I wrote this for you on Vacation! That's how much I love you, love writing and love Star Trek! I hope you enjoy it, drop a review if you get a chance.
Chapter Seven: A Voice That Whispers
"What do mean we've lost it?!"
Kirk veritably stormed about the bridge as the Enterprise drifted listlessly through space. The trail of exotic matter which they had been tracking with varying levels of success for the last week had apparently vanished without a trace.
"I cannot explain, Kepten, eet ees difficult to track, and traweling at warp-"
"Do what you can to get it back," Kirk ordered, sitting back in the chair. He was wound tight, too tense, very agitated. It had been a day for the young Captain...
Six hours earlier
The crew assigned, the ship on course, the crisis with the 177 dealt with, Jim found himself with no reason not to check up on Doctor Marcus in Sickbay. He wandered down to G Deck, more nervous than he really thought he should have felt. Even if she was a beautiful woman, Carol Marcus was first and foremost his best science technician and an important member of his crew. Fraternizing should probably be kept to a minimum.
The doors to the Sickbay complex whooshed open, and he breathed in the cool sterile air that also held the slight scent of an old cologne, rich and familiar. Sickbay smelled like Bones-or, Jim thought, maybe Bones smelled like Sickbay. The two were inextricable from one another.
"Good afternoon Captain!" a bright voice called almost nervously, and he turned to see a young nurse accompanied by a pale blue Yeoman waving to him. He returned the gesture.
"Have you come looking for Doctor McCoy?" the nurse asked, and he shook his head.
"Actually, I came to see Dr. Marcus. Is she alright?"
The nurse nodded, gesturing for him to follow, and the Yeoman-an Aenar, from the coloring and the strange milky quality to her blue eyes-tilted her head questioningly.
"Captain..." she rested light fingertips on his arm as he passed, giving him reason to pause.
"Is Commander Spock feeling ill?" she sounded worried, as if she had some prior knowledge that he might be unwell.
He frowned. "Not that I know of...why?"
She folded her hands behind her back, almost shyly. "Well...we had arranged to play chess. He said he would teach me, but he didn't show up, and it's not like him to be forgetful, so I wondered if he might be feeling ill," she said, and he realized the girl was quite upset about it. He smiled kindly, setting a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sure he meant to come. Spock is very busy." He realized this could potentially correlate with Spock's strange behavior due to his sleeping troubles.
"If you see him, tell him to come and see me," he decided, and then the nurse directed him to the bed in which Carol Marcus lay.
She was sleeping, which was just Jim's luck, but the damage was clear enough. A wide bandage swathed the left side of her face; beneath the pale blue gown they were visible on her right side and leg; her right arm was cradled in a sling, also bandaged.
"The creature attacked her," the nurse explained, and Jim's fists balled up convulsively. A member of his crew-his friend-had been injured this severely on his watch. That was unacceptable.
"She'll be fine, Captain. None of her injuries should scar permanently or cause any lasting irritation. Although..." she paused, looking concerned. "Her eye might not be the same."
"Thank you nurse. Please take care of her as well as you can. You're doing good work," he complimented, then turned on his heel. He felt so much anger at these creatures-the 177s and whoever was ferrying them from world to world-and the worst part about it was that he couldn't do anything about it yet. All the power of a mighty Starfleet Flagship and he was practically helpless in the face of this unknown foe. The culmination of frustration sent his feet towards the Rec Rooms. He passed the games room and the lounge, heading right for the gym and weight rooms. He needed to sweat out his frustration.
The gym was mostly empty at the odd hour, somewhere between one and two in the afternoon, and Kirk made a beeline for the punching bag.
How many hours had he put in on this station? Too many, probably, but it helped channel his testosterone more or less constructively. He swung a sharp right hook towards the dangling sack, making satisfying contact.
