As he entered the brig, McCoy's uneasy feeling increased, left his stomach and consumed everything, up to the roots of his hair. Velal's face was flushed in a yellowish-green. Her hair was unruly matted to her forehead, drenched in sweat, and she was breathing hard. Her nostrils flared, her pupils were blown wide, her mouth was slighlty open, and he wouldn't have been surprised had she been foaming at the mouth. She actually did resemble a rabid animal, or a boisterous racehorse chomping at the bit before the final race at the Kentucky Derby. The force field of her prison cell hissed and sparkled at Velal's futile attempt to break through it when he entered.
"STOP THAT!" Osborne shouted, clearly quite nervous himself. This must have been going on for quite some time, McCoy concluded. He mustered a smile trying to diffuse the situation. "Hello, kids!"
"Doctor! I'm glad you're here. She's gone insane. And it's getting worse," he said, speaking into his ear confidentially, and turning him around to get some privacy.
McCoy wasn't all that comfortable having a raging Romulan female behind him, force field or not, but he let it happen. He could sense the young lieutenant was really worried.
"When did it start?" he asked, forcing himself not to flinch and turn around at the sound of the force field hissing again.
"I don't know, I think it gradually built up. I mean, she can't be all that happy to be in this cell, but she didn't start jumping at the energy field until a few hours ago."
McCoy nodded. Velal had been in that cell for about 6 days now. If roles were reversed, he would have a little tantrum in there himself. But this?
"Did she eat anything?" he asked.
"Not since the day before yesterday. She refuses. Actually, she threw her bowl full of soup against the wall this morning, it was quite a hassle to clean that up."
McCoy's thoughts flashed back to one of the most bizarre moments during this five year mission. It involved Spock, a bowl of plomeek soup and his poor head nurse.
What is it with you pointy-ears and soup?
"I need to talk to the doctor alone!" the Romulan ground out between clenched teeth, making them turn around. She seemed to have gotten herself under control, her posture rigid, at attention. An almost unnoticeable tremor told them otherwise, though.
"That's not going to happen, you green-blooded …," Osborne sneered, but was stopped by McCoy once again.
"Shut it, Lieutenant!" It bothered him that Osborne called her names. Quite irrational, for he used those same names on Spock quite frequently, he knew, still … that was different.
"Doctor?" Osborne turned, unsure and confused by the reprimand.
"Leave us alone!" he commanded.
"What?" Osborne suddenly stared into icy blue eyes that could freeze over hell.
"I … have the order to not leave her unwatched," he tried.
"And I'm giving you a NEW order!" McCoy said, getting loud. "Ever heard of patient/physician confidentiality?"
"Of course, … but, sir, she's a Romluan," Osborne tried, already backing towards the door. Ever since having reported for duty on the Enterprise four years ago, he'd hoped he'd never truly anger Doctor McCoy. He'd heard rumours about the CMO's wrath from the nurses, but had started to suspect they had been only playing with him, then. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore.
"Lieutenant Osborne," McCoy started dangerously, "I hope you're not trying to give me a reason for reporting your xenophobia to Starfleet Command!"
Osborne swallowed, had his own assessment of the good doctor's character deceived him that much? "Yes, Lieutenant Commander," he mumbled, "I'll wait outside."
Still unsure if he was doing the right thing, but too intimidated to question the order again, he stepped outside. There was an energy field between Doctor McCoy and that rabid female Romulan, he reminded himself. Surely, it would hold. Better do what McCoy wanted.