Coconuts and Chickens, an epilogue

Sadly, we have come to the end of this story. Thank you to everyone who's been with us all the way to the end. I couldn't have done it without you. Enjoy, review, favourite and stay tuned for more stories – Fragments of the looking glass is up.

'Bones, it was a coconut.' Jim was clearly feeling better than he had ten minutes ago. 'You're overreacting.'

Leonard ignored him as Jim scratched at the hives covering a large proportion of his body. In his opinion, his reaction was totally warranted. It wasn't the first, second or even third time they'd had this conversation about one food source or another. McCoy doubted it would be the last either.

They had avoided complete anaphylaxis this time but Jim was still going to be miserable for the next couple of days as his body rejected the unwelcome fruit. Next time, Jim might not be so lucky.

'How was I supposed to know I was allergic?' The Captain whined as Leonard dragged him through the sickbay doors. 'Coconut's aren't technically a nut.'

McCoy unceremoniously dumped the Captain on the first biobed they reached before consulting the biobed monitor. The monitor just confirmed what McCoy already knew; Thanks to the rash and scans, they could safely say that Jim was allergic to coconuts and add it to the every growing epic list of things that did not agree with the Captain, along with peanuts, tree nuts, strawberries and most medications ever created. 'Just because it isn't a nut, doesn't mean you're not allergic'

Jim had protested when McCoy had brought his Medkit on shore leave, adamant that he wasn't going to need it. Now, Leonard was glad he hadn't listened to his friend.

The Doctor had been enjoying the beach. Up until the incident, it hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it was going to be when Jim had picked the place. Leonard had relaxed under the shade of a tree, catching up on his medical journals, while Jim regularly disappeared off to chat up anything female walking close by. McCoy had been in the middle of the third journal, a particularly interesting one on the treatment of prolonged direct exposure to subspace radiation, when Jim had said something about going to get a drink.

A drink, my ass. Chatting up the hot looking brunette by the bar was more like it.

McCoy had thought nothing of it until Jim had shoved a coconut, with a straw in it, under his nose. To his dismay, he'd looked up to find Jim's own drink half empty and the captain seemingly oblivious to the angry hives already creeping up across his skin.

Two hours and forty three minutes.

Leonard would have to ask Spock for to be sure but he was pretty sure that Jim had broken his own record regarding the shortest length of time on shore leave before ending up requiring medical assistance.

'Bones, I'm itchy.' Jim whined. With the size of the patches of hives covering the captain's skin, McCoy wasn't surprised. He loaded up a large dose of antihistamines, ignoring Jim's protests as he injected them.

The drugs were quick to take effect, having the added bonus of drowsiness. Within minutes, Jim was snoring on the biobed. McCoy left his sleeping friend and went in search of one of his colleagues.

Sickbay was relatively quiet, so he didn't have to look long. All the biobeds were empty except for a curtain drawn around the one furthest from the door. As Leonard got closer, he could hear two distinctively familiar voices arguing behind the fabric.

'Doctor, your diagnosis must be wrong.' That was the cool logical voice of their first officer. 'I am neither a member of the species Gallus gallus domesticus, nor have I been in recent contact with one.'

McCoy didn't hear what the other voice said, but he recognised it as belonging to Doctor Styron.

'I demand that you remove yourself from my care and find someone more qualified who can provide the correct diagnosis.'

Alice sighed.

'As I have already informed you, Commander, both Doctors McCoy and M'Benga are currently on shore leave.' McCoy could hear the tone in Alice's voice that told him she was seriously losing patience. 'I am the most senior medical officer onboard this ship right now and I stand by my diagnosis.' Doctor Styron was not a shouter. When she was reaching the end of her tether, she got very quiet and slow, forcing you to shut up and concentrate; when she Spoke like that, you listened. Leonard had only seen it happen once and had been thankful that he had not been on the receiving end. He also hoped he never was.

Deciding that it was time to intervene, McCoy stepped in through the curtain. It was fast turning into the age old question of what happens when an irresistible force hits an immovable object.

A naturally cheerful person, it took a lot to push Alice Styron over the edge. She was facing away from him, with her hands on her hips, but McCoy knew her lips would be pursed, like she was sucking lemons. Her eyes would be unwaveringly staring at Spock, having taken on an unnaturally cold hue. The stare was enough to send even the hardest Klingons weak at the knees.

