Chapter Seven

It was gatekeeper, not guard. The word penetrated the quiet of his mind as he released his meditation. He took a moment to bring his consciousness to awareness. Spock opened his eyes to the gentle flicker of the flame on his altar. He rested on the heels of his feet, with his knees pressed to the cushion his mother had made him over two decades earlier. A gift for his birthday. It still carried her scent. A heavy, plush cloak was draped over his shoulders, to keep his body temperature stable as he sank into meditation.

It was late into gamma shift and the sounds of the ship seemed oddly muted to his ears, as though the four hundred and sixty-eight beings on board had also retreated for repose. He remained in the Vulcan meditation pose, focused on the images and thoughts that had surfaced during his introspection. It was his custom to meditate before retiring, but tonight had been different. He had descended into a deeper than normal meditation to quiet his mind from the chaotic emotions he had shared earlier with a feverish Kirk. Though Kirk's fever had broken hours earlier, Spock still could feel the onslaught of the human's emotions. Kirk's mind was dynamic, his unchecked emotions intense, and Spock had discovered that his usual level of meditation was not sufficient to regain his mental equilibrium. He had intended only to quiet his mind, but the deeper he went, the stronger the connection with Kirk, until it seemed as though he could not achieve separation.

Kirk's mind had been eager to join with his. There had been no conscious effort, no agreement between them, but he had found Kirk's mind as easily as he would have found his mother's. As though the link had always been there. More than that, Kirk's mind had also found his, like nerves reconnecting to a severed limb, as though the thin fiber that stretched between them had always been there.

And that is how he knew it was not a guard that Kirk had seen on the planet, but a gatekeeper. In Kirk's toxin-filled body, with his brain still marginally impaired, he had mixed up the words. It was a gatekeeper who had been waiting for Kirk.

Everything Kirk had said from the very beginning suddenly made sense. For the first time since initiating his investigation, Spock knew where to look.

He rose from the cushion in a single move and dressed to go to the bridge.

…A gatekeeper, not a guard. That was Kirk's first conscious thought as he opened his eyes. He swore softly-he still couldn't see.

"That's gratitude for you," the familiar voice welcomed him.

"Bones?" The word was barely a whisper. He frowned, carefully turning his head toward a blurred, indistinguishable form. He saw blue, which was an improvement over the grey and smoke-washed images to which he had become accustomed. A warm hand pressed to his shoulder.

"Yes, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"Like somebody stomped on me." His voice sounded rough and weak. His chest felt heavy like the rest of him, and his mouth was parched and dry, his tongue sticking to the roof.

"I'm not surprised. You had a very high fever." The blurry image loomed over him, a cap of dark hair atop the fuzzy figure.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar ache settle in behind them. He could only imagine the look on Bones' face, the slight amused lift of his thin eyebrows that conveyed a plethora of thoughts, and the deep set of the light hazel-colored eyes that seemed always to be appraising, evaluating. He had always been unnerved by Bones' speculative glances, by the way the doctor could so easily read him, but now he realized how much he missed seeing his friend's expressions.

"Headache?" Bones asked.

"Thirsty."

"Here, this will help."

Something hard touched his lips and he opened his eyes, seeing the outline of a small glass of water. He gratefully drank from the straw that was offered, letting the tepid water slide down his arid throat. After a moment, the straw was withdrawn, leaving him gasping for breath.

"That's enough for now."

His heart slammed as he tried to get his breathing under control, suddenly feeling exhausted from taking a drink. As he concentrated on slowing his breath, he became aware of the tingling pressure of the oxygen field set over his chest. That explained why he was so thirsty. Shit. He weakly shifted positions, his limbs moving as though they were lead weighted beneath the covers. My god, he was sore. A shiver rippled through him. He saw Bones reach to the monitor over his head.

"What shift is it?" he asked, realizing he had lost all sense of time. The last thing he remembered, he had been having dinner with Spock.

"End of alpha. Your fever broke over eighteen hours ago. You've slept all day." Bones pulled the blanket closer around him. A warmth spread from the mattress and he realized that Bones had adjusted the temperature setting on the bed.

Eighteen hours? No wonder he was sore.

"You still need rest. The fever took a lot out of you."

Bullshit. He just needed a minute to catch his breath. "Was Spock here?"

"Earlier. While you were sleeping."

Gatekeeper. The word surfaced again in his mind, but he let it fade without pursuing it. He carefully flexed his injured knee, testing the ligaments. The knee was stiff and achy like the rest of him, but at least the calf muscle was not shocking him with pinpoints of pain or sending white-hot ribbons through the muscle in a series of cramps. For the moment, it was pleasantly numb.

