Domino
Chapter 10 – The Missing Link
Putting the 'C' back into 'H/C' in this chapter... and because I haven't said it in a while - don't own :-) just love.
The sounding of yellow alert earlier that day had put McCoy's nerves on edge and nothing he could do would still the nagging worry that had lodged itself at the pit of his stomach.
Everyday brought him closer to finding the answer, but his brain was so tired he welcomed the rare glimpses of normality he could afford. He had to be careful this evening, to steer clear of sickbay during his off-shift. Nurse Francis had taken over from Christine at the end of the day and he'd seen the two of them discussing something in hushed tones during hand over, throwing concerned and conspiring glances toward his office door.
His meandering path took him back to his quarters, a place he'd not visited in days, preferring to wash up in the med staff changing area to save time and, he admitted reluctantly to himself, so that he wasn't alone with his thoughts for longer than necessary.
Sighing deeply he surveyed the room, the bed was still unmade from where he'd jolted restlessly from the throes of a nightmare several days before. He tidied a little, busying himself with the refreshingly mundane chore and decided to go for a shower before heading back across to the lab.
Idly he palpated the scar of the wound on his right side, wincing slightly at its continued tenderness. Black tendrils snaked outwards from the centre reaching almost to his hip and up into his chest. It served as a reminder that his time was running out, but what normally strengthened his resolve today only served to tire him out even more. He rested his hand and head against the shower wall, letting the water fall, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and wished he could be anywhere else.
There was something missing, some piece of the puzzle he had yet to grasp. It wasn't enough to simply promote some form of immunity to the damned thing; it was too well able to grow and adapt. There had to be a way of destroying the viral material without endangering the surrounding host cells, something that many years before had been achieved on a multi-cellular level with the development of selective dysplastotoxic chemotherapy.
The problem was that the viral capsule had a way of moving into and out of a host cell without overwhelming and damaging its structure, its replication process was limited until widespread acidosis and cell death triggered mass multiplication.
In short, it was frighteningly insidious, almost intelligently so – and very hard to kill.
His search had brought him to the edge of a breakthrough, but for one illusive thing, a missing link in the chain.
He must have been standing in the shower for longer than he thought, because the room's normally silent dehumidifier thrummed loudly with increased effort. He shook himself out of his fatigue induced daze and made up his mind to grab a strong cup of coffee on his way to the lab.
xxxOxxx
The Captain had been annoyed but strangely unsurprised by Dr McCoy's failure to attend the morning briefing. Spock had noted this with a no small amount of professional concern.
The briefing had focussed mainly on the events of the preceding day, heads of departments discussing their findings upon more detailed review of the limited data they were able to glean from distant observation of the scout vessel. Fortunately there was not a great deal that medical could have contributed to that analysis in quantitative terms, although it had always been Mr Spock's observation that Jim Kirk valued opinion as much as fact; a resource that the good doctor had never seemed to lack.
The coded message still remained a mystery, it would appear that the originators used a different star mapping system to their own and determining a common point of reference was difficult. The word, Sur'i, remained abstract.
After the briefing Spock requested a momentary leave before returning to the bridge, obviously still chagrined, Jim, somewhat impatiently, granted his request.
"Don't be long Spock. I have some business I need to attend to regarding my chief medical officer."
It had occurred to Spock that sickbay would be Jim's first port of call after the briefing, but seeing the doctor's increasing fragility and the Captain's tightly reigned hostility toward the man caused Spock more disquiet than he would care to admit.
He resolved that the logical thing to do would be to find McCoy before Jim and attempt a new approach to handling the troubled doctor.
The door to McCoy's office was uncharacteristically closed, but fortunately not locked. As Spock entered he found the doctor asleep, head resting on a PADD which had gone on standby. He looked… uncomfortable.
Cautiously Spock walked forwards and reached out to place a hand on the doctor's shoulder. He realised his mistake at the moment the shoulder tensed and McCoy twisted out of the gentle grasp, was up, and had the science officer pinned against the wall.
Spock recovered instantly, and for a no more than a few seconds their eyes met. Spock relaxed, seeing in those eyes first anger and fear, then surprise, melting into regret. McCoy's grip on Spock's uniform loosened and he stumbled backward towards his desk and the discarded chair.
"Spock," McCoy's eyes flicked between Spock and the floor, "you startled me," he pulled a hand through his hair and leaned on the desk, "I'm sorry."
Spock's expression, if indeed it could, at that moment softened. Spock was a good judge of character; he had to be, growing up in a society where self-expression was so tightly controlled. It had taken McCoy a lot longer to figure Spock out than it had taken Spock to understand McCoy. And by human standards McCoy was also an exceptional judge of character.
Three years of verbal sparring and Spock was still not entirely sure if McCoy always knew where on the emotional spectrum their argument stood. But, the occasional nod, a smile caught in the peripheries of Spock's vision served to reassure him that things were as they should be; illogical, but strangely satisfying.
The man Spock saw before him was not the same man that had left the Enterprise four months before. His body trembled almost imperceptibly with unspent adrenaline as he quickly gathered his composure and turned to face Spock with a light smile, albeit a disturbingly empty one.
"Ya'll shouldn't sneak up on somebody like that Spock. Why, a man of my age, could've given me a heart attack."
