CHAPTER FOUR

It had taken longer than Leonard had thought it would to achieve the neat line that marched across Jim's pale forehead. The extra work he'd done, post-residency, in Plastics was coming in handy, making all those extra hours and shifts well worth the investment of time and effort. Once the dermal regenerators finished, there would be no scar to mar Jim Kirk's handsome face.

Leonard got a deep sense of satisfaction out of knowing that.

He'd positioned one of the latest-model dermal regenerators – only the best for Starfleet – over Jim's forehead, before pulling the body-sized regenerator down and into position. He added some programming for deeper therapy to the left shoulder area, as well as the skull hematoma, prior to initiating the treatment sequences. There was nothing left to do then but allow the machines to do their work.

With the regenerators hummed away in the background, Leonard settled into a chair, with his PADD balanced against the thigh of his crossed leg. He wanted to work on the puzzle that was Jim Kirk's past medical history.

An inquiry to the Federation database resulted in a list of three urgent-care facilities in or near Riverside, Iowa. Further scrutiny eliminated two: one was no longer in operation and the other was a facility run by Starfleet for the shipyard workers. That left…

He clicked the link for Riverside Urgent Care, found the 'professionals only' entry port, and entered his Starfleet Medical identification number, then Jim's name and date of birth.

The seconds slowly crawled by. Leonard was just starting to think it was all going to be futile, when the computer chimed and loaded several pages.

"Bingo," he murmured.

The pages were scanned copies of actual paper forms, and they spanned a little over five years of time, from Jim's first visit as a two-week-old infant, to a last notation when Jim was five.

Leonard scrolled past the routine demographics to the meat of the information and began to read, stopping only to enter the dates of the standard infant and childhood vaccinations administered by the clinic into Jim's Starfleet medical record.

Leonard began to read and was startled to learn that Jim had been born two and half months premature and had had some of the usual problems of a premature infant – respiratory problems and a few bronchial infections mainly, one severe enough to require emergency transport to another facility, the Iowa University Hospital in Des Moines, at age 3. There was no mention of follow-up care to that event in the clinic records.

All in all, Leonard thought as he continued to read, Kirk had been incredibly lucky to have avoided the more serious syndromes associated with prematurity, developing into a sturdy – if small for his age – boy, based on the height and weight values noted at each of the visits.

He clicked to the next scanned image.

A visit for a cut finger that required six stitches, when he was two. Four visits for allergic reactions – one for a severe reaction to peanut butter at eighteen months, requiring an epinephrine bolus and drip. (A note appended to the progress notes detailing the allergic response treatment indicated that the mother had been given an epi-hypospray and instructions on how to use it.) A second visit a month after that for shrimp, this time requiring diphenhydramine only, as the mother had given the boy an epinephrine injection prior to arriving at the clinic.

Then two more emergency visits in quick succession at 25 and 26 months, for similar episodes, this time a reaction to pineapple, followed by one for papaya. All had been handled in the same manner: epinephrine injections at home, followed by observation and diphenhydramine at the clinic.

The last of the scanned pages was a copy of a referral to the Iowa University Hospital for an allergy work-up by the specialists there.

Leonard pursed his lips, trying to read between the lines.

There'd not been a lot of continuity in the medical care provided in Jim's earliest years; every entry had a different doctor name signing off on the visits. No indication of how Jim's mother was dealing, or not, with the needs of a premature infant. No developmental milestones noted. Nothing recorded past age five.

Based on the care documented in these copied records, Jim could have been living on the Iowa prairie three hundred years ago.

Leonard moved the copies into a file and attached it to Jim's current medical record.

Now, to Des Moines…

He hit the motherlode there, compared to Riverside's scant handful of documents.

The Iowa University Hospital was a first-class facility with modern recordkeeping. The hospital was a Level 3 Trauma Center and a regional center for specialty care of all kinds. Based on the little he'd seen on his drunken enlistment shuttle ride and the overnight stop at the shipyard, Leonard suspected that the hospital was the mothership for countless small hospitals and clinics in the sparsely populated state. They made it easy for any doctors referring to them to find all the information regarding their patients.

Leonard's Starfleet Medical ID apparently doubled as a magic wand.

He surfed the multitude of records, trying to get a feel for what he had netted. There was a huge amount of documentation resulting from Jim's hospitalization for the Danthers-Duseault procedure. He was going to have to read that in detail.

Then he happened upon the name of the allergy Attending again, further on in the records, attached to an emergency room visit. Wondering if Jim had experienced some post-therapy issues significant enough to require him to travel to Des Moines, Leonard dug deeper.

