Bedside Manners Still Later that Day, and into the Next
The strident blare of a medical alarm launches him out of bed - and he is halfway to Sickbay, still pulling on his tunic, before he has registered what happened.
Now, it dawns on him: Spock's biobed.
He pelts into a Sickbay absolutely silent and dim. The silence and dimness pull him up short, and he tries to breathe down his panic. The faint light coming from the side bay tells him where the night nurse has gone, and the fact that he can hear her moving about goes far to quell his rising anger at what seemed, at first, like clear dereliction of duty.
Here, all is silent and dim - except for the slowing rasp of his own labored breathing.
An automated alarm, not a desperate call for help?
Had to have been.
He stretches.
Steady, now, he approaches the curtains surrounding Spock's bed. Remembering why he set the alarm in the first place, he grabs a hypo, just in case, and moves forward cautiously: If the alarm is a malfunction, or an indication of one, he doesn't want to startle his patient with his own sudden intrusion. Very slowly, he pushes the curtain aside a little, as quietly as he can; he peeps around its edge.
He doesn't drop the hypo. That's a good thing, really, all things considered.
There are two bodies occupying the narrow biobed. They both look fast asleep.
'Children,' he thinks, as he slips into the room. He's just gonna key off the alarm and skedaddle as quick as he can… Maybe they'll never know he was here.
But as he moves to the bio's display, there is a slight movement, the barest lifting of one hand. He turns his head and meets a watchful Vulcan gaze. Two pairs of eyes shift for the same brief instant to the serene face of the girl nestled in the circle of the Vulcan's arm, then meet once more. Leonard nods and, shutting off the monitors completely, reaches for his rolling stool. He draws it surreptitiously alongside the bed, and sits.
'Now this is a pickle,' he thinks. He has no idea what to say.
Though, really, it is such an innocent thing – and it is obvious what happened (or didn't).
It's sort of sweet, actually.
Unable to sleep, Uhura had clearly come to be near Spock - intending, probably, to just stay a few minutes. But the warmth (and pure relief at seeing him healing, and at rest) made her drowsy; and crawling on top of the covers, she curled up against him, just for a minute, to rest her eyes…
McCoy shakes his head, and glances at her again, sympathetically.
Freed from its ponytail, a soft mass of brown silk tumbles around her; her lips bear the faintest of smiles. She looks peaceful – and it is obvious she needs the sleep…
He sighs.
Spock's eyes dart to his face, then, and Leonard rolls a little closer to speak. Leaning in toward one pointy ear, he murmurs, "What time is it?"
Spock answers just as quietly, "03:07."
"Okay."
Leonard thinks for a moment. "Two hours," he says.
"I think you've got maybe two-and-a-half, three at the most, before people are up and moving around."
Spock nods.
"So, we'll let her sleep for two hours - then I have to get her home, or your cover is blown. Okay?"
Spock nods.
"Okay." He considers, then leans in again to whisper, "Are you going to be alright, like that? Do you need anything?"
"No, Doctor. Thank you." Vulcan eyes weigh the head on his shoulder, the slight form fitted against his uninjured side – and meet the doctor's, once more. "I'm fine."
Closing the curtains behind him, McCoy shakes his head a little at his own folly, then pauses, really hearing those words.
'Fine'?
Huh.
All things considered, he probably is.