While sitting at his desk in Sickbay, Leonard was alerted that Spock was in need of attention. Leonard sighed and pushed himself from his desk and out of his office. Spock was sitting on a biobed, looking paler than usual. They were silent as Leonard pulled out a tricorder and used the probe to scan him. He frowned at the readings. Nothing was wrong with him, except that he was exhausted.
"Wanna tell me why you're here today, Spock?" Leonard asked, as if reprimanding a child that was sent to the principals office. He kind of liked that analogy.
"The Captain ordered that I be here, on the account that my exhaustion was causing a deficiency in my work." Spock explained, and Leonard raised his eyebrows.
"When has being tired ever effected your work ethic?" Leonard asked in mock incredulousness. Spock's expression didn't change.
"My argument exactly, Doctor." Spock replied smartly. Leonard grabbed a nurse that was walking by, and she scrambled to assist him.
"Get him something to perk him up. Three times the normal human dosage." Leonard told her, and she nodded and hurried off. He watched her go. If he was a lesser man, he'd say that he was blessed to have such pretty nurses. But he'd never admit that. He turned his attention back to Spock. "What's makin' you so tired? I know it's not like you." He asked, and damn it if the Vulcan looked hesitant to answer. Leonard gave him an exasperated look to encourage him to answer.
"I have been engaging in conversation with someone into the later hours for the past 7.28 weeks." Spock answered, looking somewhat ashamed. Well, who could really tell with a Vulcan?
"Why?" Leonard asked, since talking to someone until late into the night seemed very... not Vulcan.
"I do not know." Spock said coldly, looking him square in the eye.
"What time do you get up in the morning?" Leonard asked, changing the subject. The nurse came back and handed him a hypo with a pretty smile. He nodded to her in thanks, and she walked off.
"I rise at approximately 0500 each morning." Spock answered, and Leonard blinked at him.
"Alpha shift doesn't start until 0800. Why would you wake up three hours earlier? You have some hardcore morning ritual or something?" He asked, and Spock just looked at him, void of all possible emotion. Leonard tried not to roll his eyes, and he grabbed the Vulcan's arm. He ignored how uncomfortable the man looked at the contact, and jabbed him with the hypo. "There. That should hold you over until later. If you can't get to sleep tonight, come and tell me. Doctor's orders." Spock nodded and stood up.
"Thank you, Doctor." Spock said, and walked out. Leonard stared after him. What in the hell was that? Spock never thanked him for his services before.
"Doctor, patient Lynn Peitte is having an allergic reaction!" Christine yelled at him from across the 'bay, and he hurried over to them. Damn allergic reactions! They were always happening, even in this century. It was a wonder that nobody came up with some brilliant cure for allergies like they did with everything else.
Jim strolled into Sickbay a few hours later, a serious look on his face. Leonard tore himself from a vomiting patient to meet him. "Bones..." Jim said, sighing and looking off into the distance. "I might not make it back to you tonight." Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.
"I adore you, Jim, I really do. But I have a very sick patient who needs help right now." Leonard said, clenching his teeth. He was too damn stressed out for this.
"Okay, okay. But seriously, me and the other members of the away team are going down to investigate why a group of researchers haven't been responding to any transmissions. Could be dangerous. This might be the last time that we see each other."
"You want me to come down with you?" Leonard asked in all seriousness, even though he could hear poor Jenny Hughes' retching in the background.
"No, you got patients to deal with. Besides, you're not on the rosters any time soon, so there's no need. I just wanted to see you before the end of my time." Jim said dramatically, and Leonard glared at him.
"Right. Like you could ever die of something like this. Just go down, and be careful, alright?" Leonard clapped Jim's shoulder, trying to administer comfort.
"See you later Bones. Love you too." Jim laughed, backing off and walking out of Sickbay. Leonard glared after him before returning to his patient. She really needed to stop eating Andorian redbat...
A couple hours later, someone was rushed into Sickbay, screaming in pain. Leonard's eyes widened as he neared the blond patient that was being lifted onto a biobed. Was it Jim? But it couldn't be!
"Jeffery Hanson, 46% burn area and deep lacerations on ilium, humerus, and tibia." Christine reported quickly, and Leonard set to work with her. Jim rushed in, going pale at the site of Hanson.
"Get out of here, Jim. You'll expose his wounds to outside bacteria." Leonard said, fitting his gloves on. When Jim didn't move, he yelled, "Someone get him out of here!" After a few seconds, a couple security offers rushed over and escorted Jim out of the room. He looked back at the patient. Pretty boy. Must've been the same Hanson that Jim was talking about a couple chapters ago.
Leonard went to work with a couple other nurses, cleaning and patching up Hanson's various wounds, but he just wouldn't stop bleeding! "Damn it, try to stop the blood flow on his brachial and iliac arteries. I need to-" he was interrupted by the monitor's frantic alarm, and he looked to see that the patient was in cardiac arrest (flatlining). He started doing CPR to try and get the heart beating again, pushing repeatedly against Hanson's chest.
Christine switched off with him every couple minutes, and they continued for a half an hour before Leonard looked at her and shook his head. She nodded back at him, announcing the time of death before he could. Leonard took a deep breath and helped the nurses take care of the body.
