Chapter 3
"Spock, what happened?" McCoy asked, helping the Vulcan ease Kirk onto the gurney, the captain's right leg swinging unnaturally below the knee, sprinkling the floor of the transporter room with small clumps of congealed blood.
"Cave-in. His leg was trapped under a boulder."
McCoy was cutting Kirk's uniform pants away from the wound, the white, jagged end of bone glistening through the mangled skin, his medical scanner appearing in the doctor's hand as the last scraps of cloth fell away. Quickly surveying the injury he realized Jim was not in any immediate danger despite the blood loss. After pressing a hypo to the captain's arm, he began grousing at the orderlies stationed on either side of the gurney.
"Well, c'mon you two, don't just stand there, get him to sickbay stat," he said gruffly, gesturing to the doors of the transporter room.
***
Once in sickbay, McCoy wasted no time transferring Kirk to the nearest diagnostic bed, the panel springing to life above the captain's head. Pumping his CO full of another dose of something from his hypo he swung his gaze to the Vulcan, noticing at last the large, seeping gash over the first officer's left eye.
"Spock that's a nasty cut. I'll have Dr. M'Benga check it out for you." He paused, as if he'd just realized something. "I'm not sure how many people were in the landing party. Is everyone else okay?"
"No. We suffered one casualty – Mr. DeSalle." Startled, McCoy snapped his eyes to Kirk, who had regained consciousness and propped himself up on his elbows on the bed. "Courtesy of Mr. Spock." Kirk's eyes flashed with barely restrained anger.
McCoy felt his blood run cold. What on Earth happened down there? "Jim, surely you don't mean that?" His gaze had traveled to the Vulcan who was studying his boots, hands balled into fists at his sides, his breathing quick, raspy.
"I most certainly do. Isn't that right Science Officer?" He glared openly at the Vulcan. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Kirk's voice was low, rough, the rage seething dangerously just below the surface.
McCoy could only stare mutely at the first officer as he began speaking. "There was no hope for Lieutenant DeSalle; his injuries were too severe, but your survival was guaranteed as long as I was able to remove you from the cave." Raising his head he met the captain's eyes squarely, defiantly to McCoy's point of view, the hands now clasped firmly behind his back.
"You don't know that for sure – you're not a doctor!" Stoic calm followed on the heels of that accusation. "I ordered you to help him, and you disobeyed that order, and now he's dead." Finally, the Vulcan glanced away.
"Jim, take it easy," McCoy admonished. The hypo made a third appearance.
"Get the hell out of here. I can't stand the sight of you." Kirk's gaze slithered away from his First, the captain settling himself back down onto the bed, fixing his eyes on the ceiling above him. Spock hesitated for just a moment, then turned on his heel, preparing to leave.
McCoy's hand on the Vulcan's arm stopped his forward momentum. "Hold it, Spock. You need to have that head wound checked." He lowered his voice considerably. "Don't pay any attention to that," he said, inclining his head toward the biobed. "Jim's obviously not himself," he tried to reassure the Vulcan, his mind still reeling, unable to comprehend the exchange he had just heard. Spock gently but purposefully extricated himself from the doctor's grasp.
"Let's get that laceration taken care of while I fix Jim's leg." Worried blue eyes searched the Vulcan's face. "We'll get this sorted out later," he said soothingly. Slowly Spock's gaze drifted to his, and McCoy was unprepared for what he saw briefly in the usually expressionless eyes. Unmitigated, bitter regret, coupled with shame and utter relief at the same time. Jim had always been the one who could read the Vulcan like an open book, but there was no mistaking the emotions registering there in that unguarded moment.
"Spock!" McCoy reached out to grasp the arm again, surprised that it was trembling slightly. Almost instantly, the mask closed over the XO's features, his eyes going blank, his face carved in stone. Without shifting his gaze from the Vulcan, the doctor raised his voice ever-so-slightly.
"Christine?"
"Yes Doctor?" the nurse answered, looking up from her ministrations to the minor cuts and contusions on her CO's face. "Page Dr. M'Benga, and take Mr. Spock into the other exam room. Start him on some neuvocephalexin and get that wound cleaned up so M'Benga can evaluate it when he gets here."
"Yes, sir." She turned to the Vulcan. "Mr. Spock will you come with me please?"