That one's for Carol, he thought, taking another swing with his left and knocking the bag sideways. And that's for the life on Galador II. That's for Ensign Syr. This is for Alfa-177. That one's for Bones and all the shit he had to deal with patching Jim up. That's for Spock, just for the hell of it. That's for Sulu, that's for Chekov, that's for Uhura, this is for Scotty, that's for the security officers, this is for every faceless Yeoman and Ensign under his command, that's for the Enterprise herself-
"Captain."
The bag swung from its moorings, landing on the floor with a decidedly defeated THWAP, and Kirk panted, planting his hands on his knees as he gasped to draw air into his damaged lungs. Beating the crap out of a punching bag normally felt great, but there was a stitch in his ribs and a painful tightness in the sutures of his wound that worried him. Spock stood in the doorway, stiff and silent, but his dark eyes conveyed concern.
"You should refrain from such strenuous exercise until you have fully healed. Doctor McCoy would be most aggrieved if you injured yourself further," he warned, and Jim made a face.
"He'd blow a fuse if he found out," he decided, straightening, then cringed and almost doubled over as pain struck out from his wounded side. Alright, maybe too soon after a brush with death to be working this hard. Spock let out a soft sigh.
"Then we will have to attempt to keep your lapse in logic from his attention," the Vulcan said flatly, but there was a sparkle of joviality in his eyes that betrayed the joking conspiratorial nature of his statement. Jim chuckled, allowing Spock to help him straighten. The Vulcan's touch was cool on his arms and his steady pulse thrummed beneath his long fingers.
"Thank you, Spock," he said gently, and the First Officer exhaled softly. His hand on Kirk's bare arm was giving him more of an emotional inflow than he had anticipated. All of Jim's gratitude and appreciation and frustration and overwhelming helplessness and his faith and hope and trust in Spock washed over him, and he had to swallow hard to prevent himself from releasing Jim's arm and therefore endangering his Captain.
A quick turbolift ride and an occasional sway down the hall of D Deck brought the two men to the First Officer's quarters, which happened to be closer to the lift, where Spock guided his commanding officer into a chair somewhat forcefully.
"May I inspect your wound?" he asked, and Kirk grumbled but nodded, leaning his head against the chairback. Spock's delicate fingers inspected the sutures on the gash in the Captain's side. The Vulcan pursed his lips disapprovingly.
"You nearly tore the wound open," he noted, and Jim exhaled long sufferingly.
"It's fine, Spock," he insisted, pushing the Vulcan's hands away, and Spock's jaw tensed noticeably as he stood abruptly. Jim sat back in surprise; he hadn't seen his first officer move so sharply in a long time, and only when he was under great stress and in an uncomfortable situation.
"Jim," Spock began slowly, as if explaining a concept to a child, "you are human. You must come to accept your limitations and to abide by them. If you continue to put yourself recklessly at risk, you will die. In that event, I will be..." he paused. Took a breath. "Most displeased."
Jim smiled crookedly, almost ashamed. "Well I wouldn't want my death to displease you, Mr. Spock," he teased the Vulcan in regards to his wording, but the serious and almost vulnerable look in Spock's dark eyes gave the Captain reason to break off his joviality.
"The crew of this ship, myself included, would be grievously wounded by your passing, Captain," Spock said softly, and Jim realized this was the Vulcan equivalent of explaining that he would be missed. Spock would miss him. Jim smiled, standing up and resting a friendly hand on Spock's shoulder.
"I'll do my best, Spock," he promised, and his Science Officer granted him a tiny smile. That little victory warmed Jim's heart. Any time he managed to pull a display of emotion from the half-Vulcan he felt a joyful swell in his chest, warm and thick like honey. He began to expound upon his promise when his body was wracked by a bout of hacking coughs, painful and harsh. Spock raised a concerned eyebrow.
"You seem to be experiencing discomfort in your lungs. I will retrieve your respirator from Sickbay," he decided, turning and leaving the Captain alone in his quarters. Jim rested back in the chair, spinning the seat with his long legs. Spock's quarters reminded Jim of the Vulcan himself-elegant, efficient, simple on the surface but with deeper personal touches. The dry heat weighed heavily on the human's skin, but the scent that permeated the room was soothing. It smelled dry and clear, like a desert, and also something pleasantly sharp, like sage. It smelled like Spock. He closed his eyes, relaxing and letting the environment wash over him. It was relaxing, soothing.
