Chapter 10 here!

Gaaah, Senior year is crazy :/ Scholarships, SAT/ACT, honors courses, Dual Credit drama, one act, athletics... shoot me, please D:

I have still managed to find time to write this little installment, however. Enjoy!

Norman hesitated outside the door, her hand hovering over the comm. She had gotten off shift early, when Scotty's second-in-command had found her crying over the pieces of a warp coil she was supposed to be fixing. He had understood, but it had given Norman some time to think of her next move. She couldn't be breaking down in the middle of a crisis situation. And her baby… she had to think of its intentions as well. After all, he – or she- was the only thing she had left of Randy.

A rec crew member passed her, and she jumped guiltily. If people saw her hovering outside this particular door, they might get the wrong idea. Everyone knew she was distraught, and already she had tried finding someone to blame, herself included. Even the baby had been considered, but after the nurse had calmed her down, she had seen reason.

Her finger pressed the button, and after a few seconds Kirk's voice sounded. "Who is it?" He asked, voice rough. Had she woke him up? If so, she could into trouble…

Swallowing, she managed to say, "Lieutenant Norman, sir."

"Come on in."

The door slid open, and she nervously stepped inside. A small part of her mind was surprised at how small the room was. Indeed, it wasn't much bigger than her own, and sparsely furnished at that. A few knickknacks adorned a shelf in front of the bed and on the desk that held his computer terminal, but other than that it was virtually empty. Nothing about this room gave her any hint as to what her captain was like outside of command, and though a part of her was relieved to discover that he wasn't secretly a stalker or something along those lines, another more dominant part was disappointed that she couldn't see him more as a human than as a Captain.

Kirk seemed to notice her observation. "I don't really have a lot of worldly possessions," He explained. "I was pretty much flat broke before joining Starfleet, and they don't exactly let you have a lot of personal items anyway. Most of the things here are what Pike left on board." He went over to the replicator, sliding in a card. "Want something to drink?"

"Um . . . yes, please," She stammered. Kirk withdrew two cups of coffee seconds later, and handed one to her with a smile. "Here. This will help you calm down."

Gratefully she took it, and after he asked her to she sat hesitantly down in a nearby chair. He dragged his desk chair around from behind it and placed it next to hers, taking a sip of his drink. Sighing, he said, "Replicators are a feat of engineering genius, but there's nothing like a real home-made cup of coffee."

Norman nodded, not knowing what to say. They sat in silence for a while until Kirk finally spoke again. "Is there something you wanted to speak about?"

She stared at her cup. "Captain, I want to request a leave of absence."

Kirk didn't respond. When she finally looked up she found he was regarding her with those sky-blue eyes of his, the eyes that made you want to trust him, yet hid so much from everyone. His face showed no anger, surprise, or sorrow; only a calm acceptance that somehow made her feel worse. Norman continued before she lost her courage. "I was crying for no reason during shift today when I was supposed to repairing a warp coil. I can't concentrate on my work, and should a crisis occur I will only be detrimental to the department. Plus, the baby . . . I can't care for both of us as well as I should. I need some time alone to find how I'm going to survive. Please, give me a month, two at the most, and I promise you I'll be back and give one hundred percent of my energy to my job. Please. I just . . . I can't do it right now."

Kirk was silent. Norman's gaze was rooted on the floor, tears welling up in her eyes. As he looked at her, he was reminded of his mother- a woman who lost her husband in battle, with a baby to care for and no way to know if she would make it. He was reminded of himself, being haunted by the memory of a father who was little more than a painful reminder of before, and wishing his mother would acknowledge the now. He remembered how hard it was for her to raise both him and Sam, escaping into the dark silence of space to regain some sense of her husband's presence, leaving them alone with a man who loved alcohol almost as much as he hated Jim and Sam.

Kirk laid a hand on her shoulder. "As soon as we're done with business on this planet, I will drop you off at Sigma Epsilon Space Station, where you can take a shuttle to anywhere you please. Take as long as you want, and should you wish to return to duty, The Enterprise shall welcome you back with open arms. Should you decide that your path lies elsewhere, I promise that I shall help you in any way you can in your future career."

