monitoring the Captain's fluctuating vitals, concerned with oxygen saturation and blood pressure, both of which were low. But that was not why the alarm activated. A warning light flashed in orange above the blood chemistry display.
The doors to the room hissed open as McCoy and Nurse Chapel entered hastily. Spock quickly rose from his seat and moved aside as McCoy and Chapel leaned over the bed.
"His urine output is in normal range," Chapel said and checked the small container that collected Jim's urine tucked discreetly at the side of the bed.
McCoy studied the panel with a grim expression. "It's not his kidneys."
Spock stood silently, watching intently as Jim's eyes fluttered.
"Damn it," McCoy said under his breath as he silenced the alarm. He turned his attention to Jim's injured knee. "Set up for an I & D, Chris. And give him another 25 cc's of Pharacin."
"Yes, Doctor," she said and exited the room.
Jim's eyes opened; the brilliant blue irises had not been dulled by his temporary blindness. He rolled his head along the pillow. "Bones?"
"I'm right here, Jim," he said, placing a hand on Jim's bare shoulder. "I want you to lie still. Don't try to move your leg. Do you understand? I know it hurts, but moving it will only cause more pain."
"Feels hot," Jim said weakly.
"I know. There's a lot of fluid building up in your knee. I'm going to do something about that, but right now I need you to lie still."
Spock noted the way Jim relaxed slightly at the sound of McCoy's voice, as if the man in the bed instinctively knew that the doctor would take care of everything for him. Perhaps that was the trust that came with friendship, that unquestionable loyalty that defied all logic. Watching the two men interact with such ease and comfort, he couldn't help but wonder: Would he and Jim ever share that?
"I'm thirsty." Jim blinked and looked around the room, his eyes blank and unseeing.
"I can't give you anything to drink," McCoy said. "I'll give you an H-Strip. You can let it dissolve on your tongue. That will cool your throat."
Jim frowned. "They taste like crap."
"I know. Best I can do right now."
Jim ran his tongue over his lips. A confused expression settled on his face. "Did I go somewhere?"
"No," McCoy said, gently patting Jim's arm. "You've been right here in Sickbay."
"Where's Spock?"
"He's here."
Spock took a step, but halted when McCoy looked at him, scowling then shaking his head before speaking again to Jim.
"I'll get him. Just keep still." McCoy walked around to the other side of the bed and stood next to Spock and spoke in a tone only he could hear. "The toxin is building up in his bloodstream faster than his kidneys can flush it. I'm going to have to insert a tube into his knee and try to drain out some of the fluid and poison." He paused and glanced at Jim. "I can't give him much more for his pain. Talk to him. This will be easier on him if you can distract him."
It was unlikely he would be able to distract Jim from the intensity of pain that was coming, and McCoy knew it. The request wasn't really about distracting Jim; it was about offering him comfort. In the same way that McCoy's gentle hand on Jim assuaged some measure of pain, so the doctor thought that Spock's voice would provide reassurance. And that gave the Vulcan pause. There had been one other time that he had been pressed to console when his friend needed him the most-when Jim lay dying from radiation. Jim Kirk had never asked him for anything, but that time he had reached out, seeking solace and reassurance from Spock.
When it mattered the most, Spock had failed.
The Vulcan inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, Doctor."
They moved to the bed, Spock positioned at Jim's right side, while McCoy took his place by the injured knee. The door hissed open again, admitting Chapel, who carried a tray lined with medical equipment.
"Spock?" Jim asked. His voice was raspy and weak, his eyes open and unseeing, but the expression on his pale face was composed and coherent.
"Here, Captain." He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, leaning toward Kirk. He had been anxiously waiting for the Captain to regain consciousness. His investigation into the incident on the planet had not yielded any positive results. He knew no more now than he did days earlier. As a precaution, he kept a guard at the Captain's door, having not been presented without enough evidence to exonerate the landing party.
Chapel set up the tray near the end of the bed.
"Jim, I'm going to run a sterile field on your knee. You shouldn't feel anything," McCoy said and activated the field.