"How is your vision?" Bones asked, still hovering over him.

"I can see the color of your uniform and I know you're not Chapel. That's about it."

Bones nodded. "When you're more rested, I want to run some tests. Until then, don't strain your eyes."

He made a soft protesting sound. "It's not like I've got anything to see. You've got me a prisoner in this room. You won't let me have a PADD, and every time I ask for an update report, Spock gives me the Vulcan version of pithy." He paused to catch his breath, feeling a wave of dizziness pass over. His head began to pound.

There was a pause before Bones spoke. "Like I said, you need rest."

He frowned and strained to see the expression on Bones' face. Not that it would help much. Bones was a master of controlling his facial expressions when he wanted. Probably all those years dealing with emotional patients. But Kirk had gotten good at reading his friend.

"What aren't you telling me, Bones?" Blind and sequestered, he was still captain and this was still his ship. And then he thought about it. "Why haven't I had any visitors?"

"You hate visitors in Sickbay." Bones tapped on the PADD in his hands that seemed to materialize from thin air.

That was true. He didn't like the idea of the crew seeing him flat on his back. Better to be the wounded hero, hobbling around the ship, than the captain laid out on a biobed. It wasn't good for morale to see the commanding officer sick and weak. Still….

"Stop straining your eyes," Bones commanded. "Computer, lights twenty percent."

The lights dimmed and he wasn't able to see anything, the shadows washing into the background. Even the small bit of blue from Bones' tunic faded. It forced him to close his eyes. Exhaustion settled heavily on him.

"Get some rest, Jim."

"Wait." He pulled his eyes open. "Who is the gatekeeper?"

"I don't know, Jim." A warm hand on his forehead. "Rest now."

When he opened his eyes again, he sensed that time had passed and there was the niggling thought that he'd forgotten something important. The room was light and another person moved near the head of his bed. He could tell from the fragrance that it wasn't Bones.

"You're awake," Chapel said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been in hibernation too long." His voice still sounded rough and weak.

"You've been sleeping for a while. That's good. You needed it." Chapel produced a glass of water with a straw and he drank greedily. When he was finished, she elevated the bed so that he was inclined at a comfortable angle.

"Better?" she asked.

"Thank you." He looked around the room and was disappointed to see that his vision had not improved from the last time he had opened his eyes. "Where's Bones?"

"Releasing a crewmember. I'll let him know you're awake."

"What happened? Someone was hurt?"

"A broken leg. Ensign Fassel fell half way down a Jefferies tube. He'll be all right. I'll get Dr. McCoy for you."

When he was alone, he allowed himself a moment to take inventory of himself. His muscles felt stiff, but not the deep ache he had felt earlier. He tested a deep breath and felt a tight pull in his chest, a warning that his lungs were still not fully healed. But he didn't feel the pressure of the oxygen field and that meant Bones' must have thought he was doing better. He carefully stretched his arms over his head, reveling in the feeling of being able to move.

As tired as he was, his body craved movement. He pushed himself off the mattress to sit up. The room tipped as vertigo assaulted him. His fingers twisted into the blanket for support. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. In a moment, it passed. The room righted as his head began to pound. Definitely not a good idea. He was contemplating easing his legs out of bed when a strong voice cut through his concentration.

"Don't even think about it, Jim." Bones quickly closed the distance to the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder, easing him back onto the mattress. "You want to land flat on your face and add a concussion to everything else?"

His temper rose. He hated the way Bones spoke in absolutes as much as he hated being handled. "I'm not going to land on my face."

"Uh, ha." Bones didn't sound the least interested. He was studying the monitor, but kept his hand on Jim's shoulder. After a long moment, he turned to look at Jim. "How are you feeling?"

"Rested. What happened to Ensign Fassel?"

"He fractured his tibia. I already released him. How's your headache?"

"Great, thanks for asking." He flexed his knee, wincing at the stiffness. "Can I get out of here now?"

Bones sighed. "I know you're restless, Jim, but your body is recovering from a very high fever. Let's see how you do today. You need to regain some strength —"

"I can regain my strength in my quarters," he said tersely.

"—and I still need to run some tests."

He let out a pent-up breath and shifted in the bed. "Bones, I need to get out of this bed." A sharp pinch at his right wrist drew his attention. "What are you doing?"

"Just removing your IV. Hold still."

He felt the catheter pull through his vein with a brief sting. After so long, it felt good to be free of the device. Bones gently rubbed the site, easing some of the ache.

"You know, you're a lot more cooperative when you're unconscious."

To which he responded by making a soft hissing sound.