There was a knock at the door, and Jim frowned, contemplating opening his eyes or remaining peacefully at rest. The knock repeated, sharply. Well whoever it was would be looking for Spock anyhow, so they'd have to come back later.
"Dammit you green blooded hobgoblin, I'm coming in anyway," a very familiar and very disgruntled voice snapped, and the doors swept open to give way to Doctor Leonard McCoy. The CMO stomped into the room, glanced around, expression turning obviously confused, and then his hazel blue eyes fell on Jim in the chair and he paled visibly.
"O-Oh, Jim. Where's, ah, why are you in Spock's quarters?" Alone? Without a shirt? was sort of implied, and Jim raised both eyebrows and gave a short laugh.
"Hiding from you, actually Bones," he admitted, and his best friend looked startled. "I, ah..." Jim flinched as the motion of raising his arm to scratch at his head caused his wound to tighten in protest, "may have overdone it at the gym. Spock was helping me recover. We both knew you'd blow a fuse."
Bones pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Then Jim frowned thoughtfully as something occurred to him.
"Speaking of being in Spock's quarters...what are you doing here, Bones?" he asked, and the Doctor glanced at the door nervously.
"Jim, I really can't talk about what goes on between me and my patients-" the doctor began, but Jim lunging from his seat cut him off mid-sentence.
"Is something wrong with Spock?"
Meanwhile, that particular Vulcan officer was making his way back up from Sickbay, respirator in hand. He stepped out of the complex on G Deck, heading towards the turbolift.
Suddenly a stabbing jolt of pain burst behind his eyes and he stumbled, barely catching himself on the wall as his vision danced with black spots.
"Deneva!" a whispered voice hissed, and he whipped around expecting to see an attacker, but the hallway was completely empty around him. Another bloom of pain flowered in his head, and he sagged back against the wall.
These hallucinations had to be stopped. He needed to see Doctor McCoy immediately. He swayed upright, turning to go back to the hopeful healing walls of Sickbay when he felt the respirator in his hands and realized that Jim needed him. He stopped in the center of the hallway, gazing down the corridor as he focused with all the immense concentration of his Vulcan heritage and cornered the pain, locking it into a deserted area of his mind. Pain is an illusion. It is not real. It can be controlled.
He inhaled slowly and closed the Turbolift doors.
"Not exactly, calm down Jim!" Bones replied, and the Captain sat back down with a slight cringe. He had gotten up too fast and was in a bit of pain now that the adrenaline and endorphins from his workout had faded.
"He's suffering from some pretty severe sleep deprivation. It's bad enough that he came to me for medication. It's going to be an easy fix, I'm sure he's just got leftover stress and trauma from the destruction of Vulcan. Lots of Vulcans have been going through things like this recently."
As Spock stepped off the Turbolift he was suddenly struck head on by a wave of light, sound and pain. He gasped in shock, falling to his knees as he clapped his hands over his ears.
"DENEVA!" a voice was screaming, all around him, in his head and in his ears, the image of the blue and green planet burned into his retinas. Then suddenly it was gone and he scrambled to his feet, shaken. He had never experienced anything of this nature before, and that it was happening to him on his own ship, in the safety of his home, was unsettling. Frightening.
"So he's fine for duty, right?" Jim clarified, and Bones nodded, taking out the medkit strapped to his belt and drawing a mild painkiller for his friend. He loaded the Hypo and stuck Jim with it as he continued their conversation, ignoring Jim's flinch.
"He should be. Unless his condition worsens or persists."
On cue, the door swooshed open and Spock all but stumbled into the room, eyes wide and looking almost panicked. Both humans looked up in surprise, and the Vulcan swayed to a stop, startled by the appearance of Doctor McCoy.
