"…swear to God, Jim, if you don't approve all my requests for new equipment when this is all over I'm rioting. There will be hyposprays involved, I warn…Chapel all over my back, you know. I'll rest when I'm dead, woman…Never seen anything quite like this. I'll give you that, Jim, you know how to keep a guy interested…"
Jim did not wake all at once. Rather, he rose through the layers of consciousness by tortured degrees, and drifted for a while in that realm between dreams and waking where thoughts seem to spin out across eons and physical sensations are no more substantial than smoke on the breeze.
"…eleven, twelve, thirteen…fifty-six, fifty-seven – fuck I need a drink – fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one…"
His first real awareness was of cool stone pressed against his cheek, and he experienced a moment of genuine bewilderment. There was no stone in his quarters, was there? And besides, no surface in his rooms was ever cool. It was always warmed by the faint hum of engines and electronics resting just beneath the surface.
"…got at least ten distinct possibilities here, Jim, but that's…narrow it down in no time…-ods, you've got me trying my hand at optimism…bloody fu…"
This lead him to his second awareness – there was no hum. The faint underlying vibrations that always permeated every part of the Enterprise, and which he associated with home in a way he never had anything else, were conspicuously absent. He sighed softly – not on board his girl then.
"…bloody quiet around here, you…no bloody foolish infants interrupting me all hours of the day, almost…strange, though, so you better wake up soon, you bastar…"
From here, the rise into consciousness steepened abruptly. Though he was not yet quite ready to open his eyes, he was able to process the gradual influx of recent memories intruding on his waking thoughts. Everything was clear right up until the point where the world had started to shake apart.
"…ouch, buggering fuck, your mother was a…"
Jim shifted slightly, and every muscle in his body screamed at him. He stopped abruptly, and settled on a humbler goal. He opened his eyes.
"…and what's more, that bloody hobgoblin of yours has been a regular hell to work with. I mean sure, he's no picnic on a normal basis – stiffer than a whore's drink, that one – but I'm talking whole new levels of insufferable, Jim. If for no other reason, you can wake up to give me a reprieve from that. In all honesty, though, I can't blame the man…Vulcan, whatever. He's worried half out of his head, no matter what he'd have the rest of us believe. 'Vulcan's don't worry' my ass. He needs you, Jim. We all do, though, so any time you finish with this little snooze of yours –"
The cave was entirely in darkness. Jim twisted his body around in an effort to locate the communicator McCoy's voice was no doubt emanating from. His movement must have made a noise, because the Doctor cut himself off abruptly.
"Jim, goddammit, you had better not be seizing again."
Jim huffed a pained laugh. "G'morning to you too, Bones."
There was the very distinct sound of McCoy not having a complete breakdown on the other end of the line, followed by a choked, "Dammit, kid, you'll be the death of me yet, you know that?"
"Not for a while yet, I hope, Bones."
Jim rolled himself over onto his hands and knees, and groaned as his joints popped with a series of loud cracks.
"What the hell are you doing down there? Lie still, you idiot, you just woke up."
Jim would have rolled his eyes, but in all honesty he felt utterly exhausted – his body was as aching and drained as if he had spent the last three days stuck in a continuous workout. He crawled the few feet to where McCoy's voice was coming from, collapsing in a pathetic heap when his hand finally brushed against the device.
"Jesus, Bones, it must have been quite a bender I missed."
McCoy's voice gentled immediately, filling with soft concern. "Yeah, kid, sounded like a rough one. How are you feeling?"
Jim paused for a moment, taking stock, then said, "You know that time we drank that blue shit on Gregoria V?"
"Sure," said McCoy, sounding anything but.
"Remember the next day?"
Jim could practically feel McCoy's shudder down the line. The Doctor groaned.
"Tough break, Jim."
"Yeah," was the blonde man's heartfelt response.
"And you're not experiencing any confusion? What about name? Rank? Place of birth?"
"James Tiberius Kirk, Captain aboard the Federation flagship U.S.S. Enterprise, serial number SC937-0176CEC, Born in Medical Shuttle 37, Fucksville, space." Jim took a breath. "That enough for you, Bones?"
"Anything else? Nausea, head pain, broken bones?"
"A little, no, and no. Feels like I've gone nine consecutive rounds with a pissed Vulcan, but besides aches and bruises, I'm more or less intact."
"I'm glad, Jim." McCoy sounded sombre again. "There was a point there…you seized three times, kid. Grand mals, from what I could tell. And I…Jesus, Jim, I couldn't do jack shit, I could just listen and-"
"S'okay, Bones," soothed Jim quickly as the Doctor's breaths began to come too fast. "I'm alright. No shakes, no head pain, just sore and tired." He yawned widely. "Really tired. I just woke up, though?"
McCoy was back to his professional tones, albeit with a little more gentleness than he usually displayed, when he said, "That's normal, Jim. You should probably go back to sleep for a few hours, actually, now that I know you're not about to choke on your own vomit or something. Got another six hours or so before daylight anyway."
Jim's eyes were already drooping, and he figured he was going to end up following McCoy's suggestion whether he wanted to or not. He could hold out for a moment or two, though.
