He kneeled down, his knee resting on the blood orange dirt. He grasped a handful, the texture rough against his palm, and watched as it filtered down between his fingers. He was not sure which planet he was on.
Spock looked around, his hand stained a chalky orange. The sky was dark and impending, a stark contrast to the highly saturated ground he was upon. Ranges of massive mountains lined the horizon. It would have reminded him of Vulcan, but Vulcan was warm and welcoming. A peaceful planet. This planet, though no on seemed to be in sight, caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. The dark clouds loomed overhead, churning thick matter into themselves. They were like a prophecy for this place he'd found himself.
Far away in the distance, Spock heard something. A whooshing sound, the sound of something soaring through the air. His heart started racing as his eyes flicked across the horizon, trying and failing to locate the object. Whatever it was, it went against every finger of his being. Wind began to blow against his hair.
The noise became louder, vibrating the airwaves that filled the atmosphere. He spun around, searching; it must be somewhere. What was it? The mountains blurred together as he whipped to every side, every horizon, his eyes needing to lock onto the mysterious article.
The noise roared into a deafening sound, the pitch climbing, assaulting his ears. The current of air became relentless as it thwacked at his clothes and hair. It carried the noise of something nearing him, rapidly.
He bent down to the ground, curling into himself as he wrapped his hands over his head. The noise was thunderous. It surrounded him, it was everywhere, it was clawing at his ears. He couldn't hear his own voice as he yelled out against the wind, burying his head into his chest.
Something swift and heavy hit the back of his shoulder, hard. His body lurched to the ground. Pain exploded from his left shoulder, sending waves of shock through the rest of his body. He struggled against the striking wind, trying to regain his focus as he pushed off the reddish-yellow dirt. He was only aware of the violent throbbing in his shoulder and the howling wind in his ears. The screaming noise was no longer in the air. He tilted his head up and looked to the sky, the wind flinging dust into his eyes. His body tensed against it, fighting to stay tall.
He saw something between the massive, menacing clouds…his eyes widened. It was right there; the Enterprise. Muscle memory caused him to immediately pat his hip, expecting there to be a communicator which he would use for one of two reasons. Beam me up, or get yourselves out of here, get far away. He was not sure which he was about to say. But his hand, reaching for the device, landed on nothing but cloth. He jerked his head down and saw he was wearing the Vulcan robe of Kolinahr, a ritual he had, against his father's wishes, not taken part in.
The screeching of that inescapable sound suddenly shot back through the wind, coming upon him within seconds, and another attacking object nailed his left collarbone. He was thrown backwards, his back slamming into the ground. Dried dirt billowed out from under his body. Breath escaped his lungs and anguish rocked his senses. He gasped and wrestled against the dirt, his eyes searching, but he found no evidence that anything had hit him. He staggered to his feet, jolts of pain shooting down his spine. He looked up just as he saw an explosion erupt from the hull of the Enterprise.
"NO!" he yelled out against the wind, outstretching a hand to the lost ship. He fell back to his knees as something invisibly rammed into his ribcage, another white wave of pain ricocheting his skeleton. He hunched over into himself as the pain suffocated his thoughts. His eyes went back up to the sky, hopelessly, as another explosion ripped apart the bridge and snaked to the core of the ship. Against the screams of his body, he stumbled back to his feet and ran. His limbs threatened to topple him back over in the pain. However he continued to run, as if he could aimlessly stop the onslaught of his ship. There was a crash against the base of his spine, and something else snapped across his jaw. He dropped to the ground, sand digging into his cheek. The distant rumble of surging explosions echoed from the heavens, and his blurred vision caught the line of eruptions ripping the starship apart until it was nothing but a fireball, falling gracefully into the atmosphere.
His body jolted upright, sweat plastering his shirt to his skin. His lungs gasped violently for air, the image as clear as physics itself. Dim floorlights lined the far side of his room, giving soft shadows to the wall. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, the pulse of his blood thudding painfully in his ears. There was not a time he could recall his heart beating so quickly. A bead of sweat ran down his face as his chest heaved, unable to control his forced breath. He blinked several times, utterly confused of his surroundings. He was just on…some strange planet. The ship was obliterated in flame. His fingers rubbed against his palm, swearing the cuts of the sand were still there. The pain had felt so real.
No. He leaned against the wall behind his bed, closing his eyes to focus the control of his clawing lungs. He placed a hand over his side as his heart continued to strike out, as if it was fighting to leave his body. You are on the Enterprise. You are on the Enterprise. He brought his fingers up to his temples and tightly clenched his eyes shut. It was not real. It was a fabricated reality. Not real.