"Hello Spock," the doctor greeted, and the first officer straightened, smoothing the fabric of his blue science uniform.
"Doctor. I thought I had made it clear I would come to you in Sickbay when I required your services," he pointed out, and Bones' face reddened with anger.
"You goddamn hobgoblin! I take the time out of my busy schedule to come all the way up here to your room, out of the goodness of my heart, because I'm worried about you, and you respond like that? You heartless, emotionless-"
"Bones," Jim cut him off sharply, standing with some difficulty. He had noticed the wild look in his officer's eyes and felt a shard of panic strike through him. He reached out a hand to rest on Spock's tense shoulder.
"Are you alright, Spock?" he asked gently, and the Vulcan nodded curtly.
"I am feeling...unwell. I require a brief period of rest. Perhaps, since Doctor McCoy is here and your condition is no longer being kept covert, he will see to you in your own quarters," he suggested, and Jim nodded.
"Of course. Take the next shift off, we're floating dead in the water with no leads as it is. That's an order, Spock," he broke in before the Vulcan could object. He went to the door, listening to the sounds of Bones delivering his potent tranquilizer to Spock and following his Captain with some grumblings. The two humans exited the room quietly, and Spock closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He realized his hands had clenched up and glanced down, releasing his fist and realizing that he had crushed the respirator in a deathgrip. He dropped the useless piece of machinery and stripped his blue science shirt over his head, lying down in his starfleet blacks.
He needed to rest. He would understand when he awoke. Reaching for the hypo Doctor McCoy had given him, he pressed it to his arm and closed his eyes. The soft tingling of the air burst spread across the injection point, and he felt the medication begin to draw his body heavily into the darkness of unconsciousness.
He truly hoped he would not dream.
.
Jim stared at the ceiling above his bed, listening to the soft whoosh of the life support pushing air into the vents, the hum of the engines, the soft resonations of footsteps on the metal floors. He felt drowsy, partially from being tired and partly from Bones' hyposprays. He let his eyes fall closed, darkness painting patterns behind his closed lids. He enjoyed this time just before sleep when his mind could wander.
A soft tap on the door alerted him to a visitor, and he blinked and turned towards it. It whooshed open, and the pale figure of his first officer, dressed in Starfleet Blacks with bed rumpled hair and slightly shadowed eyes stepped through.
"Captain?"
Jim sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong, Spock?" he asked, noting the hyper stiffness of the Vulcan's back and shoulders, his clenched hands. Spock paced past him to the window, settling his hands at the small of his back, spine straight, feet together, chin up. He gazed out into the darkness, and Kirk rose to join him at the window.
"Do you believe in the power of prophecy Captain?" he asked finally, and Jim leaned on the windowsill beside his friend.
"You mean telling the future?" Spock nodded briefly. "I guess it would be handy, but I don't know if it's ever been proven to be real."
Another moment of silence passed before the Vulcan could gather himself and express his thoughts. Jim waited patiently, allowing him to take the time he needed. His dark eyes were almost tortured when they turned back to his Captain.
"What do you know of Deneva?" he switched topics somewhat abruptly, and Jim frowned in surprise.
"It's a colony in the Deneva System. I've been there once-it's a beautiful planet. There around 1 Million inhabitants. Why?"
Spock closed his eyes and placed a hand against his temple, as if pained. "I believe it would be prudent to contact the inhabitants," he asserted slowly, as if with great effort. Jim moved closer, eyes intense.
"Why, Spock?"
"I have been experiencing...inexplicable occurrences for the past several days which have centered around the planet of Deneva. It is illogical and I cannot explain my concern outside of what you humans would call...an uneasy feeling."
Kirk stared at his first officer for a moment, gauging this response. It was completely unlike Spock, which is why he was immediately inclined to accept it. But the way he had been acting lately, the unsettled furrow between his brows, the dark shadows beneath his eyes...
"I'll have Uhura send them a message. I know some people on that colony. I'm sure if anything is wrong, they'll know in plenty of time."
Operation Annihilate anyone? :-3
