12. Heatstroke

Summary: It wasn't what Bones had had in mind.

Warning: Contains mild profanity.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its characters. This is purely for personal enjoyment, not profit.

Has now been edited to (hopefully) fix the switching between tenses. As always, I hope you enjoy! Reviews would be nice!

When he'd told Jim that he wanted to go somewhere warm for a change, this was not what he'd had in mind. The box was an oven. He just had to get near to the sides for them to fry the hairs off his arms. The air was suffocatingly thick with heat, burning his lungs with every breath. Even Spock would have found the temperature a little on the warm side.

McCoy lay as still as a statue on the sand, the slightest movement sending his skin into contact with the scorching sand that lined the metal box holding him captive. The worse thing of it all was he had no damn idea how in hell he'd ended up here.

He was too damn hot and it was just getting hotter, the more time that passed.

He had no idea how long he'd been laying there. There was no sense of time in the box, he couldn't see the sun. It could have been minutes, hours or even days. He didn't know.

McCoy knew he needed to drink more water, but just the thought was making him feel sick. What little water he had managed to swallow wasn't sitting comfortably in his stomach. Vomiting was counter-productive to re-hydration.

His muscles ached and the heat was making him drowsy. He'd stripped off his shirt a while ago, using it to protect himself from the boiling sand he lay on. McCoy could feel it underneath him, soaked in the same sweat that beaded across his skin. The stickiness on his skin felt disgusting. What he would have given for a cool shower with real water. He was so hot, Dammit.

…..

When McCoy woke he was on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

His mouth was dry and stuffed with what felt like cotton wool. He was so thirsty. It was ironic; he was surrounded by water yet could not drink.

The boat rocked from side to side. McCoy didn't even think the thing could be called a boat. It was a piece of wood that just about seemed to float. Raft seemed more apt. Either way, he wished that the damn thing would stay still.

The sun beat down on him relentlessly. There was no where to shelter; The heat was so strong. He thought about jumping into the water but doubted he'd have the strength the pull himself back onto the boat. He'd more likely end up sinking the flimsy raft and drown.

Even the smallest movement sent the boat lurching violently to the side, threatening to tip him into the deep waters below. Who knew what monsters lurked beneath the surface. Scared of foundering, he lay as still as he could.

McCoy covered his eyes to beat off the dizzying brightness, wishing that the world would stop spinning. His raft dipped and rose with the waves. His stomach churned with the motion.

He crawled over to the side of the raft and heaved bile into the water.

McCoy rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, willing the boat to stop rocking. His head hurt and his heart pounded frantically in his chest. Now the taste in his mouth was like something had died in there.

A while later, shouting made him look up. For a moment McCoy thought his salvation had come, only when he looked there was nothing. It was just him, on his raft, surrounded by miles and miles of ocean. The dehydration and heat was making him hear things.

When he heard the explosions he decided that it was just another hallucination. He was hearing things; there was no way anything out here could ignite. It was too damn wet.

A particularly large wave brought him out of his reverie and sent his stomach flip-flopping again. McCoy found himself hanging over the edge of the precarious raft again as bile rose in his throat. He was quickly reduced to dry heaves.

Something bumped against the raft. He fell backwards into the middle of the boat. Tentatively, he peered into the water and found himself face to face with a huge shark. The shark grinned back at him, displaying its mouthful of rather terrifying, sharp, pointy teeth. Ah, hell.

McCoy scrabbled back to the middle. Maybe if the Shark couldn't see him, it would forget that he was there and wouldn't want to eat him. He was a doctor dammit, not fish food. He didn't taste nice at all. Too many bones.

Suddenly the boat capsized and he was tossed into the ocean. The water was freezing. McCoy tried to swim only to be pulled back by something catching on to his leg. He looked down to see a giant octopus wrapping its tentacles around his ankles. He kicked out at the creature to free his legs, but another just took its place.

'Get off me, Dammit.'

Suddenly there were thousands of the bastards, clinging to his arms, his legs, his body. He tried to shake them off but the more he flailed the tighter they held on, pulling him down further into the water.

'Doctor McCoy, we need to cool you down.'

He was dehydrated, he was hallucinating things; the fish hadn't spoken to him. McCoy struggled against the restraining tentacles. He needed to get out of the water before the Shark came back.

The suckers were everywhere, dragging him down, pulling him back. He was losing, quickly; the effort was making him exhausted. The boat was drifting further and further away. Eventually, he couldn't keep it up. He closed his eyes and let the water rush in over his head as the bastards pulled him down to the darkness below.

…..

A breeze played across his skin and the ground beneath the him was finally still. Maybe he'd finally drifted into land. For a moment, when he opened his eyes, he thought that night had finally fallen. Then he heard the beep that seemed to be permanently etched into his head.

Not Land, sickbay.

Somehow, he'd gained one of the private rooms, in the back of the department. Briefly, he worried that he'd caught something contagious but then decided it was because the room was so cool. While McCoy wasn't cold, other patients would be. He didn't know whether to be relieved that he was back on the Enterprise, or groan at being a patient once again.

The lights in sickbay had been turned down low, just light enough so that the nurses didn't trip over in the dark. The breeze was the environmental controls blowing cool air out of the vent. The movement against his skin was refreshing.

McCoy was wearing nothing but one of those flimsy gowns, that never seemed to meet at the back ,and a thin sheet covering his legs. For once, there was no oxygen but he still had tubes and needles in some darn uncomfortable places.

Jim was slouched over the bed with his his arms. McCoy knew that position well; all too many times the roles had been reversed. It wasn't comfortable one bit. 'You're going to throw your back out.'

Jim startled awake and then smiled. 'Bones! You back with us?'

'What happened?' McCoy hated that he had to ask.

'Heatstroke and severe dehydration.' M'Benga walked in and picked up McCoy's chart.

Well that answered the medical side, but not actually how he'd ended up imprisoned in a metal box or stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean. There were too many gaps in his memory; he couldn't tell what had been real and what wasn't. Leonard looked at the Captain for answers.

'The Krenn insurgency didn't like that the high council were negotiating with the Starfleet and the federation.' Jim explained. 'They drugged and kidnapped you with the intent of using you as a hostage to ensure their own demands were met.'

McCoy groaned. It happened every time; why was it always the most peaceful planets that had the deadliest secrets?

'No more away missions.' He muttered as M'Benga checked the bag of fluids, dripping through one of the IV's in his arm, before crouching down to check something hanging under the biobed. Leonard stared at the ceiling with embarrassment as he realised what it was. He was then embarrassed that he was embarrassed; McCoy was a doctor, he did this all the time, but it was a hell of a lot different when he was on the other side of the fence. 'Kidneys function's improved.'

'So I can get out of here?' He dared to hope.

M'Benga looked at him, similar to the way Spock did when he thought you were being so illogical it wasn't worth pointing out. 'I said improved, not fine.'

Dammit. If he didn't know better, McCoy would think his colleague was after his job.

The corner of M'Benga's mouth twitched when McCoy said that out loud. If it wasn't for the ears, Geoff could have easily passed for a Vulcan. 'You're the one who keeps ending up as my patient. Besides, you get too much paperwork.'