PLEASE READ: This story is finished/completely written. However, my computer acccess over the next two weeks will be intermittent at best. So postings will be irregular and less frequent; however, I should be able to get the final chapters out within the week. My apologies in advance.
One minor note re the last chapter: I know the Alan Dean Foster novelization of ST 2009 has Dr. Puri as a male. However, it was only a fleeting reference and, for purposes of my story, I decided to make the characer female.
Disclaimer: Would love to own ST, but I just borrow the characters and return them intact
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It was the next evening (and one signed and sealed 0700 CMO Report to the Acting Captain on the condition of one Captain Christopher Pike later) that a familiar voice sounded at McCoy's office door.
"Hey, Bones." Jim smiled at him as if they were still cadets at the Academy, as if nothing had happened between them in the past hours. "How about we grab some dinner?"
Still reeling from Jim's harsh criticism of his treatment of Pike, McCoy wasn't ready suddenly to make nice. "I'm sorry, sir," he replied formally, "but if you expect me to help Captain Pike, I need to study these neurostimulation treatment protocols."
"Cut the 'sir' crap, it doesn't suit you." Jim stepped into the office and leaned across McCoy's desk, his smile deepening. "You need to eat. And I'm hungry. So let's go."
McCoy reflexively gave Jim the once over using only his physician's eyes. Jim's energy level was high and few traces of his earlier injuries were visible. He'd always been a quick healer and this appeared to be no exception.
"Look," Jim was saying. "I'm sorry for yesterday. I'm just worried about Pike and I let it get the best of me. I know you're a good doctor and that you're doing your best for him." He grinned and held out his hand. "Truce?"
Sometimes Jim Kirk made McCoy feel like he was back on the grade school playground. It had taken a lot for Jim to make the first move; the least McCoy could do was to meet him halfway.
The mess hall was the best place on the ship to gauge crew morale. Or lack thereof, McCoy thought, surveying the somewhat dismal scene at dinner. Of course, having your closest friends blown to smithereens would ruin anyone's mood. Interspersed among the gloom, however, he overheard snippets of conversation about relationships, work, and even the sudden ascendancy of certain cadets to positions of authority onboard the Enterprise, suggesting that just maybe things were starting to return to some level of normalcy.
Although there was no formal hierarchy in the dining facility, junior crew and senior staff inherently congregated at separate tables. He and Jim collected their meals and approached a table where, not surprisingly, Spock sat alone.
Vulcans were vegetarians, McCoy knew, and he was somewhat curious whether Spock adhered to that regimen or allowed his human half the occasional steak. He made a mental note to check Spock's replicator card out of curiosity if nothing else. A quick glance at Spock's plate indicated that, for this meal at least, his Vulcan half had prevailed. It was easier to tell than it should have been because Spock's plate was still covered with food even though McCoy sensed that he'd been sitting at the table for some time.
McCoy decided to press the issue. "No matter what they say, Spock, replicator food doesn't taste like home cooking."
"Doctor, need I remind you that replicator food contains the same nutrients and chemical formulae as food prepared in a more conventional way."
He shrugged. "If it's so good, why aren't you eating it?"
Spock looked down at his plate as if seeing it for the first time. "I am . . . not hungry."
As McCoy looked more closely at the Vulcan, his medical instincts were on high alert. Spock seemed almost tense. And, while Vulcans could go days without eating when necessary, doing so without reason was unusual. McCoy mentally kicked himself. He'd been so focused on Captains Pike and Kirk that he'd forgotten about the strain on the First Officer, or the rest of the crew for that matter. As CMO, they were now all his responsibility. Then again, he'd always assumed that patients would come to him when they were ill or injured, not that he'd have to ferret them out and drag them in for treatment.
Kirk, who'd ignored the exchange, suddenly chimed in. "The energy level in here is in the tank. We need something to boost morale."
From McCoy's perspective, the battle with Nero had the unintended benefit of both taking the crew's minds off the death and destruction while the 'victory' had given them something positive to focus on. Now that the excitement was over, people had time to contemplate just how much had been lost. "They've been through a lot, Jim. They need time to process all that's happened and to grieve." He stole a glance at Spock, who had as much right as anyone to mourn. The Vulcan's gaze remained on his uneaten food.
"They can't grieve twenty-four hours a day. We need something, a distraction to take people's minds off of death and work for a few hours at least." Jim drummed his fingers on the table. "Needs to be something physical, maybe a sporting event – nothing like a good workout to take your mind off problems, right Bones?"
Before he could answer, one of Scotty's lieutenants approached Jim regarding an engineering issue. Jim excused himself and Spock too rose from the table in a movement that, in McCoy's opinion, lacked the Vulcan's usual grace. He'd seen enough.
"Commander Spock, I'd like you to drop by the medical bay this evening."
"For what purpose, Doctor?"
"I want to check you over."
Spock's eyes narrowed. "As a physician, you should know that Vulcans have an innate awareness of their physical well-being. I assure you that I am fully functional."
"Well you look like crap."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "An interesting medical term, Doctor. Are all your diagnoses so precise?"
McCoy lowered his voice so as not to attract further attention. "Spock, you've been through hell the past few days. Mental stress frequently manifests with physical symptoms. I'm asking you to come see me; don't force me to make it a medical order."
Spock stood ramrod straight. "Very well, Doctor." If McCoy hadn't known Vulcans to be unemotional, he would have sworn Spock was angry. "You seem to have left me no choice in the matter." The Vulcan turned abruptly and carried his tray to the recycling station.