Later on, Leonard went to Jim's quarters with a small bottle of Cardassian Ale. Jim was curled up on his little couch, and Leonard felt bad for him. He really did. "Hey, Jim." He said quietly, setting the ale down on the table and lifting up Jim's feet so that he could sit on the couch with him. He patted his leg comfortingly.
"I didn't even take a chance to reconcile with him..." Jim spoke quietly, but it didn't sound like he was crying. Sad, sure, but not crying. "We were walking through the wreckage... the researchers had been blown up long ago by a chemical experiment gone wrong. We didn't know... things were still blowing up. He was right next to the explosion when it happened." Leonard took a deep breath, still petting Jim's legs. He really wasn't great at this whole comfort thing.
"Spock know you're like this?" Leonard asked, wondering if the Vulcan could try to comfort him instead. Jim heaved out a cold laugh.
"No. He didn't even stick around to offer condolences or anything. He just left to go write up the reports. Haven't seen him since I beamed up. He probably just went so he could go talk to his damned pen pal..." Jim went on grumbling, and Leonard frowned.
"Pen pal?" He inquired, and Jim laughed cruelly again.
"Yeah. He's on that one website too. Forgot to tell you. I feel like he's getting closer to that person than he is with me. Which is fine. I knew he'd meet other people. It's not like he liked me as much as I liked him. Excited that I'm finally over him though." Jim drawled on, already sounding tired.
"Who would wanna talk to him?" Leonard snorted, and slapped Jim's leg, getting up. This caused Jim to groan, but he talked over him. "Anyway, I'm sorry, Jim. I really am. But I can tell you're tired, so I'm going to go back to my quarters for the night. I left you some Cardassian Ale- you can have it." He started to walk away, but Jim snatched his wrist before he could get anywhere.
"Please, stay with me?" Jim asked, his big blue eyes boring into Leonard's soul.
"No. Comfort yourself. I have a life to get back to." Leonard said, feeling zero guilt as he walked away from his whining friend.
He got back to his quarters and, like always, dressed into his sleeping clothes before getting on his computer. He didn't have any new messages from I-Chaya (or rather, I-Chaya's owner, if he wanted to be technical), so he started a new one.
"I-Chaya,
I've been thinking about something, and it's sort of troubling for me. We're both Starfleet Officers, and with that comes the risk of high danger. Or death."
He took a deep breath at this point, and was feeling rather cold, as if someone turned the heat down in his room. He struggled to keep typing.
"I've come to rely on you a lot, but I know that if it comes down to it, I won't be able to protect you if something happens. And I'm reminded of when my dad died, years before I even joined Starfleet. It was the most difficult thing I had ever had to deal with.
I don't even know what I'm trying to accomplish with saying these things. I think I'm just having some sort of bout of irrational emotions right now.
Meonatio"
He sighed, turning away from the computer. He was immediately regretting sending that message. He must have sounded like a sniveling little girl! It's not like he was beside himself with grief over the loss of someone he didn't even know. Sure it was sad that they lost another crew member, but hell, he wasn't cryin' about it. He was about to send a follow up message explaining about how he's not trying to seem so feely-touchy, but he received a reply before he could start typing.
"Meonatio,
It is illogical to wish to protect me, as the odds are against us if we desire to meet in the physical world. However, I admittedly find myself unable to leave the computer when I know that you might be answering me back.
I have watched both I-Chaya and my mother die. However, I am curious as to your experience with the loss of your father. If it is an unwelcome memory to relay, you need not tell me about it.
I-Chaya"
Leonard sighed again. His father's death was... definitely not an experience he wanted to talk about. But his pen pal told him about losing I-Chaya, and now their mother, so it was only fair.
"I-Chaya,
It's an unwelcome memory, yes. But nonetheless, I'll tell you about it.
My dad was a very energetic man. Full of life. He thought he had years to go before he needed to retire. But then he contracted a rare disease called pyrrhoneuritis, and it just ripped through him as if it was a hungry beast. He lost most of his weight, he was bedridden, and in the most pain I had ever seen someone in. Eventually, even the highest doses of pain killers weren't enough. I was obsessed with trying to find the cure. I searched day and night for an answer. Then, after days of him begging and pleading for me to end his misery... I did.
Just a few weeks later, an institute finally found the cure, and it was administered all across the quadrant. I feel like I'm to blame for his death. If I had just held out from his pleas for just a few more weeks, he could've been cured, and lived the rest of his years out like he had planned it. But he died early, wrought with pain, and it was all my fault.
Meonatio"
Leonard drummed his fingers against the desk, staring at nothing. He had the urge to go get himself some water, but he felt like it would be too repetitive of him to do that again. Instead, he got up and went to the bathroom. He relieved his bladder, washed his hands, and brushed his teeth. He also flossed, damn it, because he was a very hygienic man. After he was finished with all that, he went back to sit at his computer. There was a message there.
"Meonatio,
Do not blame yourself. I have asked nothing of you thus far, but I must demand that you not blame yourself for the death of your father. If you allowed him a release from his unbearable pain, then you have certainly granted him a great service. You had no knowledge that a cure would soon be discovered. Believe me when I tell you that you were not in the wrong.
I-Chaya"
Leonard smiled, feeling warmer now. He had never gotten such a caring, emotional response from this person. It certainly was strange. But he welcomed it with open arms (metaphorically, obviously). He typed a message back, trying to change the subject, so that they could continue to talk about other things.