Why the update on a Friday? I'm trying out different update days. Because of this, it might be more than a week before the next update. Sorry. Might be sticking with Friday, though. Maybe Tuesday. Who knows?

Anyway, yay, early update! This is partially due to the finding-a-new-update-day-thing and also partially as a thank you for the lovely reviews and such I've gotten. If you like the way the story is going or have a note on something you want to happen, please leave a review. I already have the plot, but I'll try to weave in some requests.

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Chapter 11: Trepidation

McCoy shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the rest of his friends clustered around the windows. Past their heads he could see bits of the window and what lay beyond… and what lay beyond was a great big expanse of nothing. Yeah, sure there were some stars, but they were way far away. In between the outer wall of the shuttle and those distant points of light was absolutely, positively… NOTHING.

No air, no solid ground… and no people.

At that thought the doctor couldn't help but turn and stare pointedly at a blank piece of wall. He really wanted to get to Med Bay. He was glad his friends were happy, but he could wait to join in on the festivities until after there were a few more walls between him and the icy, endless vacuum of space. When the docking station finally closed in around shuttle one and light from the hanger flooded the shuttle's cabin, McCoy inhaled deeply through his nose. He could finally relax a little.

"Uh, Scotty," Jim's voice snapped McCoy out of his reverie. The captain was walking back into the shuttle cabin from the cockpit, a fidgety ensign in gold behind him. 'That's who flew us here?' McCoy thought. 'The man is shaking like a Chihuahua dropped in snow! Not exactly confidence inspiring.' Oblivious to the doctor's train of thought, Jim continued to Scotty, "I meant to ask earlier. What's in the bag?" McCoy glanced over to where his friend was looking and saw what had given him pause. Scotty stood there, face as red as his shirt, desperately trying to lift the giant duffle up and over his shoulder.

"Tools, Cap'n! Didnae- want- ta risk-" Scotty finally hauled the bag's straps over his shoulders like a back pack. A cruelly sharp metal instrument of unclear purpose stabbed through the black canvas to the immediate left of Scotty's ear. Oblivious, the engineer continued, "I didn't want to risk them breaking because some idiot decided to throw the bag about." He paused and everyone's eyes flickered from Scotty's face to the metal spike three inches to the right in rapid succession. "What?"

"Do not look to your left," McCoy replied on instinct, realizing as soon as the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

It was like showing a child a wet paint sign and then expecting them not to touch whatever it was on. Next thing you know, you have a white washed wall with stucco-ed hand prints and a cheerful toddler running around leaving white streaks on absolutely everything. And then you're breaking your back over a tub, trying to keep the milky white water actually inside it but only managing to give the toddler – who was supposed to be getting clean – a nice water works show. Long story short, Scotty looked to his left.

His eyes widened comically and he stumbled to the right, as if that was going to help. Hikaru jumped forward and snagged the engineer's arm before he could ram himself into the wall, possibly impaling more strange instruments through the canvas and into himself. He didn't quite catch the engineer before he ran into the first row of seats, though. Scotty grinned sheepishly around the cabin, and swung the pack gently back off, resigning himself to just lug it to its final destination.

"Scotty, go drop that off wherever it's going and then report to Engineering. You have two hours to check over everything. Again," Jim said, putting an undue amount of stress on 'again.' "Don't try to deny it. I know you've come up here every day for the past week to check everything."

"Well, excuse me for being dedicated to my job and making sure we don't all end up vaporized!" Scotty protested, heaving the bag toward the shuttle's door.

"I thought you said there weren't any problems!" Jim exclaimed.

"Easy there, Captain. There's nothing wrong, everything in perfectly fine," Scotty assured him. Out of the corner of his eye McCoy saw Hikaru fidget. As the conversation between the engineer and captain continued in the background, McCoy turned his full attention to the pilot (who McCoy would have really preferred as the person who flew the shuttle up, but too late now). Out of all the command crew, he was the person McCoy had spent the least amount of time with. It wasn't that the doctor didn't like him or didn't want to spend time with him; it was just that they never really crossed paths beyond when everyone else was present or Hikaru got hurt. The pilot started clenching his fists and twiddling his thumbs, evidently unaware of what he was doing. He was on edge. 'Well now, Hikaru. What do you know?' McCoy wondered. For the first time since the doctor had started observing him, Hikaru's eyes shifted over to McCoy; the pilot had become aware that he was being watched. It was then it occurred to McCoy that Hikaru had been staring at Scotty the entire time.

