Hi all. Just a note for anyone following the fic – I don't have a beta checker or anything like that, so there may be typos. I trust you will find it in your hearts to forgive me for the. Otherwise, hope you're enjoying the story. I'm heading into uni exams at the moment, so updates will probably slow for a while. Thanks! TBarchett97
Spock had not slept in 48.26 hours.
By Vulcan standards, this was no remarkable feat. After all, Vulcan constitutions were equipped to handle far greater strain than their human counterparts. Spock could reasonably continue operating at an efficient level for a further 10.36 days before his body would be forced to rest.
However, Jim had been off-ship – diseased and alone – for 37.54 hours of the 48.26 that Spock had been awake, and that had made the last two days pass far slower than Spock knew was logically consistent.
Spock was not accustomed to feelings of frustration in his research lab. On the bridge, around his incomprehensible Captain, or on missions, surrounded by irrational beings and events, yes – he was no stranger to the emotion that tensed his shoulders and riled his blood. But never in his lab. Science could not be rushed, readings and calculations were inevitable in their progression, and thus frustration as a reaction that was illogical and disregarded.
In this instance, however, Spock found himself staring at the lab equipment as if he could speed their processes through his determination alone. Even knowing he had run all the numbers there were to be had at this stage of the process – several times - he was tempted to go through them again and again in an unreasonable attempt to augment proceedings.
On the other side of the lab, McCoy was elbow-deep in tissue samples through the thick gloves set into the side of the air-tight containers intended for just this purpose. The Doctor's eyes were darkly shadowed, and his face pale, but after waking in a righteous snit from Chapel's unsolicited sedation several hours earlier, it had been impossible to make him take a break.
Spock stared down at the numbers again, troubled by his own inadequacy. They were making progress, but it was achingly slow. What they really needed was-
"Kirk to Commander Spock."
Spock saw McCoy's head jerk upwards, features fraught with anxiety, as the Vulcan turned to the communicator. His own thoughts stuttered under the weight of his calm façade – why was Jim contacting him? Had the disease progressed? Were there further symptoms? Whatever it was, it was too soon, and they just weren't ready…
"Received, Captain," he responded, voice perfectly even. "Are you experiencing problems?"
"No, Spock, still good. I've got some good news, actually. Of a sort."
Spock relaxed minutely. Across the lab, he saw McCoy drop his head with a dull thunk against the edge of the container.
"Captain?" He waited expectantly.
"Well, you'll never believe, Spock, I met this princess…"
Spock listened avidly as Jim described his encounter with Miram and Ro. He was intrigued by Jim's claim that the two children exhibited no signs of the illness that had decimated the Paradiso research base, and that this was apparently true of the five others that Jim had not met as well. Jim expressed frustration and concern at having seven young children trapped alone on a hostile planet, and Spock understood his distress completely, although he found it difficult to rouse significant alarm when do so much of his fear was already intertwined with Jim being stranded on that same planet.
McCoy joined Spock as Jim began to describe Miram's account of the disease's stages, and they both listened in grim trepidation to the ominous news.
"So you're in the clear for the next day or so?" checked McCoy once Jim had run through everything he had heard. "And then it's…"
"Aggression, yeah, s'far as I can tell. She said everyone started getting 'angry', but like shouting-and-hitting angry, not 'eat-thy-neighbour' angry."
Jim sounded exhausted, and Spock found himself wondering whether the bruises under his eyes were as dark as McCoy's, and if he was imbibing enough fluids, and when the last time he ate was. There were just too many variables that Spock was unable to establish across the distance, and it was like an itch between his mental shields.
McCoy scowled slightly at Jim's description. "Nice, Jim," he muttered.
"What?" questioned Jim with mock innocence. "You never heard that commandment? It's right next to the one that says 'Suck thy-'"
"And then it's paranoia?" interrupted McCoy hastily. "Whispering, irrationality, hiding under beds – sounds like paranoia to me."
"Yup," affirmed Jim, popping the 'P' and not sounding the least put out by McCoy's interruption. "And from there it's straight into the whole Looney Tunes acid trip, with a side of 'I-see-dead-people'."
Spock frowned. "I am unsure of your meaning, Captain."
McCoy ignored him. "Hallucinations," he muttered. "Christ, Jim, that's…that's not good."
Jim's tones of forced joviality came jangling through the com. "Is that your personal opinion, Bones, or it 'not good' some new medical terminology I'm not familiar with?"
Bones growled. "Don't get snarky with me, you bloody infant. It's medical terminology if I say it is."
"I…sorry, Bones," said Jim, immediately contrite. "I just…I'm a bit on edge right now, what with...everything. I hate that these kids are down here, you know? Bad enough that a bunch of unassuming scientists have to live with the fact that they made snacks of some of their colleagues, but to know those kids had to watch it?"
Jim sounded absolutely distraught.
"And now they're hiding up here in the mountains, hungry and scared, and rather than being able to do something about it I've got to worry about whether I'm gonna be the biggest threat to them in the next few days. I want to help them and I'm just…useless."
There was a harsh thwump from the other end of the communicator, and Spock suspected Jim had just punched something in his frustration.
He was speaking before he was aware he had opened his mouth.
"You have already helped them, Captain. You yourself stated that they were isolated and possessed of no cause to trust adults. That you were able to overcome their reticence when they have been so recently betrayed is of remarkable consequence. It is by your efforts that a connection between them and the Enterprise has been established. They will have access to supplies and their own communicator within the next few hours." Spock paused to consider. "Of equal importance is that you provided Miram with the reassurance she required and gave them the hope they had previously been lacking."