"That, I do not doubt," Spock stood very still, gauging the doctor's reaction, "but not because of your age as you suggest."
"Oh? Now don't go telling me you've begun playin' doctor in my absence." McCoy teased, but something in his voice was wary of the Vulcan.
Spock, it seemed, was deadly serious.
"Your heart rate and respiratory rate are elevated, your breathing is shallow," he began, still cautiously reading McCoy's responses, "Your complexion is pale, you are perspiring, you favour your right had side…"
Sudden hostility radiated from McCoy, but his response was tightly controlled, "Is there a point you're trying to make Spock? 'Cause you better just come the hell out with it," his nostrils flared, "or leave."
"You are sick, or injured."
"And just how did you jump to that assumption?"
"The longer you try to hide your symptoms, the less subtle they become."
McCoy's composure broke, anger and exasperation rolled out with the animated waving of his hands, "So what do you want from me Spock? A confession in blood? Want me to declare myself unfit for duty so that Jim can go ahead ship me out to the nearest Starbase!? No, don't answer that… I don't even care anymore."
As soon as it had come, the anger was spent. McCoy sighed with resignation and with one more wave of the hand, turned and sulked over to the far wall of his office. He was tired; and what if they were wrong, what if he couldn't do this? God knew he didn't have the support. Too many bridges burned and not a goddamned engineer in sight.
He didn't have the stomach for any more fighting. The pain of loss was a familiar old friend, one he was used to coping with, in one way or another. He could run away from loss, he could ignore it, block it out… but this was something else, this was a war he couldn't run away from and everyone he cared about was against him.
Spock's words were gently spoken, directed at the slumped shoulders that had come to rest with one arm up against shelf on the far wall, "I ask only that you allow me to help you. You have my word as a Vulcan that I will share no classified information should I suspect it, or chance upon it. I only offer my assistance."
McCoy chided himself for feeling touched by Spock's apparent kindness.
"In the interest of efficiency?"
"Of course."
McCoy clenched his jaw and ground out the words, "If I need your help I'll…"
"And because you are my friend."
McCoy found himself both stunned and completely disarmed. He turned, still resting his arm against the wall, to try and gauge Spock's expression.
There was none, only the face Spock always reserved for the communication of fact. And that fact was… terrible and wonderful, altogether and at once. He smiled and the mixture of sadness and warmth he felt reached his eyes.
"You sure pick your friends strangely."
McCoy leaned heavily against the wall, praying for the moment that Spock would leave and he could let himself fall to the floor. Rest, he just needed rest…
"You require rest."
Spock was in front of him, supporting his weight with one arm. How had he moved so quickly…?
"You go, I'll be just fine." He mumbled but let himself be guided to the couch in the corner of the room, grouching as he went.
The next thing he was aware of was a blanket being tucked around his shoulders and the hum of a med scanner in his ear. He thought he heard a sigh as the humming abruptly ceased. And now he knows, McCoy thought. Inexplicably a weight lifted from his heart and he drifted, only half aware of the implications of what Spock would no doubt have surmised.
In the distance he became aware of raised voices over cool, defensive tones. Two hands came to rest at either side of his face and for a moment he thought he heard the voice of his friend, filled with compassion and pleading.
"For God's sake Bones, let us help you."
xxxOxxx
"Alright Mr Spock, let's have it." Jim demanded as he marched into sickbay, to the doorway of McCoy's office, not seeing the couch in the corner he focused an irate glare on his first officer, "I begin to wonder what the hell is taking you so long and I find out you're here."
Spock's response was level and calm, "You're anger, while understandable is never the less unwarranted."
"Unwarranted?" Kirk couldn't believe his ears, "Your downright insubordinate behaviour more than warrants…"
"I was simply trying to prevent you from making a mistake." Spock carefully interjected, motioning to where McCoy lay, apparently unconscious.
Jim's expression shifted to concern, he lowered his voice and approached the pair, "What's wrong?"
Spock shook his head, "I do not know. The doctor has been carefully defensive of the subject, though I strongly suspect, if he saw any other choice he would not be."
An air of frustration tinged Kirk's response, "He's keeping quite because he feels he has to. I got that. What I can't understand Spock, it's us… surely he knows he can trust us?" He didn't realise he'd balled up his fist as he spoke, but on noticing this he released it, reaching upwards to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Jim, your judgement has become tainted by the emotive nature of recent events." Spock explained softly, "You as well as I know that Leonard holds true to his personal commitment to protect life, even if this is at the cost of his own. I do not believe this has changed."
Jim looked up at Spock's uncharacteristic use of McCoy's first name, both warmed by it and alarmed by the implication of the open display of affection that lay therein; Spock was worried. "You think he believes he's protecting us?"
"I know that the cost of that silence will ultimately result in his death."
"How long?" Jim came to rest by McCoy's side, noting his pallor and laboured breathing; a frown creased his brow even in sleep.
"I am unfamiliar with what ails the doctor, but his condition has deteriorated in the short time that I have been here. Albeit slowly, he is dying."
"And we don't know why…" Jim Kirk leaned forward, gently holding his friend's face in his hands, "For God's sake Bones, let us help you."
A/N: Reviews always welcome! Thanks to Danzinora Switch, mtcbones and PSW for reviewing :-) Hope you liked this chapter!