"Mm," Jim murmured in response, then turned toward Spock. "Things are a little fuzzy. Bones said I was shot with an arrow."
"Yes, while you were on the planet."
"The planet's uninhabited. Did we have visitors?"
"Our scanners detected nothing; nor did a search party find any evidence of incursion." He noted Jim's quickening respiration as McCoy continued to prepare the injured knee.
"What about the rest of my landing party? No one saw anything?"
"They did not. You were separated from the landing party when you were injured. No one noticed your disappearance until your biosensor alarm sounded. We executed an emergency beam out."
Jim frowned. "I don't remember anything about that."
"You were unconscious when you materialized."
McCoy leaned toward the head of the bed. "Jim, I need to talk to you."
Jim turned his head toward the sound of McCoy's voice. His breathing was slightly labored.
"There's a lot of fluid build-up in your knee, most of it from the toxin that hasn't flushed out of your system yet. For some reason it's lingering in your knee at the point of entry. I have to clear this toxin out of your bloodstream and your knee so I can repair the damage. I'm going to insert a drainage tube and remove as much of the fluid as I can." He paused, staring intently at Jim. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes."
"Jim…this is going to be unpleasant. You're going to feel discomfort. I can't give you any more pain meds."
Jim frowned again. "Do what you have to."
McCoy glanced at Spock, his expression tight. He turned his attention to Jim. "I'll walk you through the process. I'm going to activate a stasis field around your leg to keep it from moving, but I need you to lie still during this procedure. Any movement in the field jars your injured leg and that will cause more pain. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Don't move. I got it, Bones." The irritation in Kirk's voice was plain enough. Whether it was from McCoy's overly detailed synopsis or his pain, Spock could not be certain.
McCoy scowled and straightened. "I'm going to activate the stasis field. You might feel some pressure."
A soft hum filled the air as the stasis field activated. If Jim felt anything, he did not show it. Spock remained sitting stiffly in the chair. He realized he was holding his breath and his hands were tightly clasped. He made an effort to release the tension and relax, focusing on Jim who appeared strangely undisturbed.
"I remember talking to you," Jim said weakly to Spock. His right hand moved up to rest on his ribs. "I don't remember where I was."
"You were in Sickbay. I questioned you when you first regained consciousness. Do you remember what you said?"
Jim began to shake his head, but paused in deep concentration, as if trying to focus on a thought.
McCoy intervened. "Jim, I'm going to give you a localized anesthetic. I'll be as careful as I can."
"A guard was there," Jim said. He sucked in a breath sharply as McCoy injected his knee with a hypo.
"The landing party consisted of two guards," Spock said, trying to draw Jim's attention away from McCoy's ministrations. "Was it one of your guards you saw?"
"No," Jim said tightly. His teeth bit into his bottom lip and he pressed his head into the pillow.
Spock's gaze moved from Jim to McCoy who repositioned his hypo to inject another area of the swollen knee. The doctor's hands were steady and sure, moving with precision and skill. Spock returned his focus to Jim. The human had become even more pale and his eyes were unnaturally bright.
"Don't hold your breath, Jim," McCoy said, pausing to scan the monitor. He held out his hand to Chapel before returning his attention to Jim's knee. "Pen laser."
"You separated from the group," Spock prompted, trying to solicit more information and keep Jim's attention on the conversation and away from what McCoy was doing. "Do you remember that, Captain?"
"Someone was waiting for me." His words were thin and strained.
McCoy spoke. "I'm going to insert the tube now, Jim."
Spock remained focused on Jim, though peripherally he could see the details of what McCoy was doing. "Who was waiting for you, Captain? Can you see them in your mind?"
Beads of sweat gathered on the pale forehead. Jim's breath quickened as his fingers twisted into the soft blanket that covered him. He opened his mouth to speak, but a short cry escaped instead. He shut his eyes tightly as his body tensed.
"Sorry, Jim," McCoy said. "The tube is in now. Chris, give me a number five suture."
Spock waited until Jim relaxed again and slowly opened his eyes. He looked exhausted. "You still here, Spock?"