McCoy released his hold on the Vulcan's arm and Spock turned without another word, following the nurse out of the room.
Glancing back down at his patient, he could see the sedative had worked, his captain's eyes closed once again. Satisfied with that result, he set about removing the tourniquet and cleaning the wound in preparation for surgery.
***
"Okay nurse, you want to fill me in on Spock's condition?" They had just finished over three hours of labor-intensive surgery to repair Kirk's shattered leg bones and were getting the captain settled into a biobed. Christine was rolling the portable bone knitter over, placing it in position above Kirk's injured leg. Until now, McCoy had had no time to spare a thought for the XO's status. He began programming the machine as Christine started to speak.
"Well, after I finished cleaning Mr. Spock's injury, Dr. M'Benga did a thorough examination and sealed the wound. He said there was no head trauma, just a severe laceration, and gave Mr. Spock a clean bill of health. Mr. Spock then mentioned he was reporting to the bridge and would await word from you there on the captain's status."
"I see." The CMO's eyes were distracted, unfocused, his hand frozen on the controls.
She searched his face, concern registering on her own. "I really expected Mr. Spock to stop in and check on the captain, or at least call long before—"
"Thank you nurse," the doctor interrupted. "That will be all."
A look of confusion replaced the concern on Chapel's face, but she turned and left without a word.
Having coded in the proper settings on the bone knitter he crossed to the desk, depressing the intercom switch. "McCoy to bridge."
"Bridge, Spock here."
"Spock if you don't mind, I'd like to see you in my office."
"I shall be there presently, Doctor."
***
McCoy was waiting for him when he entered the main ward of Sickbay. Spock glanced at the doctor, a question in eyes which swirled with worry for a split-second. He headed for the other room where he knew his captain lay, but the doctor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"He's okay Spock. I've treated him for shock, and despite how things looked the blood loss was minimal." He favored the Vulcan with a grudging look of approval. "That tourniquet probably saved his life. Nice work, Spock."
The Vulcan nodded imperceptibly.
"I've repaired the leg, and he's heavily sedated at the moment, but he's not the reason I called you here – at least not as far as discussing his injuries go."
"All I require at this time is to know the captain's status. If his condition is stable and he is in no danger, then I shall return to the bridge." He made a move toward the door.
"The hell you will!" The force of McCoy's words stopped him in his tracks. He turned eyes that were once again opaque to the physician.
McCoy softened his tone considerably. "C'mon Spock, we need to talk. I'd prefer to do so in private," he finished, gesturing to the door to his office.
***
"All right Spock, you wanna fill me in as to the meaning behind that scene I witnessed earlier?" The blue eyes showed a desperation, an urgency Spock had seldom seen before.
"Merely a difference of opinion between myself and the captain." Spock and the doctor had slipped into chairs on opposite sides of McCoy's desk, Spock relaxed, calm, fingers steepled before him, McCoy agitated, tense, on the edge of his seat. "He and lieutenant DeSalle were involved in a partial collapse of a cave they were exploring. When I arrived neither was ambulatory and I could only carry one man to safety at a time. The captain insisted that I assist lieutenant DeSalle, but he was unaware of the severity of the lieutenant's condition. Based on my observations of the injuries both men had sustained, and given the instability of the structure, I elected to remove the captain first, contrary to his wishes. The remainder of the chamber collapsed before I was able to retrieve Mr. DeSalle. The captain has taken exception to that decision."
"Yeah, I'll say." McCoy paused thoughtfully. "Then let's start with DeSalle's injuries. Do you have the tricorder readings?"
"Negative. In my haste to free the captain's trapped appendage, I was forced to discard my tricorder. Unfortunately, I presume it was destroyed in the subsequent cave-in."
"I see. We were able to recover the body but it was crushed almost beyond recognition when the roof gave way. Despite what Jim thinks, I find it hard to believe that your evaluation of the lieutenant's condition was that far off. Care to elaborate?"
Spock closed his eyes briefly, dropping his hands to his lap, a slight tremor running through him. He began speaking in soft, measured tones.
"When I first approached, I noted the lieutenant was unusually pale, a cold sweat standing out on his forehead. Upon closer inspection I observed that he was impaled on a 25 centimeter-long shard of rock which had perforated his upper abdomen just below the ribcage on his right side."