As Norman looked at this man, she saw someone who understood her completely and meant what he said. Peace crept over her being, and though she knew that she would continue to mourn Randy, the first step to moving on had been taken.

"Thank you," she whispered. Kirk merely nodded, and she left with a lighter heart.

Kirk remained in his quarters, contemplating Norman's fate and his own. The woman's plight had unnerved him, reminding him of his own life, and how difficult it had been. Though exceptional luck and reckless chances had landed him where he was today, he knew that it wouldn't happen to anyone else anytime soon.

His eyes settled on a figurine on his desk, and he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He vaguely remembered it as some Orion artifact, a pre-historical carving that was relatively expensive but interesting nonetheless. It must have been some sort of meditation device, because the colors began to swirl and meld together as he played with it, and he found it easier to think.

Norman was temporarily forgotten as his mind turned toward the problem on Theron. His expedition down into the tunnels made it clear that flushing everyone out would be harder than he imagined, and even if every single member of his crew picked up arms to fight, it would be a close one. And since the medical staff had taken a vow to never intentionally kill someone upon graduation, he couldn't include them, which reduced his numbers. It would take more planning, strategizing, and tactics then the first attempt had, which relied on stealth rather than straight offense. And with Scotty still missing, he was unsure how to continue. An attack would risk having the records destroyed, but waiting could very well put Scotty in more danger. Whatever he came up with, he would have to make the decision soon.

The carving had begun to blur more as his tempo increased, and he even began tossing it a bit. Fascinated by the endless number of patterns and color arrangements it provided, he almost didn't hear Spock's voice come over the comm.

"Captain, this is Spock. You need to come to the bridge immediately."

Kirk caught the figure, blinking. How long had he been looking at it? "I'll be right up," he said. Pocketing the artifact, he strolled out of his room, smiling at a yeoman and faintly whistling as he walked down the hallway. A part of him felt the need to go to sickbay and talk to Alandria, but the remaining rational thought steered him toward the bridge with a compromise that he would go after the meeting with Spock.

The doors slid open to the bridge, and he noticed Checkov was missing, with Sulu hovering over a dismantled part of the control panel. An engineering officer was nearby, and they were murmuring to each other as they prodded at different wires.

Is it time for routine diagnostics already? He wondered, and then remembered that Scotty, who usually reminded him of these things, was gone. Kirk sighed. At this rate, all of his senior officers would have to be replaced, himself included, no doubt.

"Spock? What is it?"

The Vulcan turned away from Uhura, who immediately left via turbolift. "I have organized all of the data according to their content, and have sent all the medical records to doctor Stephenson. I have been doing further research into Mr. Scott's whereabouts, and have discovered an interesting fact: Tristan Hunter is nowhere in Starfleet records." Spock said.

Kirk's eyebrows rose. "Nowhere? You sure?"

"Affirmative. I have cross-checked every available database, but unfortunately some are off-limits."

"And you want me to grant you access," Kirk nodded. "Alright. What databases?"

Kirk spent the next half hour granting and getting permission for Spock, working around downed systems due to diagnostics, and pacing for five minutes when the computers were shut down for upgrades. When everything had finally been accomplished to Spock's satisfaction, he received a call from sickbay.

Alandria sounded frantic. "Captain, you have to get down here. It's of the utmost importance! Hurry!"

Kirk was already racing toward the turbolift. "I'm on my way, Doctor! Be there in one!"

Dashing down the halls, Kirk nearly flattened several of his crew members as he sped toward sickbay. Though used to their captain's rather spontaneous panic modes, they had yet to get used to the pattern at which they occurred. Situations on board the starship Enterprise changed constantly, from peace one moment to outright oblivion the next.

He arrived at sickbay in a minute and a half, breathing heavily from adrenaline and worry. Alandria, Chapel, and two other medical bay workers were hovering over a computer terminal; upon noticing Kirk's arrival, they scattered. Alandria, fear flickering in her eyes, gestured at him.

"The information is incomplete," she said, "but I've figured out what the researches are doing on Theron."