"How does your knee feel?" Bones asked, moving toward the other side of the bed to examine his knee.

"Stiff."

Bones drew the blanket back to expose his knee. He heard the whirl of a scanner then felt Bones' warm hands gently touch his knee. "Can you flex it?"

He bent his leg, feeling the muscles stiffen and tighten. It was like moving a rusty door hinge.

"How's the muscle?" Bones' fingers pressed into the tender muscle from the bottom of his knee to the top of his ankle.

His leg jumped spontaneously with the probing.

"Did that hurt?"

He shook his head.

"The nerves are still sensitive." Bones drew the blanket back over his leg. "You're going to need some PT, but it looks good. It's going to be unstable for a while. I'll keep the brace in place. That should help until the ligaments strengthen." Bones moved closer to the head of the bed. "Feel up to a shower?"

Hell yes.

An hour later, he was showered, shaved and resting back in the bed with a tray of food in front of him. The linens had been changed and Bones had left fresh clothes for him – a black tee-shirt and black, loose-fitting bottoms. He felt half-way human again, though the excursion to the shower had taken more out of him than he cared to admit. His knee had not cooperated much, making the short jaunt twice as long. Still, it had been worth it, if for no other reason than to have a few minutes of peace without interruption, a luxury he had not experienced in quite some time. Being in command, he had given up much of his privacy, more than he realized. It was times like these that he cherished his time alone, if only for a brief moment.

"That perked you up," Bones said approvingly from his position at the foot of the bed. "Finish eating and I'll see about getting you out of here."

"Wh-what?" He tried to focus on Bones, but his eyes would not cooperate. Had he heard correctly? Why the change of heart? "You're releasing me?"

"I have some tests I want to run, but…yes, I think you're strong enough to recover in your quarters. But I want you to stay in your quarters. You can't see well enough to be gallivanting around the ship."

This was an absurd statement. Jim could find his way around Enterprise completely blind, and deaf as well. But he wasn't going to argue with Bones and jeopardize pissing off the only man who would release him from this hell. He had work to do and he couldn't get it done from here.

"And don't think I haven't noticed that you are still having severe headaches. Your blood work and vitals look good – surprisingly good, but you need to rest…and eat."

Fine, he'd eat. He'd stand on his head and sing the Tellerite mating call if it meant getting out of Sickbay.

The door hissed open and a figure walked into the room.

"Captain, it is good to see you recovered," Spock said as he approached the bed. "You appear…refreshed."

"And confused. The last thing I remember is having dinner with you. We talked about beaming down and running a Class One scan."

"Those were two separate conversations, Captain."

He blinked, as if to clear his fuzzy vision, as if seeing gave him an advantage over the Vulcan. "We didn't beam down?"

"No."

Why did he think he had? Why did it seem as if he'd been someplace else, someplace other than Enterprise? His head pounded and he realized he was straining his vision, trying to decipher Spock's body posture, an impossible task with a Vulcan. He shifted uncomfortably, sensing the penetrating gazes of his friends. Rubbing a hand over his aching eyes, he said lightly, "These walls are starting to close in on me. I'll be glad to get out of here."

"Doctor McCoy is releasing you?" Spock asked.

He nodded, dropping his hand and leaning back into the pillows.

"Just to his quarters," Bones said.

They seemed to be speaking to each other and not to him, and there was a hint of tension in their voices, an underlining concern they were keeping secret from him. He was good at reading body language, especially eyes. He had even gotten good at reading Spock…somewhat. Without his vision, they had the advantage.

"What's going on?" He made it a command, his tone flat.

Someone shifted his weight.

"Nothing, Jim," Bones said. "I've got some things to get ready for those tests."

His frown deepened as he watched Bones walk out, fading into the clouded background, leaving Spock standing in place, silent and abiding. "You don't have anything to say?"

"In regards to what, Captain?"

"Don't play dumb, Spock. You know damn well what I'm asking." His head began to pound and he took a moment to check his temper, feeling fatigue overcome him. "I'm still captain of this ship."

"Indeed you are."

He waited, wondering if Spock was going to say what he hoped he would say, but the Vulcan remained silent. His head continued to pound and he waited just another long moment before saying, "There's a guard at my door."

Spock settled his shoulders, moving his slim figure into an impossibly straight form. "As a precaution."

"This is my ship. Do you realize what placing a guard on my door says to the crew? And when in hell were you going to tell me this?"

"I was waiting for you to recover."

We are waiting for you.

He went cold inside and suddenly he felt exhausted, thin and stretched. His spine pulled toward the mattress as his vision danced in dark shadows. Something warm and solid pulled at his center….