There was a slightly choked noise from the other end of the line, before Jim cleared his throat and said roughly, "Thanks, Spock, that's…I'm glad you think that." He still sounded fairly miserable, though.
McCoy was staring at Spock like he had just stood up and declared he was defecting for a life in the Russian Ballet. The fingers of his right hand twitched, as if he were itching to grab a tricorder and give the Vulcan a full scan.
"Yeah, Spock, that was downright inspiring," he said suspiciously, before turning abruptly and beginning to prowl throughout the lab, checking the ceiling and under benches.
"Doctor McCoy, may I ask what you are searching for?"
McCoy flapped a dismissive hand. "Just the pigs with wings, Spock, I know they must be here somewhere…"
Jim snorted softly, and Spock made a decision.
"Are you certain you are quite well, Doctor? Perhaps you are overdue on one of your infamous health examinations. I assure you that the existence of winged sus scrofa within the science laboratory is neither relevant, nor logical."
McCoy turned red. "Goddammit, man, you cannot possibly have spent the last decade in largely human company and still not have a firm grasp on the bloody English idiom. You dated a xenolinguist, for God's sake."
Spock could hear Jim chuckling helplessly on the other end of the line, and his entire being felt inexplicably lighter.
"The incomprehensibility of your singularly illogical use of the English language, though a clear indication of your own proclivity towards irrational thought, is in no way indicative of my inability to engage with the human vernacular. I assure you, I am quite fluent."
McCoy spluttered. "I…you…Listen, you…self-righteous, green-blooded…pointy-eared sumna bi-"
"Your fixation on my biology as a source of offense is more suggestive of your flaws than mine, Doctor."
"Oh, I'll show you a fixation on biology, you bloody computer," growled McCoy. "I'm gonna r-"
But McCoy cut off abruptly, because Spock wasn't even looking at him. Instead, he was staring fixedly at the communicator through which Jim's unbridled peals of laughter could be heard. And his expression…his expression that was every bit as blank as usual, only…not. The fascination in his gaze looked almost…warm. And McCoy could have sworn that his mouth was turned up just slightly at the corners.
McCoy's mouth closed, then opened, then closed again very slowly, and his eyes took on a distinctly glazed look, of the sort worn by someone just realising that they've been sitting on the last puzzle piece the entire time. He closed his eyes and groaned very softly.
Spock did not notice. He was experiencing a sensation he usually associated with the solving of a particularly challenging scientific anomaly, or the completion of an incredibly convoluted code. It was that warm flush that tended to rise through his chest at the conviction of having accomplished something good.
He was brought out of his reverie by McCoy barking gruffly, "Jim! You had better be laughing in support."
"'Course, Bones," reassured Jim, words almost lost amid his last fits of chuckles. "I'm a big fan of your 'proclivity towards irrational thought'."
McCoy snorted. "Yeah, laugh it up, you little shit. Just remember who'll be doing your medical examination when you finally come back to work."
"Ooh, low blow, Bones," grumbled Jim, but he sounded lighter than he had since the mission had gone sideways, and McCoy's eyes when they rested on Spock remained heavy with speculation.
"Well, I've promised a girl and her princess that they can expect manna from the great boat in the sky, so tell me Spock, how close are we to making that happen?"
It was Spock's turn to look slightly glazed over as he tried to work through everything that confused him about that sentence. He might have a far better grasp of figurative speech than he let on to Doctor McCoy, but certain things Jim said still left him floundering.
"How close are you and Scotty to pinpointing my location, Spock?" said Jim, evidently taking pity on the Vulcan.
Spock's expression cleared.
"Mr Scott has been responsible for the drop of beacons in strategic locations around your general position, Captain. Once the final beacon has been placed in 3.472 hours, I am confident that we will be able to identify your location within 3.951 minutes."
"That's brilliant, Spock!" exclaimed Jim, sounding genuinely thrilled. "In that case, I need for you to arrange to have a package of stuff dropped. Nothing too fancy, mostly just food, blankets, clothes and the like – but we need enough for seven kids."
"And for you, Jim," reminded McCoy, shaking his head in exasperation as he leaned back against a worktable.
"Yeah, sure, Bones, goes without saying," agreed Jim, with the air of someone not really listening.
He then went on to reel off a list of all he considered essential to equipping the band of children for however long they might be stranded.
"I'm thinking food for a week should be more than enough, but they'll always have a communicator if it turns out I'm wrong, right?"
"Correct, Captain," responded Spock, with the intention of gently easing Jim out of his excited babbling. Now that the blonde Captain has a concrete means to assist the children, the buzz of his energetic excitement was almost tangible through the communicator. "I will organise for such a package to be assembled immediately. We will drop it at your position promptly when the process of locating you is complete."
"Great," said Jim, sounding immensely satisfied. "In that case, I believe we all have our tasks to complete. Or at least, you do. I'll just focus on the whole surviving thing down here."
"You do that," said McCoy dryly. "And I had better not hear of any shenanigans, Jim. I know what you're like when you're stuck with free time, and it's not good."
Jim sputtered, "Free ti…Bones, I'm stranded! Not vacationing."
"If you were vacationing, I'd be really worried," quipped McCoy, and headed back to his station on the other side of the lab before Jim could find a response.
"Don't suppose you'd consider throwing me at his head, would you, Spock?"
Spock looked from the communicator in his hand, to the face of Doctor McCoy, which was already settling into its familiar grumpy lines now that he was focused on his work once more. One gloved hand wielded a scalpel with vicious precision.
He placed the communicator down with exaggerated care.
"I believe the human adynaton, Captain, is 'when pigs fly'."
Jim laughed, and the world – quite illogically – brightened.