Kirk stared at the display. "This is . . . Alandria, this is serious."

"I know. And I have no idea how to stop it."

His mouth dry, Kirk's eyes scanned the document once more. Though he did not understand the complex chemical equations on the screen, the small notes below offered more than enough clarity.

"Alandria, get your team to analyze this as much as you can, and try to find a way to combat this in a worse-case scenario."

"Yes sir." Face drawn with worry, Alandria began copying the document to her padd.

Kirk walked to the terminal. Pressing the button, he heard Spock's voice come over the conn a few seconds later. "Meet me in the briefing room," Kirk said, heavily. "Bring Uhura as well."

Spock did as he asked, and for a long time, Kirk simply stared out the briefing room's window at the planet Theron. Finally, after Uhura was shifting from expectation and nerves and sharing troubled glances with Spock, Kirk spoke. "Alandria has discovered their plans," he said.

Spock and Uhura didn't dare speak. Spock tensed ever so slightly, and Uhura held her breath. There was something about Kirk's posture and expression that said the news wasn't good. Hidden underneath the table, Uhura grabbed Spock's hand. Only when Kirk turned to face them fully did he finally explain what was discovered.

"They are preparing a medicine that will mutate the receiver's DNA over a period of time. The end result is untraceable and unrecognizable, but it will result in the shutdown of every organ system in the body almost simultaneously."

/

McCoy found he couldn't sleep. Not surprising, considering that his nightmare was haunting him in his waking hours, but more played into the condition. Worry over Stephenson, Chapel, and everyone else in his department. Desire to contact Jim and explain what was going on, and hoping he could help. Feeling an attachment to Lillian, yet hesitant about naming the feeling for he wasn't sure if he wanted to repeat the past. He even missed his verbal sparring with Spock, which was the final conviction that he was quite possibly losing his mind.

His mind turned to the samples that he had been carefully watching over the past few days. They had been increasingly more stable, yet still destructive; the effects were taking longer to appear, but increasingly more violent. Though the full effects were so far unknown, McCoy could guess a few possibilities; and none were ideal for the person who received the samples.

Turning on his computer terminal, McCoy pulled out his notes, charts, and data regarding the experiments. He was able to run a few tests from his desk, but not nearly as extensive as the equipment in his lab. Selecting a few notes, he read over them, and then turned his thoughts to the choosing.

Gordo's words echoed through his head. "It was meant to be a good thing. At first, it was a reward for those that performed well. But Hunter wanted special researchers to help him in his experiments, and I allowed him to pick whoever he pleased. It was the least I could do, after all he had done. But eventually, those that he had picked began to disappear. The first few showed up dead. The rest vanished."

Hunter was in charge of Research and Development. The very department where these samples were coming from. His group was nothing but tools to further his means. Hunter developed the samples; McCoy ran further tests and sent in the reports to Waters, who no doubt transferred them back to Hunter. The realization that his entire group was being used hit hard. And McCoy's machinery was no replacement for a real human body. It may analyze the components in the sample and hypothesize the likely results, but only a real human body would give the true results. Those chosen . . . they could very well be the unwilling guinea pigs who had the samples injected into them.

A strong wave of nausea swept over him, and McCoy stumbled to the toilet, his lunch and dinner soon forcing its way up his throat. Kneeling over the toilet, he expelled the contents of his stomach.

Shifting his weight to his toes, he pulled back from the toilet, breathing heavily. The idea of using human beings for those purposes still made him sick to the stomach. Whoever Hunter was, he certainly had no humanity left within him. No one who still had a shred of compassion and humanity would ever willingly run such horrendous experiments on a fellow member of their species.

Returning to his computer terminal, McCoy quickly typed out his realization to Hartridge and Gordo, providing heavy references to his experiments with the samples and outlining it extensively. This took up the entire night; when he finally sent it off, it was nearly time for breakfast.

Lillian was waiting for him at their usual place at the table, and seeing his haggard look frowned. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea," He said, moving slowly to the replicator to get his coffee.