And felt his gut clench.

Broken jaw. Severe facial contusions. Broken collarbone. Broken arm. Broken ribs. Bruised kidneys.

Jim had been twelve. Twelve fucking years old, and he'd been beaten badly enough to require hospitalization for nineteen days. The allergy Attending, apparently furious that someone had tried to jeopardize some of his best work, had pressed charges against Jim's assailant, with the assistance of the hospital's attorney.

Leonard tapped furiously, routing himself through Jim's records to the emergency room visit that connected to the allergist's note. He finally found it by using the date, 2245, having added twelve years to Jim's birth year, and he began to skim…

…twelve-year-old male with numerous significant traumatic injuries… arrived via air ambulance… unresponsive and in respiratory distress… Oral surgeon performed temporary stabilization of mandibular fracture prior to intubation… cardiac arrest at 1522…normal sinus rhythm re-acquired at 1534… patient taken to OR at 1541…

Leonard looked across the room to where Jim was sleeping peacefully. His body was nude, except for the towel across his groin, a concession to modesty, so that the regenerators could work unimpeded.

"I'm tougher than I look, Bones. I've been through worse."

Today's body scrapes and bruises were already healed. The long-fingered, elegant hands were lax, resting lightly at Jim's sides, their skin once again smooth and unblemished. The regenerator was nearly finished, making the last of its repeated passes over Jim's skull and shoulder.

"I told you, I'm tough. Don't worry."

Fat chance of that.

The regenerators chimed, signaling the completion of treatment.

Sighing, Leonard stood up. He needed to prepare Jim's discharge instructions and have Hannah contact his roommate. Jim would need replacement clothing before he could leave the ER, as well as a ride back to his room. He'd also need to be under close observation for the next twenty-four hours.

Clutching the PADD which, with its newly discovered information, felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, he slipped quietly out of the room.

"Dr. McCoy? I've been trying to set up your patient's discharge but I've run into… an unexpected snag."

Leonard made a final entry to Jim's discharge orders and spun on his chair to face Hannah. The expression on her face matched the frustration in her voice.

"What's the problem, Hannah? Couldn't you reach his roommate?"

Hannah grimaced. "Oh, I reached him. After four attempts. I have him holding onscreen right now. I think you should talk with him, sir. He's refusing to cooperate with me," she said.

"Transfer the call to my screen," Leonard said. "I'll set him straight."

"Thanks, Dr. McCoy."

The communication screen in front of him flickered to life. "Dr. McCoy from Starfleet Medical here—

"Finally! I've been holding forever! And it's gonna be my turn soon!"

Leonard blinked. The flushed cadet on screen pumped his fist in the air as a raucous shout sounded in the background.

"Way to go, Maris! But I'm still gonna kick your ass!"

Even louder jeers sounded in response.

"Who are you and what the hell is going on there, cadet?" he barked.

His authoritative tone apparently made an impression because the cadet reflexively snapped to attention.

"Cadet Robert Lund, sir. We – my roommates and I – are playing Cosmic Forces. It's an all-night marathon. To celebrate the end of probationary period."

Some of the background noise decreased, apparently in response to Lund's more respectful tone.

Leonard rubbed his forehead, tamping down his annoyance. "Cadet Lund, I understand you're Jim Kirk's roommate?"

"One of them, sir."

One of them?

"How many of you are there?"

"Six, sir. Kirk, myself, Maris, Kissen, Antran and P'lith."

"There are six of you living in that room?" McCoy asked, incredulously.

"Yes, sir."

Unbelievable. His grandmother would have said there wasn't enough space in the small room to swing a cat without getting hair in your mouth but, from what he could see of the room on his viewscreen, the cadet was telling the truth. Raised platform beds were arranged along three of the walls, with a small desk fitted beneath each of them. The two beds at the far end were mostly obscured by a large holo-screen, obviously a temporary addition. The screen rested on two of the desks, which had been pulled out from beneath the bunks and pushed together to form a table, with a desk chair centered in front of it.

The chair was currently occupied by a dark-haired cadet who, judging from his body English, was barely managing to stay on the chair seat as he manipulated the holo-controller. Two cadets sprawled on the floor next to the chair, and McCoy could see the feet of another swinging from his perch on one of the bunks. Loud explosions, and the constant whine of weapons powering up, were punctuated by insults from the onlookers concerning his energetic performance.

Even if there'd been no video marathon in progress, the room was a poor choice of places for Kirk to rest and recover.