He needed to get out of that bed, he needed to stand, to breath. He could not control his heart nor his breathing. He swung his legs over and tried to stand, but he fell to the floor in a heap of shock and sweat. His muscles no longer obeyed him as he tried to push himself to all fours.
There was a brief moment of loud pounding on the door; someone was screaming his name. The sounds of buttons being pushed. Medical override.
McCoy burst through the door, practically kicking it open in his haste. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and horror overcame him. Spock was hunched over on his hands and knees, breathing far too heavily. The doctor crossed the room in seconds and dropped to his knees, grabbing Spock's shoulders as fear gripped his mind.
"What's wrong, Spock? Spock, I need you to tell me what happened! SPOCK!"
Spock blinked against the haze of confusion that still lingered in his mind. He grabbed onto McCoy's forearm as the doctor forced him to sit back against the side of the bed.
"Doctor—" he tried, but his voice was lost in his throat. The man was still shouting at him. "Doctor, it's alright."
"Alright?! Your heart rate is dangerously high, Spock! What's going on? You gotta talk to me, man!" McCoy could see the sheen of sweat on the Vulcan's skin. He shook his shoulders, repeating his questions. It was clear the Vulcan was in some kind of daze, and he'd be damned if he couldn't break it.
"Doctor McCoy, it is alright," Spock repeated between breaths. "It was only…" He swallowed as the vivid dream crept into the front of his mind. "It was only a night terror."
"What?" McCoy's voice was forced, disbelieved, as he muttered to himself. He looked at the Vulcan's face, who's eyes were unfocused and looking to the ground. Spock only nodded, trying as he could to breath more smoothly.
"Christ…" grumbled the doctor. He rummaged through the small bag at his feet and pulled out a hypo, immediately pressing it into the Vulcan's neck. Spock leaned back further, attempting to think of tactical breathing as he endeavored to calm himself.
"A hypo, McCoy…?" he managed.
"I need to get your heart rate under control, Spock. It's worth you feeling a little nauseous."
He picked up Spock's wrist and held it, silently counting his heartbeat. Normally Spock would have shot daggers to the doctor for the unwarranted contact, but he was too distracted to hardly notice. After several moments, McCoy was satisfied for the rate it had settled into and released his wrist. He put his hands on his knees and stared at Spock. McCoy needed to get his own heart under control; it had been thumping like crazy since his emergency pager had begun screaming.
Spock did not wish for McCoy to be witnessing him in this position of vulnerability, however he realized it was far too late for that now. He exhaled through his nose, gladly noticing his lungs had stopped burning. He kept his eyes on the wall as his chest further loosened and his breathing came easier.
"Spock?"
Spock slowly moved his eyes away from the wall so they met those of McCoy's. McCoy was exceptionally disquieted about this situation. This was highly, highly unusual behavior of a Vulcan. It was even more disturbing given the circumstances. The threats from the alien bounced around McCoy's head.
"What was the dream?"
Spock looked away from him again. His fear of the dream had not vanished. It was lingering inside him, permeating, but he would not allow his face to betray this. He held, a statue. McCoy shook his head, disappointment stewing his insides.
"I should have given you a sedative to help you sleep, I just didn't think you would — dammit, I should have known better."
"No, McCoy, I would have denied that as well. It's…it is just cause and effect, Doctor. Our position the last few days has been abnormal, I believe it is fair to assume anyone may experience night terrors over it." He took another deep breath, feeling himself regain a normal level. He did not wish to admit to the doctor he had been disturbed enough to have a night terror, however there was no gain in avoiding the truth.
"This was not an average nightmare, Spock. Your heart rate was almost at 320 beats per minute, I thought your heart was going to fail!" he said with emphasis, needing Spock to realize what just happened. Spock was indeed taken aback by the number, however when unprotected, he knew a mind could do dangerous things to a physical body.
"Does this feel like something that has to do with what that alien said?"
Spock shook his head. "I do not know. I believe it is too soon to accurately speculate."
"If that's what this is, it's going to get much worse," McCoy said quietly.
"It is only the first night, McCoy, and I am in no danger. I ask you to not tell the captain."
"What?! Are you kidding me, Spock? Do you have any idea how much he cares about you? For Pete's sake, you —"
"Doctor McCoy, it is for that reason that you must not tell him," Spock urged. "If you articulate what happened, he will reverse course of this ship and return us to the path of the star cluster." He braced his palm up on the mattress and pushed, getting his feet to stand. McCoy rose with him, keeping a steady grip on his arm.
"He already told you, Spock, he's not giving in to what that bastard wants, you don't have to keep worrying about that."
"I understand that, however the human in him cannot bring himself to watch me die. He would take action to prevent that, including turning the Enterprise around, until he could think of an alternative plan. An alternative plan of which there is none. We must press forward, no matter the consequences. Speculate an alternative plan, perhaps, but not on the course back towards the cluster and specifically the moon."