"Yes, Captain. I am here."
"What happened to the rest of the landing party?"
"They were unharmed."
"They didn't…see anything?" Jim's voice had become more forced.
"No, Captain. Who was waiting for you?"
"They were."
They? More than one.
McCoy stepped back, holding his gloved hands away from his body and leaning slightly in to speak to Jim. "Jim, I'm going to insert another drainage tube lower in your knee near your tibia. I want to try and get as much of this toxin out as I can. I'll be quick."
"Terrific," Kirk said breathlessly.
Spock watched McCoy return to the task with a grim expression.
"Chris, pen laser," McCoy said.
"Only I was hurt?" Jim asked, his face tight with pain.
"Yes, Captain. Only you."
"Why?"
"That is what I am endeavoring to discover. Anything you can remember will be of benefit. Why you separated from the landing party. What you saw."
"I saw –" His words were cut off by a sharp cry as his body was galvanized by pain.
"I know," McCoy said soothingly. "I'm almost done." He looked up at the monitor for a moment, his fingers pressing a narrow tube into the tiny incision he'd just made. "Don't hold your breath, Jim."
Spock watched as Jim's body trembled, fingers twisted tightly into the blanket until his knuckles whitened. Rivulets of perspiration rolled down his face and chest. His entire body was frozen as the pain in his knee ripped through him. Spock leaned closer, focused on Jim's hand that clung to the blanket.
"What did you see, Captain?" His voice was not quite steady.
An alarm sounded loudly.
"Jim! Breathe!" McCoy's voice was commanding as he stared at the monitor.
But Jim didn't breathe. His lungs locked. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut. A thin blue vein popped at his temple, stark against the white skin.
"Jim! Christine, get up there!"
Chapel moved quickly, grabbing an oxygen mask from a panel in the wall near the head of the bed. She fitted it neatly over Jim's nose and mouth, holding it in place. "Breathe deeply, Captain."
The alarm continued to sound, filling the room.
"Captain," Chapel said desperately. "Take a breath."
Jim's grip on the blanket was desperate and quarantined. He seemed alone and uncomforted in his suffering. Spock reached out to press his hand to Jim's—
McCoy's bloody gloved hand moved with lightning speed, curling into a fist and coming down on Jim's sternum with a sharp thud. Jim's eyes flew open as he drew a staggered breath within the mask. Spock's hand retreated with uncertainty, drawing a revealing look from McCoy.
"Keep breathing, Captain," Chapel instructed, holding the mask firmly in place and soothing his damp hair with her free hand.
As oxygen flooded into his body, his eyes began to pull shut with exhaustion. He lay supine and motionless, except for a shiver Spock detected that seemed to run the length of his body.
"Spock…."
"I am here, Captain."
"Spock."
McCoy snapped off his gloves and tossed them on the medical tray before moving to take Chapel's place near the head of the bed. He put a hand on the mask and leaned closely toward Jim. "I said no holding your breath," he scolded softly.
Jim's eyes closed for a few deliberate breaths before opening again. McCoy kept silent and watched as Jim struggled to keep his eyes open. His lips moved silently beneath the mask.
"Just breathe, Jim," McCoy said, wiping away the perspiration that had gathered on his forehead. The doctor's eyes rose to meet Spock's stoic gaze. The human's expression was curious and amused and Spock felt as if every Vulcan discipline had been stripped of him.
Jim uncurled his fingers from the blanket to reach out and weakly grasped McCoy's sleeve.
"I know," McCoy said gently, returning his attention to his patient. "Don't try so hard. That's it. Let the mask help you."
Jim's eyes shut and his lips stilled as exhaustion overtook him. Spock waited a moment until he was certain Jim was unconscious and breathing steadily, then he rose, drawing a curious glance from McCoy. But he said nothing, merely inclining his head before turning to leave. He did not want to engage in conversation with the doctor. His mind was racing. He had seen the words on Jim Kirk's lips, the words he silently repeated as unconsciousness claimed him: They were waiting for me.