Spock was sitting on the biobed, bare from the waist up displaying the vast array of several dozen tiny dark green spots coating every inch of visible skin.

Spock noticed him. 'Doctor Styron, I must once again inform you that you are wrong. Unless my symptoms have progressed into visual hallucinations, Doctor McCoy is indeed onboard this ship, contrary to your previous statement.'

The Tricorder just confirmed the diagnosis McCoy had come to the moment he had seen the first officer. It was also the exact same diagnosis that he concluded Alice had come to and Spock was so adamantly denying. 'Spock, you have been infected with the Varicella Zoster Virus.'

Spock gave his colleague a look that was the closest Leonard had ever seen a Vulcan come to gloating. 'See, Doctor Styron, you were wrong.'

McCoy resisted the urge to groan. Sometimes, Spock's logic was welcome, then there were times when it was not. It was just like how sometimes the Vulcan was the easiest patient to treat onboard and then something like this happened. The Vulcan had put two and two together and come up with three. 'On earth, the infection is more commonly known as Chicken Pox.'

Spock frowned. 'The name is most illogical.'

'Some people believe the name may have originated from the way the spots look like chicken pecks, but it's a human disease, Spock, since when have we humans ever been logical?' McCoy asked, sighing. This was not how he had intended to spent his shore leave. 'Now, I suggest that you apologise to Doctor Styron before she decides against releasing you to your quarters and puts you in an isolation room with Jim for the duration of your quarantine.'

Leonard knew for a fact that Jim had had chickenpox, having given the vaccine to him personally and then having had to share a room with him when Jim had both reacted to the vaccines carrier substance and developed chicken pox anyway. What amazed McCoy though, was how Spock had managed to not only avoid the vaccine but also spend so much time around humans and not catch it before. Spock had most likely convinced the doctor that since he was Vulcan and 'Vulcans do not get sick', he didn't need the vaccine. Damn copper-based blood and flawed Vulcan logic.

Spock was busily inspecting the spots on his arms and chest, undoubtedly trying to assess the logic in McCoy's statement. The disease was still in it's early stages; nearly all the spots had yet to start blistering. If Spock was being difficult now, it was only going to get worse over the next couple of hours as the disease progressed.

McCoy made a note to get Alice and Christine spa tickets down on the surface as an apology. Styron had recently completed her research project whilst Chapel had finally graduated and was now a fully qualified Starfleet Doctor. To celebrate, he and M'Benga had left the pair to run sickbay on their own for a week while two most senior doctors enjoyed their own much overdue shore leave. He'd expected sickbay to be quiet during the first week; if he'd known that Spock or Jim were going to end up within its doors, he would never have inflicted them upon his colleagues.

'Doctor Styron, I regret my previous accusation. I did not mean for my flawed logic to cause offence.' Spock said almost absent mindedly, running his hands across the spots on his cheek. 'May I please have a mirror?'

McCoy retrieved a small hand held mirror left on the nurses station. It was often used to reassure patients following facial injuries. He handed it to Spock.

Spock held I up to his face, eying the spots on his face to ascertain the truth in McCoy's suggestion. After several minutes, he seemed satisfied and set the mirror down on the table. As he was moving away, his arm caught the mirror, balancing slightly over the edge of the table.

The mirror toppled to the floor and shattered against the floor.

'Doctor McCoy, I'm sorry, I did not mean for the...'

Leonard held up a hand to silence him.

Seven years bad Luck.

McCoy was about to say it but then thought better of it. He didn't intend to waste any more of his time off debating the logic of human superstitions with Spock. 'It's fine, I'll get one of the nurses to clean it up.'

The glass crunched underfoot as Leonard retreated to his office. Spock would shortly be released to his quarters and Jim would most likely be sleeping of the hypospray and reaction until the next day. Until then, he was at his liberty to enjoy what was left of his shore leave.

McCoy retrieved the bottle of bourbon from the bottom of his desk, one which Jim had bought him for Christmas, and poured himself a glass. In the peace and quiet of his office, McCoy smiled to himself as he leant back in his chair, stuck his feet up on the desk and silently toasted.

To better luck in the future.