"If this continues, if that's what this is, there has to be a point where he finds out."
"It is not my wish to keep information from him. I only ask you keep this…what happened tonight, I would like it to be confidential. Between you and I, Doctor McCoy."
McCoy shook his head; unbelievable. He had sprinted to Spock's quarters, finding him on the floor, breathing like he'd just raced time itself. None of it rang well with the doctor.
"What that thing said…it keeps replaying in my head, Spock. I just keep coming back to the conclusion that this has to be related to it. The stumble on the bridge, now this…maybe you were wrong, Spock. Maybe the alien wasn't lying about it's abilities." He bore his eyes into Spock's, his brow furrowed in concern and apprehension. Spock did not return the emotions.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked instead. McCoy shifted his stance and ran a hand through his hair.
"Three hours. Jim's back on the bridge now, doing better now that he's slept and eaten. HEY!" He snapped his fingers and stared accusingly at Spock, something the Vulcan noticed he did more frequently as of late. "Did you eat something after you left sickbay? Like I told you to?"
Spock mentally prepared himself for the inevitable lecture. He simply wished to don his uniform and return to work, he did not want to deal with this.
"The energy I was in possession of was only enough to bring me to my quarters. I had no desire to eat."
"Oh my—" McCoy spun around and walked a few steps away from the Vulcan, needing to distance himself before he punched him. "I specifically told you that you needed to eat. You may be Vulcan, Spock, but you're also human. You can't deny your body of nutrients, especially at a time like this! What were you thinking? Aren't you a man of logic?"
Spock exhaled and sat on the top of his bed, unable to ignore his muscles any longer.
"I was confident I would become ill if I were to eat anything," he explained calmly. McCoy tapped his medical scanner against his palm, frustrated. He looked the Vulcan up and down in the dim light.
"Lights, 50%." The lights grew to a soft glow. Spock blinked his eyes in adjustment, wondering what tricks the doctor was after. In an answer to the question, he noticed the doctor quite obviously and meticulously studying him.
"If I may be inclined to say so, your staring may be more productive at a different time," he said, the sarcasm thinly veiled.
"You look like hell, Spock. You look like total shit."
Spock raised his eyebrow and led his eyes away towards the wall. I suppose that is an accurate description for how I feel, too, a human part of him thought.
"You probably feel like shit, too," continued McCoy. Now Spock raised both eyebrows, as it seemed the doctor could read minds.
"I'm the chief medical officer, Spock. I've been doing this for over a decade. I started off studying under Kurt Bo'yenga. Did I ever tell you that? Kurt. Fucking. Bo'yenga. I once performed emergency surgery on a Hyvoqridicalian in the middle of bum fuck J'uSusuli."
Spock furrowed his brow, heavily confused at the term of 'bum fuck', and at the point of this sermon.
"My point is, Spock, I know what I'm doing. I know what's good for you. You do not. I do. You know nothing, I know everything, let me do my job." His intonation expressed agitation, but his face was shaped in that of worry. Spock wanted to correct him on the fact that no, he did not 'know nothing', but he felt too tired. He noted with disdain that the word 'feel' was coming into his observations far more often than usual.
"What is it you want from me, Doctor?"
"I want you to take care of yourself. You're body has gone through enough, you're not doin' yourself any favors by skipping meals."
"Logical conclusion, Doctor. I shall see to that tomorrow." Spock truly wished for the doctor's departure. He was not lying, as he could not do so, and he would attempt to consume something. However at the present moment, solitude was his only desperate need.
McCoy regarded him suspiciously, knowing the lathering it normally took for the Vulcan to ever agree with him, but figured it was something to revisit after Spock had some real rest.
"And you need to sleep the rest of the night. And if you try to argue against that after what I just saw, then you will be the most vapid man I'll have ever met. So don't argue with me. I'm gonna give you a sedative that will put you out and release chemicals to ease your nerves. No nightmares. Go it?"
"Yes, Doctor McCoy," Spock answered flatly.
"Great."
He gave him the sedative, ignoring the subtle look of betrayal on Spock's face. He didn't have a choice, the damned Vulcan needed to sleep. A sense of deja vu flittered across McCoy's mind as he was brought back to the memory of doing the same thing to Jim hours ago. The top two officers of a ship in a crisis, hardly able to stand on their own two feet; fantastic.
Well, Jim was standing. A prime example of following the doctor's orders; eat your greens and get some rest, you're gonna be alright. It worked out for the captain.
But Spock…it wasn't quite the same story. I can make him sleep and eat as much I want to, but…that may be completely pointless. I don't know what good any of that can do for him anymore.
