CHAPTER FIVE
"How much farther?" Kirk asked, his voice breathy.
McCoy shot him a quick glance. "Last door on the right," he said, not liking the kid's color. He shifted the plastic bags containing the spare set of scrubs and Kirk's boots to his left hand, the hand already holding the med kit, and used his now-free right hand to take a firm grip on the waistband of Kirk's scrubs. "Put your left arm across my shoulder," he directed, "and lean on me."
He didn't get any argument. Pausing just long enough to let Kirk fumble his arm into place, McCoy used his grasp on Kirk's scrub pants to hitch the young man into closer contact with his own body.
Immediately, he could feel the fine tremors of fatigue that wracked the cadet's hard frame.
"Just a few more steps," he coaxed.
"I need… to sit… down, Bones."
McCoy looked down the deserted hallway and wanted to curse. "We're almost there."
By the time they reached his door, Kirk was ashen and visibly trembling. McCoy swiftly tapped in his door code and practically dragged the kid inside, hurriedly maneuvering him into the nearest armchair.
"Relax, kid. Take some deep breaths." Dumping the med case on the floor, he knelt down, opened it, and removed the medical tricorder. A quick scan reassured him that Kirk was experiencing nothing more serious than profound exhaustion, not complications from his concussion. His body had been depleted by the regenerators and his blood sugar was low. Too low.
"When's the last time you had something to eat?" he growled, replacing the tricorder and reaching for a hypospray. Praise Jesus, he had taken the time to stock the kit with a full range of medication before leaving the ER.
Kirk gave him a blank look.
"Lunch? Breakfast?" he asked, loading the carpule.
"I think I had an apple for breakfast on the way to class…"
Christ. No wonder the kid's blood sugar level was tanking.
"You have food issues?" he queried, pressing the hypospray to Kirk's neck and triggering it. The concentrated dose of dextrose would help but it was a short-term solution.
"What? No! I have classes straight through on Fridays, so there's no time to hit the mess hall until dinnertime."
The dazed look was clearing from the kid's blue eyes.
Maybe Kirk believed what he was saying. Maybe he was even telling the truth. But McCoy remembered the leanness of the body he had examined just a short time ago.
"I'm feeling better, Bones. Less shaky. Whatever you injected me with is working. Thanks."
"Dextrose," McCoy supplied, "commonly known as sugar." He pushed the jumble of bags aside, closed the med kit, and got to his feet. "But it's only a temporary fix. You need to eat in order to replenish what the regenerators took to do their job."
Kirk nodded, his face drawn. "I will, I promise. But, right now, all I want to do is sleep." His eyelids drooped. "And right here is fine, 'cause it feels like Earth's gravity just increased."
"You need to be in bed. And, yeah, I'll get you there in a minute." He prodded the kid's shoulder with insistent fingers, trying to keep him awake and alert without aggravating his headache. "Don't fall asleep. I'll be right back."
"Sure, Bones," Kirk said, yawning.
McCoy figured he had only a few minutes with which to work before Jim used up the brief spurt of energy provided by the dextrose injection. He strode into the small kitchen, giving his now sorry-looking dinner ingredients a brief, regretful glance, intent on reaching the replicator. Wasting no time, he keyed in the request, making one minor change to the recipe and verifying his medical ID when requested. In moments, a chilled glass stood waiting.
Carrying it over to Kirk, he poked the kid's shoulder again, forcing the heavy eyelids to rise. "Here," he said, offering the glass. "Drink this while I go get the bed ready."
Kirk gave the drink a dubious look. "Is that supposed to be a chocolate milkshake, Bones? If it is, your replicator needs some serious reprogramming. Which I'd be happy to do as a thank you, by the way."
"It's a balanced, dense-calorie, chocolate-flavored protein smoothie. With added electrolytes and minerals."
Kirk shook his head. "That's going to taste like shit. I'll pass, Bones. No offense."
"No, you won't," McCoy countered firmly. "Your body's reserves have been seriously depleted by the regeneration therapy. That profound fatigue you're feeling? It's from the regen units taking what they needed for the repairs from healthy muscle, bone and tissue. And you didn't help the aftereffects any by not eating today. You're running a real metabolic deficit, kid, and you don't get to sleep until you get that drink onboard."
Kirk looked less than thrilled by the prospect but— marks for him— he didn't try to argue. Sighing, he accepted the tumbler and took a tentative sip. Making a face, he swallowed. "This is completely awful." He eyed the liquid. "How much?"
"All of it."
"Sadist."
"Shut up and keep drinking. I'll be back in a minute and I want to see some good progress by the time I return."
His dorm suite wasn't huge— nothing like the condo he'd shared with Jocelyn in Atlanta— so it didn't take him long to walk to the bedroom. He turned back the covers on the neatly made bed, on the side he didn't sleep on, and then paused, wondering if he should protect the sheets with a layer of towels.