"Just as long as you don't blow up my ship, I guess we're okay," Jim said, apparently continuing something McCoy hadn't been paying attention to. McCoy maintained eye contact with Hikaru and gave a subtle jerk of the head to the back of the shuttle's dim interior. "Come on, let's go," Jim finished and turned to exit the shuttle, sidling awkwardly past the shuttle pilot. The shuttle pilot himself seemed to hesitate, eyes flickering around the cabin; ultimately, he forced himself out of the door, but it seemed he was tearing himself away from something. 'Understandable. This has got to be difficult on everyone,' McCoy thought. Scotty staggered after him with the gigantic duffle in tow and Spock, Uhura, and Pavel followed. When he reached the door, Pavel turned back around and looked curiously at them both.

"Go ahead," Hikaru said, "I'll catch up." Pavel hesitated and his eyes flickered between the two of them. After a few seconds of silence a muscle in his jaw jumped like he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and swallowed his words. McCoy wondered if he should be worried about that. Before he could ask though, the young lieutenant turned and walked out. "So, uh…" Hikaru trailed off and glanced from the now empty doorway and the doctor.

If McCoy knew anything about bolters – and he did; there were many a Starfleet officer who managed to be afraid of doctors and nothing else – then the pilot was one of them. McCoy would never have connected this man with Acting Captain Hikaru Sulu of the USS Enterprise who threatened to send 72 missiles of unknown content hurtling toward the Klingon homeworld. That Sulu was brave, reckless, and dead serious. This one was like a shy debutante at cotillion, all blushes and glances and half-finished sentences.

It made McCoy sick.

"What did you want to talk to me about? I mean, I assume you wanted to talk to me about something… I thought you did, anyway, uh…" Hikaru again left his thought unfinished and resorted to glancing at the windows, though those offered no hope of escape whatsoever.

'Good god man, I'm embarrassed for you!' McCoy thought. What he said was:

"When Scotty was talking about vaporizing us you looked nervous." Then it occurred to McCoy that, 'No he didn't...' "I take that back. You were perfectly fine when Scotty mentioned vaporizing us. It was only when he said everything was fine that you got twitchy. Which, by my reckoning, is not the point in the conversation to start getting nervous." Hikaru's head actually turned this time as he looked between McCoy and the door. The good doctor, now assured he had Hikaru on the ropes, put on his DOCTOR FACE (patent pending). In a tone that brooked no nonsense he asked, "So are you going to tell me what's wrong or?"

He left the question hanging since he couldn't actually threaten to inflict bodily harm. He could heavily imply it through tone and piercing gazes, but he could not outright state it. That whole oath-not-to-inflict-harm thing really got in the way sometimes.

"Nothing." McCoy barely had enough time to raise his eyebrows before Hikaru started talking again. "Before you start interrogating me, let me explain in the best way that I'm able. Scotty was a bit freaked the other day and when I asked him about it was he said was that there wasn't anything wrong with the ship and that it was ridiculous and unnatural for that to happen."

"That's a stupid thing to be worried about," McCoy deadpanned.

"I know, I thought about it that way too, but then I actually started thinking about it. Computer generated specs can only do so much. Technically, automated navigation and piloting systems on a ship can do all the work. But if I had a nickel for every time the computer working on its own would have gotten us killed, I wouldn't need a job."

That statement got McCoy thinking. Would he let a machine do his job? His immediate response to that question was the sort of nausea he associated with oceans, pleasant breezes, and jarring seasickness. The nausea was closely followed by a resounding 'Hell no!' Realistically, he could see where both Scotty and Hikaru were coming from on the whole freak out thing. But as a CMO at least partially responsible for these people's mental health, he wasn't about to say that.

"So, you're nervous because Scotty's nervous because that the ship is perfect and not about to kill us like the last time we were on it? I'm not trying to criticize you or anything." McCoy forced his expression into an 'I am totally judging you right now' look that contradicted his words. "I'm just checking that's right." After a few moments' consideration Hikaru nodded a few times.

"Yeah. That about covers it," he replied.