"Sounds like it missed his heart but probably lacerated his liver and/or a kidney. That would account for the paleness."
"Tricorder readings confirmed that diagnosis. There was also a significant gash in his right thigh, which was bleeding profusely. He had another wound on his neck, not as deep as the other but also bleeding freely, and there was evidence of a crushing injury to his pelvis. His breathing was rapid and shallow, a broken rib having punctured a lung. A pink froth was beginning to form on his lips when I arrived." He stopped abruptly, unable to continue.
"It's okay Spock, I don't need to hear any more." The doctor turned his compassionate gaze on the Vulcan. "You made the right decision, and I'll make sure Jim knows that's my expert medical opinion."
Spock's eyes were haunted. McCoy wasn't sure if it was due to the images he'd been forced to remember, or his next words.
"Thank you, Dr. McCoy but unfortunately I do not believe it will carry significant weight in this situation, at least not at present." The Vulcan sighed softly.
"I know what you mean, Spock. Jim hates to lose anyone under his command."
"I am fully aware of the captain's feelings of guilt associated with the death of a member of the crew, but this goes well beyond the scope of such a loss."
"I'm with you on that one. You know the captain – he likes to be in control at all times." McCoy scrubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Jim certainly has no qualms when it comes to his questioning of authority, but he absolutely cannot stand to have his own authority questioned. And that's exactly what you did. Had no one died, he'd have gotten over it by now, but since DeSalle didn't make it it's just sticking in his craw. He didn't have control over the situation; still worse, it was you who usurped that control, and therefore he's blaming you since things went south." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Give him a day or two Spock. By then he'll be able to see things a little more clearly. If there's one thing I've come to know about Jim over the years, it's that even though his first impression of something is often the impulsive, emotional one, with time, he can view almost any given situation rationally."
"Agreed."
"It's not like Jim to not trust your judgment, Spock. I'm sure he'll come around."
Spock pondered that. To his mind, this sudden unexplained lack of trust indicated something deeper. It was an area he did not wish to explore in detail. He addressed McCoy once again.
"When will I be able to see him, Doctor?" Rife with uncertainty.
McCoy cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Probably not for a few days yet Spock. Give Jim a day or so to work things out for himself, come to grips with DeSalle's death, okay? Besides," he continued, "I'm planning on keeping him heavily sedated for the next forty-eight hours. I do want that leg to heal straight, after all, and we both know what a difficult patient our captain can be at times." He traded a long-suffering glance with Spock, followed by a reassuring grin.
The Vulcan dropped his eyes to his lap, a curt nod his only answer.
"Don't worry, Spock. We'll work this out. You and Jim will work this out. We've been through much worse, right?" he said with more confidence than he felt.
With that, Spock rose swiftly to his feet. "If that is all, Doctor, my presence is required on the bridge."
***
"Nurse," he called weakly.
Chapel spun on her heel, startled. "Sir, what are you doing awake? Dr. McCoy gave you enough sedation to keep you under for at least a few more hours." She had come to stand beside Kirk's biobed, a frown of consternation wrinkling her brow.
"It would seem he miscalculated the proper dosage." Kirk's eyes were alert, scanning the premises, showing little effect of the drug whatsoever. He threw back the covers, making a motion to rise to his feet.
Chapel pressed a hand to his shoulder, attempting to restrain the man. "Captain, you can't get up. We finished surgery on you a little over twelve hours ago to repair a severely broken leg. Standing on it now could cause irreparable damage. The doctor realigned the bone fragments and closed the flesh wound, but the bone knitter is still working on fusing the pieces back together," she said, indicating the device hovering above his right knee. "Is there something you need, sir? I'd be more than happy to get it for you." Her smile was warm, genuine, comforting.
"Yes. You can bring me Dr. McCoy so we can get this mess cleared up, he can discharge me and I can get back to running my ship." Authoritative; his tone not demanding but commanding.
"Of course, sir. The doctor's in his office. I'll get him for you right away, but you have to promise me you won't get up and try to walk while I'm gone. I'll not have you undoing the doctor's hours of surgery on your leg. You'll stay put, right Captain?"
How could he possibly deny that request when she was so open, so trusting? "I'll be here when you get back – you have my word, nurse Chapel."
"Okay, sir. I'll just be a minute." She hurried from the room.