"Six hours?" he queried between yawns. "How long was I out anyway?"
"'Bout nineteen hours or so," said McCoy heavily. "Fifty-two hour days down there, though, so as I said, you may as well get some shuteye."
"J'st might take you up on tha', Bonesy," mumbled Jim, too exhausted to enjoy McCoy's squawk of indignation at the butchered nickname. He made to curl on his side with his back to the wall, and grimaced.
"Any idea why my pants smell like piss, Bones?"
"That's normal too, kid. Common effect of seizures. Just shuck 'em and we can worry about them in the morning. Warm enough down there, anyway."
"Yeah," sighed Jim, not finding in him to argue. He shucked the pants and shorts, kicking them half-heartedly towards the entrance of the cave, and curled up with the communicator cradled against his chest.
"Nigh', Bones," he mumbled.
"G'night, kid," he heard, seconds before be dropped into a dreamless sleep.
XXX
When Jim woke for the second time, it was with his usual alacrity. The interior of the cave was dimly lit by the sunlight filtering through the bushes covering the entrance, and the air was distinctly warm. There was also a strange foreign melody curling up from the communicator against his chest. It took a moment for him to place the soft tangle of words as Vulcan.
"Spock?" he queried.
The melody halted abruptly.
"Jim?" came Spock's voice, sounding both cautious and relieved.
"Got it in one, Spock," yawned Jim, shuffling himself upright so that his back rested against the wall. A few quick stretches told him all he needed to know – the aches in his muscles had already receded significantly, and all in all he felt fresher and healthier than he had since they had beamed down to the planet surface.
"Doctor McCoy informed me that you woke some 7.23 hours ago, Captain. Do you feel better now that you have had additional rest?"
Jim levered himself to his feet, testing his slightly wobbly legs and beginning the first of a few warm-up shuffles around the cave. "Sure do, Spock," he responded cheerfully. "Guess we get a bit of a reprieve, huh?"
"So it would seem, Captain." There was a hesitation from the other end of the line, before Spock continued, sounding significantly less sure of himself than usual.
"I am…most gratified that you are feeling better, Ca-…Jim. To have you suffer, and it be in the absence of mitigating influences, was...unpleasant."
Jim halted his shaky circuits of the cave, absurdly touched by the Spock equivalent of heartfelt declaration.
"Thanks, Spock," he murmured warmly. "I'm sorry you and Bones had to go through that. I know it…this whole situation…is hard on you guys."
Jim cleared his throat then, and attempted to break the somewhat serious mood with a huffed laugh. "Where is Bones, anyway? I would have thought he'd be scolding me by now."
"Nurse Chapel claims responsibility for his absence, Sir." And Jim was damned if he couldn't just see the amused glint that would fill Spock's eyes when his voice took that tone. "I believe the administration of a sedative was involved."
Jim barked a delighted laugh. "Using Bone's own methods against him! God, he's going to be so pissed when he wakes up." Jim cocked his head. "Isn't Nurse Chapel about due a raise?"
"I will put the issue aside as one to address when you return, Captain," responded Spock evenly.
"You do that, Spock," hummed Jim, bouncing on his heels experimentally in an effort to check his balance. "How're things with the samples coming?"
At this question, Spock's voice returned to its normal clipped efficiency, and Jim tried not to be too disappointed by an end to the teasing banter.
"Primary samples have been collected, Captain, and we are making progress in isolating the contagion within the infected blood. Doctor McCoy and I are leading the medical and science teams in developing and refining a possible vaccine against the virus, and from there a cure for the disease."
"That's great, Spock. You getting enough rest during all that, or do I need to sic Nurse Chapel on you as well?"
"Vulcans do not require as much sleep as human's do, Captain," stated Spock, somewhat haughtily.
"That may be so, Spock, but they do still need some rest. Just…take care of yourself as well, alright?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Good." Jim sighed and eyed the bush-covered cave entrance before him. "Alright, Spock, same drill as yesterday? I'll check in every hour. Sooner if any new symptoms start cropping up."
Spock seemed reluctant to end the connection. "You are sure that your condition is stable, Captain? I can have Doctor McCoy alerted if you are in need?"
"Nah, let Bones have his beauty sleep, Spock. God knows he needs it. 'Sides, I really am feeling fine – better than fine really. Though some foraging might be in order."
"To leave the cave is ill-advised, Captain," fretted Spock helplessly. "You cannot guarantee you would be in a secure position should you regress."
"Spock," said Jim gently, "I won't stray far from the cave. At the slightest hint of anything being wrong, I will com the Enterprise and return here. But I need food, Spock, and water. The disease is of little consequence if I forgo those."
Spock agreed with obvious reluctance, and after extracting a promise that Jim would keep to his schedule of check-ins and assuring the blonde-haired man that Scotty was making progress with locating his position, he signed off.
Jim sat thoughtfully for a few minutes after ending his communication with Spock, considering his options. His eyes fell upon the pants and shorts he had discarded a while before, and he had a brief moment of irrational mortification at the fact that he had conducted an entire conversation with his First Officer sans underwear. Then he snorted, and muttered, "So unprofessional," beneath his breath.