"Okay." McCoy stared at him. "Suck it up." When the pilot gave him a confused look and opened his mouth to protest, McCoy continued, "Being nervous about that isn't going to help you do your job. Some stress is fine – good stress helps you think on your feet and keeps you productive. But worrying about something you can't and don't have to control is just plain stupid. Let Scotty stress about it." Even as the words left McCoy's mouth he knew he would not be following his own advice. He felt like there was a rope comprised entirely of knots sitting in his stomach. He couldn't wait to get to Med Bay.

"Alright," Hikaru sighed. "Look, I've got to report to the bridge. See you at the launch." He then finally got to leave the shuttle just like he had been hoping for the entire conversation. As the gold of Hikaru's shirt whisked out of sight McCoy couldn't help the sigh that escaped him. He knew he hadn't seen the end of that problem. He made a mental note to call Scotty in for a 'chat' within the next few days, assuming McCoy wasn't too busy. He didn't care whether Scotty was busy or not; he'd drag him to Medical by his ear if he had to. 'Then again,' McCoy thought, 'if he were busy that would solve the problem and I wouldn't need to talk to him.' With a final glance around the cabin of the shuttle, McCoy took half a step toward the exit before a blue glint caught the edges of his vision. He stooped next to it – it was under the first row of seats – and found it came from a medical tricorder.

'Must've kicked it under the seat after that whole business with Pav-' McCoy's train of thought stopped abruptly. About a foot away from the tricorder was a small puddle, no more than a few drops, of red. It was just next to the window seat of the second row. Pavel's seat. McCoy fell back just a little bit, staring at those impossible drops. They didn't move or disappear. They weren't a figment of his imagination. 'I should have been more worried.'

The next thing he knew he was on a turbolift on the way up to the bridge of the Enterprise. There was sweat beading on his forehead and he felt like his lungs didn't have enough room for the air he needed to shove into them. He knew he must have ran to where he was now… ran all the way through a hangar, a space dock, and a starship to get to the lift, but try as he might he remembered nothing of the trip. Except for maybe grey and white blurs with some primary colors thrown in. He tried to calm down and regulate his breathing, but he was on auto-pilot and there was only so much he could right then. The doors slid open – far too slowly – and McCoy exploded onto the bridge. Dashing across the room, he went straight for the navigator's station where Pavel was laughing a something an ensign in a red shirt had said.

"Bones!" Jim shouted, jumping up from the captain's chair. "What are you doing?" The captain lunged forward as McCoy grabbed Pavel's upper arm and dragged him out of his chair and back towards the turbo lift. The kid's eyes were wide and frightened; he looked seventeen again. "Bones!" Jim called again through the closing doors to the lift. There was a 'woosh' and then they were cut off from the bridge and heading down, though McCoy did not remember giving a destination. Maybe there was a new computer protocol: if the CMO is running around like a chicken with its head cut off the default destination is probably Med Bay. More likely, though, was the option that he'd said something when he didn't mean to. All these thoughts and more crossed his racing mind as he threw Pavel against the back wall of the turbolift and whirled to slam his hand down on the 'hold' button.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Pavel yelled. McCoy gave no vocal response, opting instead to grab Pavel left arm and yank up his sleeve. And then he froze. Because there was nothing wrong.

McCoy had a sudden epiphany regarding Scotty's problem with the ship's theoretical perfection. When you expect a problem and then don't find one, it can be almost as unsettling as a real problem.

The only thing there was a thin white scar that faded into Pavel's natural skin tone. It was from the accident with the box of razors a few months before… McCoy knew it had actually been an accident, even if few others believed it. As McCoy continued to stare at his wrist, Pavel froze as well and gaped. McCoy almost did the same but grabbed the navigator's right wrist and inspected it, too. That one was completely clean.

"Doctor McCoy," Pavel began solemnly, "We already discussed this. That accident will never happen on purpose. Ever. Why are you checking now?" Pavel's voice had dropped to a whisper and his eyes were still unusually wide. "What changed?" Again, McCoy did not vocally reply. Instead he looked down to his belt to grab his tricorder – just to make sure everything was really as fine as it seemed – only to discover he already had one in his hand in addition to the one on his belt.