Wow. She must really feel the need to talk to McCoy in private, otherwise she'd just have called him in here on the intercom. Am I really that difficult of a patient, or are things worse than she's letting on?
He heard the shuffle of footsteps in the next room, McCoy materializing suddenly in the doorway.
"Jim, what're you doing up? I gave you enough sedation to put out an Andorian bull for at least a day." He scowled at the captain, scanning the readings on the diagnostic panel above and fiddling with the settings on the bone knitter.
"Apparently, I have the constitution of a Capellan power cat," Kirk responded wryly.
"Yeah, I forgot. In your case I should have set the hypo for pig-headed starship captain. My mistake." McCoy smiled wanly, the look rapidly replaced with concern. "You didn't stand on the leg, did you?" Despite the readings visible overhead, the doctor was scanning the limb with his Feinberger.
"No, nurse Chapel saw to that," Kirk answered, slightly dejected. "It seems your staff is well-trained."
"Yeah, well, she assisted me on the surgery so she had a pretty good idea just how bad things were. Both lower bones were broken in several places just proximal to your knee. Things were really a mess in there, Jim and I'd have been more than a little ticked off if you'd screwed that up again before the bones had a chance to fuse properly." McCoy crossed his arms over his chest, fixing Kirk with a pointed stare. "Christine told me you want to be discharged. Well, you can just forget about that. You're not going anywhere for at least a few days, so you might as well get used to the change of scenery."
"How long have I been out?"
"It's nine thirty-eight in the ship's morning, so at least fifteen hours, counting the three hours of surgery time.
Kirk chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Do I really need to be here for the next few days, Bones? I'd like to have a memorial service for lieutenant DeSalle." A shadow passed over his face.
"Spock's already got that under control, Jim," McCoy offered helpfully. "It's scheduled for eighteen hundred today. And don't even ask me about going – those bone fragments are still floating around loose in there. Any unnecessary movement could knock them out of alignment. "
"If he'd listened to me, it wouldn't have to have been scheduled at all." The reply was explosive.
"No, we'd be having one for both of you, instead." Full of derision. McCoy softened his voice, resting a hand on the captain's forearm. "Spock saved your life, Jim; you have no right to be angry with him for that."
"At the expense of DeSalle's."
"Oh for God's sake Jim, I don't believe that for an instant, and neither do you, really."
Kirk's face went dark, blank, and McCoy made a motion to speak when they were interrupted by a commotion in the main diagnostic area.
"Somebody help us, please!"
"Stay put, Jim. I mean it. I'll be right back." McCoy rushed from the room.
Kirk could hear muted voices and low moans emanating from the other room, Christine's soft voice now mixed in with the others, switching from soothing when dealing with the injured crewman to crisp and professional when responding to McCoy's requests. From what he could gather from the snippets of conversation that floated in to him, there had been an accident on the hangar deck, crewman Johnson receiving a minor burn to his hand. McCoy returned a few minutes later.
"Everything all right? How bad was the burn?"
McCoy shot him a suspicious look. "You don't miss a thing, do you Jim?"
"Not where my crew's concerned." He put on his best command face, waiting for a reply.
McCoy sighed heavily. "One of the baffle plates was coming loose on the Galileo, so Johnson and Gruver were using a laser welder to repair it, when Johnson's grip slipped and his hand passed into the beam for a second before specialist Gruver was able to shut the contraption off. Thank God he was wearing protective gloves, or he'd have lost his hand. As it were, part of the glove around where the beam hit it was fused to his skin. I already removed the burnt part and sealed the wound. It should be as good as new in a few days.
"Just like your leg," he added segueing into his CMO lecture mode, "as long as you listen to your friendly country doctor and stay off it for the next thirty-six hours." He added a stern glare, waggling a finger at his CO just for good measure.
"Okay, I get the message loud and clear. I'll stay in bed, scout's honor. But now that I'm awake I'm starving. Surely breakfast is permitted?"
McCoy did a double-take. "Don't you ever think of anything besides food, Jim?"
Kirk smiled a roguish smile, and McCoy colored slightly.
"Yeah, I guess you do at that, but food's the only thing I can help you with at the moment. I've got to get back to work, but I'll send nurse Chapel to the galley to get you something. "Christine?" the doctor called, disappearing around the corner.