Once at the table, he explained his hypothesis to Lillian in a low tone to ensure no one overheard. Her face had paled considerably by the time he was done. "This . . . how could he . . .?" She said, faintly.

He shook his head. "I do not know. But we have to stop this."

She nodded, and he suddenly noticed her necklace had turned a pale grey- fear. Laying a hand on her arm, he said, "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you. We will get through this together, and avenge your friend. Hunter, Gordo, this entire base; we'll shut it down for good."

She forced a smile. "I know." Her smile faltered, and then she added, quietly, "I'd like to talk about this more, but in private. Do you . . . do you think you could meet me in my room after dinner?"

He wasn't foolish enough to miss her slight hesitance in the invitation, but he ignored it nonetheless. Somehow, the thought of being in her room appealed to him much more than her in his; his heart beat picked up slightly at the thought. "Sounds like a plan," he said, hoping she couldn't detect the eagerness in his tone.

Lillian turned back to her breakfast, and McCoy did the same. Nostalgic purposes, perhaps from last night's conversation, had driven him to choose grits, fried eggs, and bacon. It had been a while since he had had a good southern meal, and vowed to get chicken fried steak that night at dinner.

That is, if he could even concentrate on dinner. For the first time in a long time, he felt the need to 'eat' something other than food.

His wandering thoughts caused him to redden, and he quickly shoveled the remaining food into his mouth before mumbling a "see you in the lab" to Lillian and fleeing. The thoughts he had of her were embarrassing. Natural, of course, but . . . the feeling of thinking of her in that way was odd. Had it really been that long since he had been involved with a woman? Thinking back, he realized that though he had, on occasion, flirted with members of the opposite sex, he hadn't gone beyond that. There was a couple of close calls, but the first time the unknown-of boyfriend had nearly cracked his skull open with a chair (this was shortly after his divorce, and he was more than a little drunk and desperate for attention), the second the parents had walked in while the girl was pressed up against him in a provocative manner (entirely her fault; McCoy had no way of knowing the girl was, how to say it, a little on the wild side until she nearly jumped him when they were alone), and the third was when he had the strange circumstance of mysteriously being locked up in the same room as Gaila (he was still convinced Jim was to blame for this one, but had never been able to prove it). After that, he had avoided any prolonged conversations with women, since they always seemed to end in an awkward and less than desirable way. That isn't to say he hadn't been attracted to them, for he certainly was. McCoy just hadn't found the right one yet.

Until he met Lillian, he was quite content to live out the rest of his days as a cranky old bachelor. But now . . . well, suddenly, that didn't seem so ideal.

Age wasn't a factor. Yes, he was several years her senior, but he had at least another one hundred years in him yet, as did she. So far as he knew, they were both in perfect health, and if anything, his older status would ensure that he would have a stable job without the flightiness that younger men tended to have. Though life aboard a starship was dangerous, his position was relatively safer than most aboard. Being cooped up in med bay during a crisis was certainly more appealing than being out in the thick of danger. Yes, the first attack by Nero had shown that not even his beloved department was safe, but he put that down to the fact that the Narada's weapons were from the future, and therefore much, much more powerful than those in his day and age. The likelihood of that experience ever being repeated was close to nil.

All in all, he was certain that there wasn't much for others to worry about. He was in a stable job, was able to provide for her and (should he even think it?) their possible future children, wasn't likely to die any time soon, and he certainly did have strong feelings for her. He was hesitant to name the feeling, since his divorce still wounded him deeply, but he knew that whatever he was feeling wasn't likely to go away any time soon.

McCoy was already busy at his work station when Lillian entered, lagging behind a group of his researchers. She stopped to talk to one of her coworkers, and McCoy turned slightly to admire her. Her lab coat wasn't exactly flattering, but he could still trace the outline of her shoulders, back, waist, and legs. She was smaller than he, but in a graceful, elegant way. Her dirty blonde hair hung just above mid-back, he knew, but today she had pulled it up in a loose bun. A few strands of hair had escaped, and framed her attractive face. He swallowed.