"Captain…?"

"Who's the gatekeeper?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"That, Jim, is what I am attempting to discover."

"Hold still, Jim," McCoy said. He kept a hand on Jim's chin, trying to keep the young man's head steady as he examined the blue eyes. The scanner in his hand was no more than twenty millimeters in diameter, but it was the most powerful and sophisticated device the Federation had to examine optical nerves and vessels. The problem with the device was that it typically caused the patient some discomfort. Not many patients tolerated the intensiveness of the exam, and Jim was no different.

Jim closed his eyes tightly. McCoy kept his hand on Jim's chin and waited. The lights in the room had been lowered, partially for Jim's comfort – he had dilated Jim's pupils for the exam – and partially to enhance the effectiveness of the exam. The device worked better when it wasn't competing against light. Finally, Jim opened his eyes.

"Ready?" McCoy asked, scrutinizing his patient's face. The tension lines around the eyes gave clear evidence of Jim's discomfort. If that wasn't enough, the monitor above the bed left no question as to what the exam was doing to his patient.

Jim drew a shallow breath and nodded.

He activated the device again. "I figured I'd have to be holding you down to keep you from rushing out the door. Why so quiet?"

"Thinking."

"That's dangerous," he said easily, moving the device to scan the full length of the eye to see the retina wall. He felt Jim pull slightly against his hand. He tightened his grip, not wanting movement to interfere with the scan. "This have anything to do with your conversation with Spock?"

The muscles in Jim's jaw clenched, but he couldn't tell if it was from pain or irritation at the probing.

"Stay out of it, Bones. It's a command decision."

Irritation, he decided. "You're not in command now, Jim. Spock is. He made the best decision he could under the circumstances. You would have done the same."

"Put the ship in lockdown?" Jim said through clenched teeth. The vein at his left temple was popped out from the pale skin.

"You've done worse." He quickly moved the scanner to Jim's other eye, taking advantage of Jim's distraction. The small device was recording all nerve and vessel activity in the eye. He hoped the information would provide some answers as to why Jim still couldn't see. "Anyway, you weren't exactly cooperating with him, being unconscious and all. He's trying to put a puzzle together."

A yellow light blinked above Jim's head. The oxygen saturation level warning.

"Keep breathing," he told Jim easily. "I'm almost done."

"Locking down the ship isn't solving a puzzle." Jim's words were tight, his tone threaded with tension and pain. "It's crawling into a hole."

The muscles beneath McCoy's fingers were hard and trembling. Jim hitched in a breath.

"You're being hard on hi—"

Jim grunted softly and closed his eyes, tugging his chin out of McCoy's grip. Tiny beads of sweat peppered his forehead as he bowed his head, eyes closed tightly against pain.

"Okay, hold on." McCoy rose from the chair and put a supportive hand on Jim's shoulder as he stepped away to retrieve a small vial. He slipped the vial into a hypo and returned to Jim who had not opened his eyes. Returning a hand to Jim's shoulder, he said, "I'm going to give you something for the pain."

Jim sucked in his breath as McCoy pressed the hypo to the side of his neck and emptied the contents of the vial. Within seconds, the doctor felt the muscles in Jim's shoulder relax. Slowly, Jim's breathing evened out and the yellow warning on the monitor disappeared. McCoy stood in place, with a hand on Jim's shoulder, studying the monitor and wondering if releasing Jim to his quarters was such a good idea. Jim was still obviously having difficulty with oxygen exchange within his cells, not to mention the ocular pain. McCoy didn't want to risk him having a serious attack outside of Sickbay.

Jim opened his eyes. The stress around his eyes had disappeared and he looked incredibly young and vulnerable sitting on the bed, staring blankly ahead.

"Can I go now?" he asked.

McCoy smiled softly. "Just one more thing." He punched in a command on the PADD.

Jim growled lightly in frustration. "You're worse than a mother hen." He swayed slightly on the bed. "Dizzy. What'd you give me?"

He looked at Jim, who now looked sleepy. "A few things."

Jim frowned. "Are you going to let me out of here?"

"Yes, Jim. I'm going to let you out of here." The door hissed open and Chapel walked in carrying a small band.

She handed it to McCoy, but looked at Jim. "It's good to see you well enough to leave, Captain. We're going to miss you."

"I'd say the feeling is mutual, but I'd be lying." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, as if to ease the ache.

McCoy took hold of the other hand and secured the medical monitoring bracelet in place before Jim could protest.

"What's that?" Jim asked, tugging out of McCoy's grip.

"Just something for my peace of mind."