Pathways: Part 7/10
A/N: A short one b/c it's outlined that way. Work has settled a bit but (TMI alert :) I've also been handling some serious legal issues for nearly a year now...and sometimes the stress kills my muse). For everyone who has reviewed/alerted/supported this story: thank you from the heart, you guys keep it going ^5
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1
Ironically enough, repairing a torn aorta had been the least of his problems.
It would take little more than a few days of rest and limited movement for total amendment; like the fractured arms of the other two, the damage to Kirk's heart wouldn't be permanent. He would give almost anything to say the same for the result of what took place on the transporter pad.
McCoy swallowed the remnants of his second drink, as he stared at the prone bodies.
Aside from the steady, mechanical beep of the heart monitors, the only sound which could be heard in the intensive care unit of the medical bay was the fill and release of two artificial respirators. These machines were never used for standard recoveries. They were serving as the only things keeping the Commander and Lieutenant tethered to life.
He couldn't deny the cause if he wanted to--Jim and Scotty had seen it as well. A fresh wave of nausea churned through his stomach.
He still had no idea what to do.
"Leonard," he heard Nurse Chapel hiss a few minutes later, walking up behind him. She expertly wrenched the half-empty cup from his hand.
"Why aren't you in bed?" she demanded. "And why haven't you at least tried what I suggested?"
"What do you think!" The cool liquid sloshed over the container's lid as he snatched it right back, with a scowl.
"I've just finished an open heart surgery and two major limb reconstructions and now I'm too damn wired to sleep. As for your suggestion--it's not happening. Why?" he interjected before she could begin to plead her case.
"It's called the Hippocratic Oath: first do no harm."
Chapel wisely did not attempt to confiscate his drink again, but silently took the PADD charts from his hand to study them once more. She appeared just the way he felt: sporting a matching pair of dark undereye circles and a grimace that could make any Klingon recoil at first glance. It was clear he had not been the only one who'd just served the longest shift of their career.
Seeing Kirk shift restlessly in his biobed, she softened her tone. "Listen, unlike everyone else under your orders I actually buy into your theory of what happened when he touched her. But it's time for you to consider a higher law, Doctor McCoy. One of basic physics. Nothing we've done medically has even come close to bringing them out of their coma," she said, moving closer to the people in question while folding her arms.
"I doubt your inebriation will remedy the situation either. Maybe I should take it up with Scotty."
McCoy flinched as he met her gaze. With the two highest ranked men on the Enterprise currently out of commission, the last thing he needed to deal with was a mutinous head nurse--especially if he and Scotty actually were too drunk to supercede whatever she had planned.
His cup landed with a wet thud in the trash receptacle.
"Fine, Christine," he muttered, not ignorant to the renewed vibrance in her aqua eyes. "Do it while I'm here."
She wasted no time.
Chapel wheeled the biobed holding Uhura sideways until it touched length-wise with the Commander's. She adjusted the hydraulic controls of each until they stood at the same height, lowering the inner guard rails until the narrow, thin mattresses were pressed together to form a single platform. Finally, she gently manipulated the half-Vulcan's head so that he faced the comatose woman beside him.
McCoy immediately noticed Chapel's suddenly anxious look, as she lifted her fingers from the man's temples. He walked over to stand beside her at the head of the now-joined biobed; the whine of the respirators only seemed to increase in pitch as he came closer.
"What's the matter?" he wanted to know.
"You saw exactly what he did, Leonard," Chapel replied, gripping a polished steel rail. "Maybe you should do the rest."
McCoy glanced at her briefly, then nodded.
"Fine," he said again.
He lifted Nyota's fully intact right arm across her chest and over her heavily bound one, carefully avoiding the oxygen lines and IV's. To focus to closely on the perfect stillness of her form since getting her away from that planet was something he still refused to do.
Instead, in a rare moment of tenderness, he gently squeezed her limp hand.
"You don't make my job easy, hon," he whispered, positioning her fingers directly against the pallid skin of Spock's neck pulse, "pulling him right after you into oblivion."
God help them if this doesn't do the opposite.
2
"Computer. Locate Commander Spock."
"Commander Spock is currently in his quarters."
Uhura wrapped her arms around her knees, frowning slightly in thought as she rested her chin on them.
She'd lost count of the number of subspace calls from family and visits from colleagues she'd received in the 24 hours since being discharged from medical bay; while every single one had raised her spirits, her Vulcan's resolution on accepting no contact from anyone aboard their ship except for Leonard or Kirk--because the last thing Spock would ever do again would give Starfleet a reason to think he was unfit for duty, she knew--made her feel something she never had for another person.
Hunger.
His rejection hurt in a deeper way because of it.
Nyota much preferred loneliness, because solitude at least had the potential to bring peace. His strengthening presence in her mind and heart prevented this, as it served a constant reminder that physically he may as well have been light years away.
Burrowing into a pillow with her half-completed incident report in hand, Uhura continued to doze on the sofa until her chronometer alarm alerted her to the need of another painkiller dosage. As she took the pills with a sip of water, she thought of the transient nature of her injury, how the throbbing had already improved in such a short time.
How, in reality, she almost welcomed the discomfort; that pain was a shadow compared to the incessant ache in her head that stole her sleep and filled her with that unnatural longing for Spock. Blocking her from recalling anything that happened after waiting to die on Tau Klith and beaming back aboard the Enterprise. Making her wonder if there was something Leonard had failed to tell her.
"...Unless it was something Spock told him not to tell me," she whispered to no one except herself, then stood from her sofa and slowly drew a crimson silk robe over her nightclothes.
"Computer," she stated once more, walking towards her desk's comm unit.
"Search my log for transmissions initiated by Commander Spock."
She knew that the odds of him contacting his father were slim enough without the unlikelihood of him doing so from her quarters, so she was surprised when the automated voice confirmed, "Three records found in your log: transmission one routed to the residence of Ambassador Sarek, transmission two and three routed to Healer T'Prel of New Vulcan. Would you like to initiate a new transmission, Lieutenant?"
Uhura hesitated, fingertips centimeters from the transmit button. If unedited answers were truly what she wanted, what better source would there be than with the woman Spock had been in contact with for nearly a year now?
"No," Uhura eventually decided, standing straighter, "I want to speak with T'Prel."