Ashamed at how sudden these thoughts had appeared and how much he wanted them to be true, McCoy tore his gaze away and fed a sample into the machinery. The same result as before appeared. Disgusted, he added the data to his padd, deciding that enough was enough. Either he was going to find a way to counteract this abomination, or die trying.

He was scribbling furiously when Lily joined him, peering over his shoulder. "What is that? Some sort of scientific gibberish?"

Snorting, McCoy grunted back, "An attempt to counteract the effects of the sample. I'm making the machine run tests to break it down to its respective elements, and seeing what I can do to neutralize it, if not destroy it."

"Sounds complicated. Need help?"

"I would love that."

They began working, and Lillian put her own sample in to view its components. McCoy sent Gregory to get supplies, and for a few minutes they were writing down the elements that made up the samples. They were already through two trays and were working on the third when Gregory returned.

Using McCoy's desk as the stage for the experiment, they carefully perused their notes and lit the burners, beginning to create their own chemicals and compounds. As McCoy did this, Lillian carefully labeled each bottle of the samples, and then unscrewed the tops, being careful to not bump the table. Contaminating the samples was not something they wanted to deal with.

McCoy made several batches of each of his different chemicals or compounds, and poured a bit of each in every different sample they had on hand. Lillian replaced the tops, and they shook the small glass tubes to make sure the two items mixed. Carrying them back to the machinery, they ran more tests, to see if anything worked.

It didn't.

"Try, try again," Lillian said grimly. "Try introducing more of the tests this time . . ."

Several tests, with the same results even with increasing the amount of their test compounds, ended up making them frustrated and even more depressed at the results than normal.

"This is ridiculous," Lillian finally cried in exasperation, throwing up her hands as she found yet another negative result. "This one is nearly 95 percent of your penicillin compound, and still nothing! It doesn't even make a scratch! How can they create something like this?"

McCoy regarded his vial. "Maybe we're thinking too big," He muttered. "All of these vials contain proteins that attack the hosts DNA; maybe we need something that will protect that."

"Nitrogen compounds?"

"Perhaps. Or we need to inject the possible cures directly into the nucleus of the cell."

"The nucleus?" Lillian was incredulous. "Do you have any idea how small that space is? It'll be a miracle if we get near it, let alone directly within it. Our best bet is to inject it and hope that some cells will absorb it."

He shook his head. "No. Some isn't as good as all; and yes, I do know how small it is. I am a doctor, you know." A wry smile crept into his face. "Besides, all our ideas form crystals that are much too big for the cell to absorb. We need to think of something simple, something that is as much as cell as a cure."

Sighing, she looked over her notes. "An organic compound, then."

"Perhaps." He began to pace, thoughts whirling. "Let's see. DNA is composed of four nitrogenous bases- adenine, thymine, guanine, and cytosine. They are connected by a weak hydrogen bond, and arranged in a tight double helix. These samples all attack these bases, changing their order and composition. Adenine becomes Thymine; Guanine becomes Cytosine, and so on. What we need to do is protect these bases somehow."

Thoughtfully, Lily tapped her stylus on her pad. "Maybe not protect them, per say," She said, "But if we added something to the cells, making them recognize the compounds within these samples as enemies, they'll attack it. Like blood does to another type; A- attacks B+, and vice versa."

"Yes; but these compounds are so alike the proteins that the body produces, it will be difficult to create a receptor for it, if we could even create one in the first place."

A tinkle of glass reached his ears; within a millisecond he spun, looking at horror upon the scene he saw.

A young intern, from the looks of things belonging to a different department, was standing stock-still with two boxes stacked in their arms. Some glass tubes had tipped over and fallen to the floor when the intern accidentally hit the desk; their contents were now on the floor, spreading slowly out across the tile.

Fear, anger, and panic spread throughout McCoy; his voice tight, he glowered at the petrified intern. "Get .Out. Of. My. Lab. Now."

The intern fled.

Silence prevailed. His face one of undisguised anger and worry, McCoy slowly approached the mess, glancing sharply at Arram. "Get the biohazard cleanup kit." He barked, and the man raced to do so.