McCoy, now alone, picked at his food. At this rate, he was going to alienate the entire command staff by the time they reached Starbase. Maybe the problem wasn't that people were reluctant to come to medical, maybe it was his approach. What had worked his entire career didn't seem to be doing the trick out here.
At the Academy, medical cadets spent minimal time learning about the duties of the CMO as they would typically have years to observe their own CMOs before being given such responsibilities. He, on the other hand, had worked with Dr. Puri for less than a day. He was learning on the job and, from the looks of it, had a lot of learning still to do. Speaking of which, it was past time for him to get back to work – he dare not keep Spock waiting.
A voice from the next table caught his attention. "I heard Pike's really messed up." The source of the comment was an engineering lieutenant he didn't know.
"Yeah." He recognized Ensign Santorini from the micro lab. "My roommate's seen his chart; said his neurons are scrambled. Can't walk, can't talk."
"Is he going to recover?"
"Gentlemen." McCoy approached them from behind, voice like lead. "This is not an appropriate topic of discussion here or anywhere else onboard this ship. As Chief Medical Officer, I am responsible for the medical condition of this crew. If you have questions regarding the medical status of any crewmember, you will address them to me and only to me. Is that understood?"
McCoy turned around to find the mess hall absolutely silent, virtually every face staring at him. His little speech hadn't done much to improve morale and probably hadn't endeared the CMO to his future patients. At the moment, he really didn't give a damn. A member of his staff had shared information about Pike's condition with non-medical personnel. It was inexcusable. If Jim learned about it, he'd have McCoy's head, and rightly so.
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His anger had only intensified by the time he entered the medical bay a few minutes later. He snapped at the first person he came across. "Beckworth, I want all medical personnel to report here within ten minutes."
"All of them Doctor? The early shift is sleeping—"
"Everyone. Ten minutes. They do not want to be late."
"Should they report in uniform?"
"I really don't give a damn."
Nine minutes later, his staff stood outside of his office, shuffling in place and trying to decide whether to stand at attention. A summons from the boss at this hour could only mean he wasn't happy. And that was putting it mildly.
He allowed his gaze to rest briefly on each staff member. "I just came from the mess hall where crewmembers were discussing Captain Pike's medical condition." His tone reflected a barely contained fury. "Every patient, from the most junior crewmember to the Captain of the ship, will be treated with complete confidentiality. That means no one discusses any aspect of any patient's condition with anyone other than medical personnel – not your friends, not your roommate, not your lover. If it happens again, I assure you that I will find the person responsible and ruin not only his Starfleet career but his medical career as well. Do I make myself clear?"
Without waiting for replies, he turned on his heel and strode toward his office. And nearly ran headlong into Spock.
"Is there a problem, Doctor?"
"Just a personnel issue." He forced himself to relax and pointed toward the open exam room. "I'm all ready for you."
"I assure you, there is no need—"
"Humor me. It's been a long day."
"Doctor, I do not believe my responsibilities as First Officer include providing comedic relief to the Chief Medical Officer. And, I would point out that all days are twenty-four standard hours—"
McCoy raised his hands in submission. "I get it."
McCoy waited until Spock had reclined onto the exam table. "Privacy." The computer responded by turning the glass walls of the room opaque, allowing no one to see out or in. McCoy slowly ran the scanner over Spock's still form. Human patients typically liked to "chat" during exams; McCoy sensed that, with his Vulcan patient, the less said the better.
"May I inquire as to the condition of Captain Pike?"
Hmm. Maybe he'd been wrong about chatting, or maybe Spock had overheard his tirade about patient confidentiality. "As the First Officer you have every right to know his medical condition." McCoy frowned. Spock's hybrid anatomy was throwing up some odd readings. He made a few adjustments to the equipment. "He's largely unchanged. I've come up with a possible treatment that I hope will improve his verbal processing. I'm going to discuss it with him in the morning."
"You seem somewhat uncertain. Is there risk?"
McCoy sighed. "We're dealing with the byproduct of an alien life form about which we have very limited information. There's always risk."
Spock simply nodded and closed his eyes.
McCoy made quick work of the remainder of the exam. "Okay, Commander, we're done."
Spock pulled himself into a sitting position. "Am I free to leave."
"Don't you want to know the results?"
"I expect you have confirmed that I am fully functional."
McCoy crossed him arms. "Your blood pressure is elevated."
Spock frowned. "Undoubtedly due to my human biology."
"I accounted for that. It's still too high." McCoy noted with amusement how Spock gazed with disdain at the hypospray on the nearby table. "Spock, there are drugs that will help, but I'm not going to prescribe anything right now."
"Your approach seems quite in contrast to your treatment of the Acting Captain."
McCoy couldn't help but grimace. He had probably overdone it with the hypospray on the first day aboard. "I know how the drugs will affect humans and have a pretty good idea how they'll affect Vulcans. What I don't know is how they'll affect you and, until I'm sure, I'd rather not use them."
"Such restraint is most welcome, Doctor."
"I understand Vulcans have ways of helping their bodies heal naturally – meditation and the like. I suggest you try those."
"I shall do so."
"And, I want to see you back here every few days. Hypertension in Vulcans can be serious. So, if your techniques don't work, we'll have to try the meds. Understand?"
"Understood."
Understood? No argument? Would that green-blooded bastard ever cease to amaze him?