Hannah had removed the worst of the dried blood and dust while Jim was in the ER. Although he was less than squeaky clean, there was no way was he letting Kirk anywhere near the shower until he was steadier on his feet. The kid was dressed in clean scrubs which made perfectly acceptable pajamas, as he knew from experience, and he normally changed the bedding every Saturday anyway. McCoy shrugged. Whatever crap Jim shed while sleeping tonight would get handled tomorrow morning with a change of bed linens. For now, hydration and rest were the top priorities.
McCoy laid out a change of clothes for himself— no sense in accidentally waking the kid up in the morning by scrounging for clean clothing to wear after his own shower — then headed back to the living area.
He was relieved to see that the young man was not only still awake but three quarters of the way done with the supplement drink. Drawing closer, he could also see Kirk's incipient exhaustion.
"You look plum tuckered out. Finish up and I'll help you to bed."
Kirk scowled but obediently tipped the glass up and took three large gulps, emptying the glass and shuddering.
"I wouldn't make my worst enemy drink that, Bones. It's beyond nasty."
"Boohoo. In four hours, you'll need to drink another of those."
Kirk looked appalled. "You're joking."
"Not even close." McCoy crossed his arms and adopted a stern stance. "And when I do your neuro checks, I'll expect you to drink a glass of water before you go back to sleep. Now, do you need to hit the head?"
"Not right now. I'd like a shower, though."
"In the morning."
"But I can't go to bed dirty," Kirk protested. "At least, not in someone else's bed. It's not polite, Bones."
"I'll live and so will you." He uncrossed his arms. "I just hope you don't snore."
"We're sharing a bed?" Kirk gave a half-hearted waggle of his eyebrows but the effect was spoiled by the shadows under his eyes.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, cadet. There's only one bed in this place but it's a queen, so I refuse to sleep on that lumpy sofa when there's plenty of room for both of us. Besides, it will make the every-two-hours neuro check a lot less cumbersome."
"They gave you a queen bed?" Kirk asked, his tone envious.
"Standard issue for this type of room, I'm told."
"You're lucky, Bones. The bunk I have is so narrow that I nearly fall off it every time I roll over."
Kirk's light-hearted gripe only reinforced Leonard's belief that bringing the kid here had been the right call. But all he said was, "Well, don't get too used to it because this arrangement is only temporary. Now, are you through jawing?"
"For now."
"Good. Then let's go. It's past time you got some rest." Bending, he assisted Kirk out of the chair and, keeping the cadet in a steady grip, guided him to the waiting bed. Taking care not to jar the kid's head, he slowly lowered Kirk to sit on the mattress before assisting him to lie back.
Once horizontal, the kid sighed and relaxed into the soft pillow, his lids sinking.
McCoy made a quick trip back to the living room for the med kit. Returning to the softly lit bedroom, he opened it and placed it on top of the chest of drawers, where it would be handy if he urgently needed it. Removing the tricorder, he walked back to the bedside.
It didn't take long to run the scan and confirm that all but one of the kid's medical parameters were back within normal limits. Kirk's pain level was noticeably elevated, though, from the concussion headache.
The kid hadn't complained about it once.
Shaking his head, McCoy crossed back to the desk, loaded the hypospray with a non-narcotic pain suppressant and returned. He pressed the instrument gently against the smooth column of Kirk's neck and triggered it.
Jim's eyelids rose to half-mast. "Wha's that?" he asked sleepily.
"A mild pain suppressant. For your headache."
"It's na' that bad, Bones," he slurred, 'but thanks…"
McCoy raised an eyebrow. The average patient would have long since been begging for pain relief.
First, the possible food issue. Now this.
Apparently, the kid was going to be far from average in most things.
He hoped that becoming Kirk's physician of record wasn't taking him in over his head.
But then, he'd always liked swimming in deep waters the best.
2300 came quickly.
Yawning, McCoy reached over and grabbed his loudly vibrating comm unit. He silenced the alarm, then took a moment to reset it for 0100. Sleep would be coming in two-hour intervals tonight, but a disjointed night was nothing new in his career. During his residency training, he would have considered such a sleep schedule a coveted luxury.
"Lights, 20 percent," he ordered, swinging his legs out of bed. Stifling another yawn, he rounded the bed, casting a quick glance at his bedmate. Even in the low light, McCoy could see that Kirk was curled on his side, deeply asleep. Picking up the tricorder scanner from the bedside table, he shook the cadet's shoulder.
The young man stirred. "Go 'way. Sleepin'..."
McCoy gave the hunched shoulder another firm shake. "Kirk? Rise and shine, kid," he said firmly.
Kirk bleared up at him sleepily.
"Time to wake up," McCoy repeated. "I need to check your pupillary responses."
This time, it was Kirk who yawned. "Okay, Bones," he said with patient resignation, "but couldn't you just use your scanner, since it's already in your hand? I feel like I just closed my eyes. It's important to get a good night's rest when you're recovering. Everybody says so."
"Do they now? Who knew?" McCoy asked, his drawl rich with sarcasm. "But since I'm the one with the medical degree, I'm telling you that you need to sit up and let me look in your eyes and ask you a few questions. Just to be sure that you aren't bleeding into that superior brain of yours, and all."