Kneeling at the edge of the puddle, he was not so overcome with emotion as to not observe the effects. Before, the contents of the vials were slightly opaque; but now, with the compounds mingling, the liquid had turned crystal clear, with a few small, solid-looking black flecks. He counted the damage. Three test tubes from the first tray containing compound A, one from compound B, and two from compound C. Compound C, he knew, was particularly violent; it was clear that some sort of chemical reaction had taken place, and he was curious as to know what it had caused.

He stood, hunting through his desk drawers until he found a brand-new, perfectly clean vial in an unopened box. Armed with that and a dropper, he filled the vial roughly halfway with the new mixture, and then handed it to Lillian to test. That done, he helped Arram carefully clean up, both wearing gloves, goggles, and a protective suit, and making sure the area was perfectly dry before moving on. He would have a sanitation team in here later, after shift was over; for now, it was the best they could do.

McCoy and Arram had just finished cleaning when Lily came back, an odd look on her face and the vial in one hand. "Bones, this doesn't make sense," she said.

"What?"

"The contents of the vial . . . it's just water."

Shocked, he rocked back on his heels. "Water? Are you certain?"

"Yes. Pure water. The other components have diffused into the air, or became carbon compounds that are relatively harmless- which are the black flecks you see. All in all, this mixture does nothing more than give you water gain and make you eat more salt."

Arram looked between the two of them. "You mean . . . the cure is all of these different samples, mixed together?"

Lillian nodded. "Yes."

This excited an uproar amongst his researchers; they dissolved into cries of disbelief, shock, and excitement. The curly brunette that was Arram's partner ran up and hugged him; he swung her around with an unrestrained smile.

McCoy allowed them to celebrate for a moment longer, for he was caught up in Lillian's look of wonder and awe. They were staring at each other, silly grins plastered over their faces. Her green eyes were as bright as any sun, and they shone with hope that had been lacking for so long. Slowly, he stood, and moved toward her.

"Congratulations, doctor," She laughed. "It seems we have a clumsy intern to thank for this particular study."

"Rather ironic," He agreed, but he wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. He had somehow taken her hands in his; the vial had appeared in his lab coat's pocket. A part of him wondered why this occasion warranted so much celebration; surely, there were bigger and better things that heralded an impromptu party, but her hands felt so right in his, and McCoy found he just didn't give a damn. Let them celebrate; he had more important things on his mind.

Gregory said something, and it took a moment for McCoy to realize that he had even spoken. Breaking eye contact with Lily for the first time in minutes, he turned and asked him to repeat it.

A small smile played on the man's face, but his words were serious. "We need to figure out how much of each sample is in that compound, sir. It won't do to make assumptions."

He knew that, of course. Experimenting with unknown chemical equations just wasn't what he wanted to do at the moment. "Well, then, get on it," He said happily. "Make sure you write down what they were before hand, though, and check every new sample we get to make certain they are the same."

"Yes sir."

Lillian tugged her hands out of his grasp. Her tone light and playful, she said, "You'd better get working on it too, Bones. We've made too much progress to back out now."

McCoy sighed. "Alright. Get me some of those vials; hopefully, luck is still on our side and we'll figure this out today."

Unfortunately, it was not so; in the hours before shift was fully over, the solution eluded them. McCoy, Lillian, Arram, Gregory, and everyone else who was able worked relentlessly with the supplies they had left, and all turned in their findings with dejected appearances. "We'll get to the bottom of this," McCoy said when shift was over. "Don't ya'll worry; with hard work, we can figure this out by the end of the week."

No one seemed to notice the slight slip into his southern accent; they shuffled out, talking quietly, disappointed by their failure but still excited about their discovery.

McCoy felt no need to remind them of keeping everything quiet; he trusted them enough to know that they would follow the principle of, "What happens in the lab, stays in the lab". He also nurtured hopes that would extend to the way he and Lillian had been acting toward the end, but somehow doubted it.

He joined her at dinner, obtaining his chicken-fried steak as he had promised himself, with a side of beans and mashed potatoes. Lily had obtained a hamburger, fries, and a cup of coffee. As they had both worked through lunch, their dinner was consumed quickly. It wasn't until McCoy walked her to her room that she reminded him of his realization that morning.