'Did I grab one on the way here?' McCoy wondered, struggling to remember any detail about his mad dash to the Enterprise's bridge. Nothing came to him, but he supposed that snatching a random one was the only option.

"Doctor…" the young navigator started to slide sideways around McCoy toward the control panel."Are you alright?"

"Yeah, kid… uh, just…. Just hold still for a second, please," McCoy responded, fiddling with the tricorder he already held in his hand. Pavel drew to a stop next to him and the doctor held up the newly reset tricorder. No response. There was no whirring to indicate a scan and the screen remained blank. The only thing that seemed to work was the blinking blue light on the side. McCoy growled at it and muttered as he switched it out for the one on his belt. "Damn thing… piece'a crap… need to get quality control person fired…" Nothing would come of his grumblings, of course, but they seemed to set Pavel at ease a little bit. The doctor scanned Pavel using the functioning tricorder from his belt. "Well, it's the same readings as on the shuttle. Higher blood pressure than normal, of course, but still. Not reading any wounds."

"Wounds!" Pavel exclaimed, jumping a little bit. He bumped into the wall of the trubolift and stumbled, only just catching himself in time. During all of that he never took his eyes off McCoy. "We're at a spacedock! A random hostile is not just going to jump out of a Jefferies tube and stab me! And you already know I'm not going to hurt myself on purpose. Why were you checking for wounds?"

"There was some blood in front of your seat, almost under the front row." Pavel's mouth formed a small "O" and his jaw quivered slightly. McCoy reached over to the control panel and restarted the lift. He could feel his face flushing and he scratched the back of his neck. He really hoped this mistake wouldn't come back to bite him. "I was worried it might be yours. Your panic attack earlier freaked me out a little bit." McCoy stared pointedly at the tricorder in his hands, resetting it a few times so it would look like he was doing something.

"I guess that explains the kidnapping," Pavel said through a shaky laugh. His smile faded and he said in all seriousness, "I swear I'm fine now. You don't need to worry about me anymore."

McCoy cleared his throat. This conversation was dangerously close to becoming sentimental and he was starting to feel fidgety. He needed answers.

"Yeah, sorry for dragging you off the bridge like that. Anyway," the doors swished open and McCoy flung himself out of them, nearly running over a frightened blonde Ensign clutching a Padd. "I have to get to Med Bay." And with that he took off down the hall, barely hearing the alarmed squawk Pavel gave when he saw the Ensign.

"Taylor!"

McCoy would have found Pavel's surprise amusing if he hadn't been so preoccupied. 'The shuttles have to be on their way back to Earth by now! I really should have waited and scanned that blood when I had the chance. Although, given the context, it was a reasonable assumption to make… if a dangerous one. Only one other option.' McCoy flipped open his communicator.

"Mr. Scott, report to Med Bay immediately," the doctor commanded, striding down the hall. People in gold, blue, and red all leaped out of the way at his approach, dodging down side hallways or pressing themselves as close to the wall as they could get. He barely noticed, though. The communicator in McCoy's hand crackled to life as he approached the doors to his domain.

"But, Doctor, I-" Scotty protested.

"This is not optional. Report immediately." There was a burst of cursing on the other end of the line which McCoy cut off with a quick snap when he closed his communicator. And then finally, finally, he stepped through the doors to Med Bay. The gleaming white surfaces and sterile smell relaxed him, even though he knew that both or either would set anyone else on edge. He hadn't realized how tense he was until he felt the muscles in his back and face uncoil and smooth out.

"Chapel." He forced himself to smile at his head nurse who was walking back out of his office at the back of the room. "Glad you're back. Wasn't the same without you. You wouldn't believe the day I've had…"

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It might be hard to believe, but this is the second longest chapter in the whole story so far.

And WOW was it dialogue-heavy. That was pretty hard to write. Good news, though, we get Uhura's POV in the next chapter, so there's that to look forward to.

Still on the lookout for a beta-reader. PM me. Keep me on track. cough cough ThisWasTheLastTypedBufferChapterPleaseSendHelp cough cough (I have more hand written, though, don't worry about that.)

As a continuation of the 'review with requests' topic up at the top, there's going to be a bit of a time jump in a few chapters and after this fic done I'm going to start a story that's just a series of one-shots that fill up the time in between. So if you have a request for that just drop me a line and I'll see what I can do.