"How frequently does that happen?" Kirk asked, curiously.
"Not often, but in cases like yours, it pays to be cautious."
McCoy sat down on the edge of the bed and waited until the young man had pushed himself upright before running the scanner over Kirk's head and neck. The readings were about what he'd expected: slight edema in the brain tissue beneath the former contusion site and moderate pain levels from the persistent headache. Kirk would be due for another dose of pain medication at the 0100 check and McCoy made a mental note to prepare the hypospray before he went back to bed. Returning the scanner to the bedside table, he picked up a penlight and clicked it on, the narrow beam of light bright in the dimness of the room.
"Keep your eyes open and look at the end of my nose," McCoy requested, leaning forward. He studied Kirk's pupils in the low light, carefully checking whether they appeared equal in size and shape. Roughly twenty percent of the population was normally abnormal, with unequal pupillary size, but McCoy could see Kirk wasn't one of them. Next, he brought the beam of light in from the right side of the cadet's head, then the left, shining it directly into the blue eyes, monitoring the pupillary constriction response to the bright light, then rechecking to see if the pupils returned to the same size bilaterally.
Kirk winced against the prolonged exposure to the brightness.
"Sorry," McCoy said. "I know that aggravates your headache but subtle changes in pupillary reaction often precede any problems the tricorder picks up on." He straightened and turned off the penlight, placing it next to the scanner. "What's your name?"
"My name?" Kirk echoed. "Do you have a problem remembering things, Bones?"
"No, smart-ass. I'm making sure you didn't make Swiss cheese out of your memory."
"Oh. Do you want my Starfleet serial number, too?"
"Maybe next time. C'mon, kid, just state your name for me."
"James Tiberius Kirk."
"That's a mouthful."
"Like yours is any better? Like I said before, Leonard Horatio McCoy sounds stuffy."
"It's patrician, according to my grandmother. And how the hell do you know my full name?"
Kirk shrugged. "Does it matter? Bones sounds much more adventurous, trust me."
McCoy snorted. "I don't need some crazy-assed nickname. I'm the most cautious man you're ever going to meet." He reached over and picked up the tall glass of water he'd prepared before turning in earlier. "Start drinking, while you tell me the date."
Kirk took a swallow of water. "That's easy. October 12th."
"What year is it?"
That earned him an exasperated look. "2055. I can give it to you as a Stardate if you prefer."
"Not necessary," McCoy assured him, his tone dry. "So, next question. Where are you?"
Kirk hesitated. "Specifically or in general?"
Now that was interesting. Although Kirk had been pretty exhausted by the time they reached his apartment after leaving the ER.
"Let's start with what you think you know."
"I'm in your dorm room," Kirk said promptly.
"Which is where?"
Kirk took several long swallows of water before answering. Stalling for time or thinking? McCoy wondered, but remained silent.
"Bondar Hall. That's where Starfleet houses almost all of their cadet physicians and residents. And it's the closest residential dormitory to Starfleet General, although that's not saying much, since the hospital is still a fair hike from main campus." The kid gave him a speculative look as he swallowed more water. "All that walking must help keep you in shape though."
"Are you kidding? No trauma surgeon worth a diddle-damn would rely solely on walking to stay in shape. Not if they want to be prepared for long hours on their feet during a crisis." McCoy grimaced. "Don't get me started on what I think about Starfleet's precious obstacle course, however, as a proper means of determining conditioning."
"It's not that bad, Bones. Running for your life through real terrain can be far more challenging. The obstacle course is good training for most cadets."
"I beg to differ, but now's not the time to hold a debate. Last question. What's my room number?"
Silence. Then, finally, "Honestly, I'm not sure, Bones. Like I said in the mess hall, I was planning on looking you up this weekend, but I hadn't gotten around to it before the explosion occurred." Kirk sighed. "But you can tell me now and I won't forget, I promise. I've got a pretty good memory."
"Fair enough," McCoy said, wondering how many of the kid's earlier responses had been astute deductions. "My room number is 4142. We'll see if you can remember that in two hours."
Kirk finished off the water with a final swallow, and handed McCoy the empty glass. "Thanks, Bones."
"You need to urinate before I order the lights off?"
"Maybe next time," Kirk said, smothering a yawn. "I just want to go back to sleep." Suiting his words to actions, he carefully maneuvered himself flat again, gingerly nestling his head against his pillow, and with a deep sigh, closed his eyes.
McCoy stood watching him while he digested all he'd learned. Kirk needed to drink more, for a start. The kid's headache was still thumping away, too. That much was obvious, based both on the scan results and his wincing reaction to having light shined into his eyes. Which was too bad because McCoy was going to have to do it again at 0100.
Sighing, he turned away from the bedside, empty glass in hand. He needed to refill it and prepare the hypospray before he reclaimed his own interrupted slumbers. It was going to be a long night, one short on sleep for both of them.
But, unlike the kid, at least he didn't have a pounding headache to endure.