"Cadet Kirk was injured in the engineering lab explosion earlier today."

Lund peered at him warily. "Yeah, we heard."

"Fortunately, he wasn't seriously injured, but – "

"—Kirk is a ninja," Lund said, interrupting him with a knowing smirk. "I think he was born under a lucky star or something. I mean, he survived the Kelvin disaster, right? So it's no big surprise he walked away today with only scratches."

"I'm afraid whoever told you that had his head up his ass."

Lund blinked. "Pardon, sir?"

"The injuries he sustained earlier today will require rest and close observation for the next 24 hours, and limited activities for an extended period of time after that. Someone will need to bring his meals to him tomorrow, make sure he stays hydrated, monitor him when he showers, and keep him quiet." Leonard gave the boy a stern look. "A video game marathon is definitely contra-indicated."

"Can't you just keep him there, in the hospital, sir?" Lund pleaded. "Kirk's pretty private. He won't want us in his personal space. We're not even allowed to touch his bunk or his desk."

"This is a hospital, not a hotel, Cadet."

"Yes, sir. I know, sir. But I— we—" The cadet took a deep breath. "Sir, none of us have any medical training. Our basic first aid course isn't until next semester."

"For crying out loud, all you have to do is help him out for a few days!"

Lund looked desperately over his shoulder, as if for a rescue that wasn't coming. "I… I just can't, sir. I've got a class to re-take tomorrow, one I don't dare miss. P'lith and Kissen have family in the City and they're going home in the morning. They won't be back until Sunday evening. And Maris and Antran have commitments, too. It's why we're playing now, instead of later this weekend. Tonight was the only time we all had free."

McCoy could see he was in a losing battle. And did he really want Kirk dependent on this immature bunch of young men?

"Very well, Cadet. I'll make other arrangements for Kirk's care. But I'm going to be sure he knows how unwilling all of you were to step up to the plate when needed."

Lund swallowed hard. "Understood, sir. Tell Kirk… tell him we send our best wishes for a speedy recovery."

McCoy snorted and terminated the call.

"What a bunch of pinheads," Hannah said, her tone derisive. "I feel sorry for Kirk. He has to live with them." Having remained at the nearby workstation after transferring the call to McCoy, she had seen and overheard everything. "Should I call Admitting for a bed?"

Hospitals give me the creeps.

Kirk's weary voice echoed in his memory and McCoy hesitated, suddenly reluctant to accept the easy solution being offered. He was probably going to regret this a dozen times over, but…

"No. I'm gonna take him home with me. He'll rest better there."

Hannah regarded him for a long moment, her dark gaze curious, and McCoy knew, without her having to say it, that she was puzzled by his out-of-character decision. But she didn't question him, saying instead, "Obviously, I won't need to review the discharge orders with you, which, frankly, is a relief. Even at the best of times, cadets don't always follow through well with our instructions. So, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Yeah, you can find two pairs of scrubs in Kirk's size. He's going to need one to wear out of here, since his uniform is toast. And one to change into after he showers the first time. Some slippers, too."

"On it," she said, and strode off.

McCoy logged back into Kirk's emergency room visit record and revised his earlier emergency uniform replacement requisition, adding a set of sweats, two sets of t-shirts and undershorts, and two pair of socks, indicating that it should all be delivered to his address rather than Kirk's dorm room. He appended an approval to bill his personal account if the quartermaster balked at the additional items, logged out of the hospital system and immediately back into the admin site for medical housing. With a few taps, he navigated to the grocery service section, and began to make selections.

Hannah returned just as he was finishing his grocery order. "Got 'em," she said unnecessarily, a short stack of dark green scrubs tucked in one arm and a pair of disposable slippers dangling from the opposite hand. "But I hope you're not going far. None of this will keep him warm or dry for long in tonight's weather. It's still raining like crazy outside."

McCoy tapped the 'Submit Order' key, logged out of the system, and got to his feet. "My quarters are in Fleming Hall. We'll be using the transporter to get there, so the weather won't be an issue."

Hannah looked relieved. "These will be fine then. Would you like some help getting him dressed?"

"I think I can probably manage." He nodded at the clothing. "Drop those off in Kirk's room, would you, please? Oh, and grab a separate bag for his wet boots. I'm just going to grab an emergency med kit to take with me, then I'll be along."

"Of course," Hannah said. "Last time I checked, the monitor showed he was sleeping, so I'll try not to wake him."

"Oh, so you're going to let me be the one to poke the sleeping bear with the giant headache?"

"Doctor's privileges," she confirmed with a grin and hurried off.