Ghost In The Machine
Chapter 12:
I was afraid to let you in here
Now I have learned
Love can be made in fear.
"What in damnation…?"
Spock stumbled back, colliding with the low table nearby and sending the large, modern crystal sculpture that stood upon its surface crashing to the floor. It smashed on impact, littering the nearby thick rug with sharp edged pieces.
"Spock! Stop!" McCoy roared in agitation.
The Vulcan's face had turned yellowish-grey. It shone with a thin patina of sweat. His sightless eyes jerked from side to side, an animal at bay, as he swayed drunkenly on his feet.
At McCoy's shout, Spock faltered, apparently totally bemused at what had happened. Without hesitation, Kirk dashed past McCoy and across the room. He caught Spock by the shoulders, forcefully preventing the First Officer from trampling through the broken glass and ripping his bare feet to shreds. Kirk overcame Spock's definite resistance as he gently but firmly steered, pushed and manoeuvred the First Officer clear of the danger. He continued to hold Spock by the upper arms against the wall as the Vulcan breathed shallowly in irregular gasps, lips compressed together, the skin across his cheekbones stretched taut and thin.
McCoy demanded, "What in green blooded blazes are you trying to do, Spock?"
Spock continued to struggle for breath as fresh shudders ran through him.
Kirk said into the silence, "I think he needs the clensor, Bones. Urgently."
"Uh-oh. Gonna be sick, huh? Wondered why your face was so green! Could be the sedatives I gave him last night, Jim. A few of our more widely used soporifics make some Vulcanoids a might queasy. C'mon, quick, let's get him inside before he pukes all over my boots…"
The Vulcan retched into the streamlined bowl of the 'fresher, praying on his knees to a ceramic god of which he had little previous experience. His lean form shaken by spasm after spasm, his body fought to purge itself of the alien contaminates. Kirk hunkered down on the clensor floor beside his dejected First Officer. With a hand across the brow he supported Spock's head. The fingers of his other hand imperceptibly touched the First Officer's shoulder in unspoken fellow feeling.
McCoy, his own gorge rising in sympathy, swept the feinburger's remote sensor over Spock. As he had deduced, this new symptom appeared a direct result of Spock's intolerance to the sedatives and not another perturbing condition associated with the neural damage or the Koreoretnal syndrome.
At Kirk's troubled glance, McCoy shook his head, nibbling at his bottom lip. "He'll be okay, Jim. Just needs to rest…"
Spock's shoulder muscles constricted beneath Kirk's fingers, his voice abrasive, rasping with effort. "Doctor, I do not … wish to… remain here … any further. Please, have me beamed… back to the ship…"
Kirk coughed discreetly, still kneeling at Spock's side, his arm lightly enfolding the Vulcan's back. "Bones, why don't you go see to that broken glass out there. I'll take care of Spock. We'll get together over breakfast. He may feel differently after he hears my news."
McCoy frowned, looking down at them both, perplexed by the abrupt tension he could feel between the two men. Something was happening here, he could tell, but neither of them let him in on it. The spasms shaking the First Officer came intermittently now, the worst of the sickness over. It was safe to leave him in Kirk's hands.
Jim had told McCoy that morning of Ryhanen's agreement the night before to examine Spock. While McCoy was concerned to find a treatment for the Koreoretnal syndrome, he could not help feeling a little peeved that Jim had gone over his head. Now, he felt unable to refrain from a testy parting shot. He cleared his throat in grouchy disapproval. "Okay, I can take a hint, Jim. I know when I'm not wanted…"
He stomped out, leaving Kirk and Spock alone in the clensor.
As soon as the door whooshed shut behind the doctor's retreating back, Spock scooted from beneath Kirk's embrace to flatten his spine against the nearest wall, knees bent in a defensive crouch.
"Who are you?" He stared apprehensively in the general direction of Kirk His usual calm, less than dispassionate now, retained a faint huskiness from the affect of his recent nausea. "What have you done with my Captain? Where is James Kirk?"
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