He dragged the biosuit – thankfully still clean, as he had removed it before having his fit the night before - from where it was lying at the back of the cave. It took several attempts, as the plastic constituting the mask of the biosuit was intended to withstand considerable force, but he was eventually able to shatter the mask using one of the heftier stones he had collected the evening before. He then used the existing tears in the arm of the biosuit to strip a few lengths of cloth from it.
Carefully extracting the largest shard from amid the shattered plastic – the last thing he needed was yet another cut to worry about – he proceeded to use the strips of tough cloth torn from the biosuit to strap the shard to a supple, yet strong branch he selected from the brush across the entrance. The end result was a rough yet serviceable spear about the length of his forearm. He hoped that the spear would be useful for foraging rather than combat, but figured it was a good addition to his possessions either way.
After a moment's reflection, he used is new spear to cut the arms and hood away from the biosuit completely, and pulled the resulting garment on over his command gold shirt. He tucked the phaser and communicators in the belt of the suit, hefted his makeshift spear, scooped up his pants and shorts, and cleared the brush away from the entrance of the cave in several deft movements.
Once he stepped outside, it took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the light of the two suns. He blinked rapidly to dispel the dark spots from his vision, and began making his way down the slope gingerly.
He knew from his exploration of the mountainside the day before that there was a small pool – fed by a small waterfall flowing down off the mountain – several hundred metres from the entrance of his valley. It seemed an ideal destination, as it promised a defensible position, a place to wash and a starting point in his search for food.
By the time Jim arrived at the pool, the first sun was almost a quarter of the way across the sky, and the second hung just above the horizon opposite the mountains. Along the way, Jim had collected a handful of bluish berries from the bushes that seemed to cling to the base of the mountain just above the scree. A small part of him cringed guiltily at the thought of the conniption Bones would have if he knew that Jim was exposing his allergy-sensitive system to alien flora, but that part was largely overruled by the rational understanding of his need for sustenance.
Jim laid all but one of the berries out on a flat rock. That one he pressed to his inner wrist until the sensitive skin was thinly coated in a layer of blue-black, fragrant juice. When, after fifteen minutes, his skin had not reacted to the substance in any way, he proceeded to coat his outer lip with the juice, but was careful not to ingest any yet.
While he waited the requisite few minutes to see if his skin would react, he stripped off the biosuit and Starfleet shirt, and found a small stream running away from the pool in which he could weigh both those items and his dirtied pants down with rocks. He left the clothing there to soak, and wandered back to the pool completely in the buff. The vulnerability of his situation was not lost on him, so he made sure to keep both the phaser and his spear close at hand at all times.
The next phase of his food testing allowed him to place one of the crushed berries on his tongue. His hunger made the temptation to swallow almost unbearable, but he dutifully held the berry in place for fifteen minutes without swallowing. To distract himself from its presence on his tongue, he focused on finding something that could serve as a prospective water container.
Another fifteen minutes of holding the chewed pulp of the berry against his inner cheek, and he was finally able to swallow. He grimaced when he realised that he was now supposed to spend the next eight hours ensuring there was no reaction before swallowing anything else. He tentatively reduced that time to four hours knowing that if his sensitive system had not reacted to the berries by then, it was unlikely to do so.
Jim heaved a gusty sigh, set aside thoughts of his grumbling stomach, and waded his way into the pool for what he considered to be a well-earned wash. The water was ice cold and beautifully clear, having travelled straight from the pristine peaks of the mountain. Jim revelled in its cool bite as he dunked himself unceremoniously beneath the surface. He gently eased the bandages off his injured arm and tossed them ashore, allowing the cool current to soothe the burn beneath the reddened skin.
After a brief moment of indecision during which he debated the wisdom of leaving his things unattended on the shore, Jim struck out for the small waterfall on the far side of the pool and allowed himself a moment to revel in the beat of icy water cascading over his shoulders and down his back. For a few moments, he could almost recapture the sense of 'Paradiso' that the settlers had once entertained.
When he returned to the shallows, he scooped up palmfuls of coarse sand and proceeded to rub down the skin of his legs and torso thoroughly. The rough technique left his skin feeling slightly raw, but incredibly clean. He found himself humming one of Scotty's jaunty Scottish ditties beneath his breath as he rinsed, mumbling made-up word wherever he couldn't quite remember the original lyrics.
Jim was not one to let his guard down in any situation – something that McCoy had been known to lament on more than one occasion – and so even over the dull roar of the waterfall and the lazy splash of his own movements, the faint rustle from just beyond the edge of the thick greenery surrounding the pool immediately captured his attention. Within seconds, he was on his feet in the shallows, clear droplets suspended like scattered diamonds on his sunlit torso.
The rustle came again, and he cursed his own foolishness at allowing himself to drift several feet from where his phaser and spear rested on the shore. He was just debating the wisdom of making a wild leap for them when a figure stumbled from the bushes and came to an abrupt halt on the edge of the pool.
Jim blinked.
Huh.