Following her, McCoy closed the door behind him and sat down on her bed. Lily used the ensuing silence to feed Juniper, and then took a seat next to him. "Using humans as experiments… the idea is sickening."

"I know. But what else could it be? No one creates a compound that destroys the human body on a whim. This was planned out. The improvements made to the samples prove it."

Lillian nibbled her bottom lip. "What will they gain from it, though? Filling their inner sadist? Money? Power?"

"Who knows? Whatever the case, we need to locate Hunter and find out ourselves."

"No one knows who he is, though. He spends all his time in R and that's in the basements, where we are forbidden to go."

"Gordo will know," McCoy said, determined. "I've already sent him my opinion on the matter. Surely, this will be more than enough to actually spark him into action."

Hesitantly, Lily asked, "Do you think Gordo is to be trusted? Hunter holds all the power; one message to Starfleet . . ."

"I have to trust him, Lily. What else is there? I haven't been here long enough to gain respect or allies, and Waters certainly won't help me. Gordo may be idiotic, but he's the only chance we got."

Lily didn't reply. The look in her eyes told him more than enough: she didn't think that Gordo alone would be helpful. McCoy changed the subject. "Any way, we've got our own wild card. Hunter has no reason to suspect that we have found the cure to his little concoction. Should he ever attempt to hurt someone with it, we'll have the remedy here."

"It'll only work if we know who he injects," Lily said.

She was right, of course. But he was trying this whole optimistic mindset right now, and wasn't going to let her break it. "We'll figure something out," He assured her.

They talked well into the night, forming ideas and possible explanations as to why Hunter was even creating this in the first place. The compounds dominated their conversation; hypothesis on the amounts of each liquid combined to neutralize the three, what it could possibly be used for, and the identity of the man who created it. Only when Lily could no longer hide her yawns did McCoy apologetically take his leave.

Still, as he stood outside the door, he gave her a mischievous smile. "What, no goodnight kiss? And I thought we were really hitting it off," He joked as she prepared to close the door.

Lily laughed. "I highly doubt talking about death-in-a-vial is considered flirting, but if you insist," she quickly stood on her tip-toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight, Bones," she smiled, and waited for his reply before closing the door.

Her necklace had turned mostly silver.

McCoy grinned all the way to his room, and even the depressing quarters didn't quite lower his spirits. Already he was trying to figure out a way to persuade her to give him a proper kiss. Tomorrow, he vowed, things would get serious. No more polite superior-subordinate relationship. If he wanted to satisfy the sexual frustration raging within him, he needed to get a move on.

Lillian followed him to his dreams that night. They were dancing together on a ballroom floor, she in a long white dress, and he in a tux. In the back of his mind he remembered it as his and Trisha's first dance as a married couple, but his ex-wife was not the woman smiling up at him. His heart pounded; and as the dance changed to him watching her walk on a beach, he longed for the feel of her body pressed up against his.

/

"McCoy is a problem. He's already figured out too much in his time here."

Gordo held out his hands in exasperation. "What will you have me do? Starfleet is monitoring him closely; if he disappears, worse will come."

"Do not play me as a fool, Gordo; there is more than one way to hurt a man without leaving a mark on him." His companion's voice was calm, controlled; not one trace of his inner feeling and motives were shown on his face.

Gordo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you proposing . . .?"

"Nothing of the sort. Whoever attempted the cyanide botched the effort, and I will find the man who did so and make him wish he had never been born. Physical pain will do nothing to Doctor McCoy. I intend to cause him mental harm."

"Do not ruin him. He could be of service to us yet."

"You are in no position to threaten me. If you recall, you have much, much more to lose than I."

As the man left his office, Gordo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, mentally cursing the day he had ever met Tristan Hunter.

Oh, McCoy, you horny fiend, you ;)

Yes, sexual tensions and danger are intensifying. Expect much, much action in the following chapters.

Review, lovely readers! It gives me inspiration to keep writing throughout this crazy ride called life!