Chapter 11

"You have to eat something, Bones," Ritha said, a bowl of soup in her hands the following afternoon.

"I'm not hungry," he responded for the third time in a row. One would think she would eventually take the hint and go away. There was no way he could stomach food when Jim was flat on his back in a Sickbay bed not two feet from him. It just wasn't possible. The sooner she realized that and left him alone, the less likely he would be to verbally take her head off.

"I don't care if you're hungry or not. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning. Starving yourself isn't going to do him a damn bit of good, and since you have everyone else in this Sickbay too cowed to take you to task, it falls on my shoulders."

He glanced up at her with bleary eyes. "Take me to task? Last time I checked, you don't have M.D next to your name. Unless that's suddenly changed or you can miraculously make Jim get up and walk, get out of my face."

"You're not going to scare me away. The sooner you eat this soup, the sooner I'll leave you alone to your self-induced misery. Everyone here is worried just as much as you are, so suck it up and drink some calories to burn."

"Self-induced misery?" he snapped. "The man who may as well be my brother died yesterday and has yet to wake up from surgery. Where the Hell do you get off lecturing me about sucking it up?"

"Would you rather I coddle you like everyone else is doing? You have two choices here, Bones. One, suck it up and take the nourishment that will keep you on your feet to help him when he does wake up. Two, crawl into a hole and make yourself useless. The Bones I know refuses to be useless."

She really wasn't scared of him. At least that's what he read in her eyes, which were hard and determined. Blowing out an exasperated sigh, he snatched the bowl out of her hands to bring it to his mouth. The first swallow went down heavily. He thought his grinding stomach might immediately revolt. His second swallow was a little easier, and when he was certain he wouldn't instantly vomit it all back up, he hounded down the rest, warmth spreading through his belly.

A brow shot to his hairline when she produced a wet washcloth from her back pocket, which was made use of when she smoothed it over his face to take away yesterday's grime and sweat. He felt almost human again after her ministrations but doubted any gratitude showed on his face. Gratitude was beyond his capacity at the moment. Later, he'd try to remember to thank her and perhaps even apologize for being a boar.

"Why won't he wake up?" he whispered when his glance returned to the vitals screen mounted on the headboard of Jim's bed. All his years of medical training and experience hadn't prepared him for the possibility of tagging and bagging Jim Kirk. Visions of Jim's lifeless body staring at up at him from the autopsy slab plagued him.

"You know how stubborn Captain Kirk is. He'll wait until we're all ready for padded cells from worrying before sitting up and announcing he's ready to go back to work."

Bones stiffened when Ritha's arms went around his shoulders, every instinct telling him to fight the hold and any comfort she offered. In the end, though, he pressed his face against her stomach and shuddered like a ripe peach ready to fall from the tree. He didn't care how many people in Sickbay were looking on when he finally wound his arms around her hips to pull her tighter against him. The reassurance and strength she exuded were the only things that mattered. Her touch was gentle when she smoothed her fingers through his hair.

Her presence, even the pleasant combination of lemon soap and fresh laundry detergent that was her smell, seeped into him until he wasn't certain he knew where she ended and he began. It had nothing to do with thinking he was ready to do something stupid like fall in love and everything to do with the basic need for human comfort. She was there. She hadn't given up and walked away because he'd snapped at her. She was there, and somehow the ache in his chest hurt a little less. Somehow the shaking of his bones was slightly less immediate.

God knew how long he would have stayed like that if it weren't for the lift doors whooshing open to admit Spock back into Sickbay. Bones forced himself to release Ritha at his approach. Though she stepped back, she didn't immediately flee the vicinity. He hoped she forced a bowl of gruel down the hobgoblin's throat too. The hobgoblin hadn't left Sickbay for more than a couple of hours since he'd allowed visitors to start coming and going after the surgery had been completed.

Damn that surgery. The blade had entered at just the right angle to lacerate Jim's liver and puncture a hole in his diaphragm, allowing air to spread down into the captain's bowels. When the idiot had pulled the knife out of the wound, he hadn't followed the same path and had ended up puncturing his kidneys to boot. Two hours of surgery had been required to seal the organs closed, and with any surgery, infection was a real threat. All their medical advancement and sterilization procedures couldn't guarantee a single infectious bacteria wouldn't get inside and breed into an entire colony.

"President Tien To Tobra sends his deepest regrets over the captain's injuries and conveyed his understanding should we choose to abandon the case," Spock said once he was seated in a chair that may as well have been bolted to the floor next to Jim's bed.

"I've never met a more useless man in my entire life. Ritha, why don't you go give him your little 'useless' speech?"

"It only works on stubborn mules. Commander Spock, have you had anything to eat since yesterday?"

"Yes, Ensign Monroe. Lieutenant Uhura ensured my daily dietary needs were attended to this morning. Has there been any progress on downloading information from the data processors on the android unit?"

"Actually, further autopsy--that's a weird word to use in relation to what is essentially a scrap of metal and nanochips--allowed us to crack open the skull casing where we found the nano-center. All those little chips seem to convey information on body motion and act as sensors relaying information garnered from all five senses. These units can actually interpret smell."

"The data processors?" he prompted.

"Don't bother trying to get her to focus until she's got the rabid geek moment out of her system," interjected Bones.

"Right. The circuits are dead. Like you suspected, the unit releases an EMP discharge that totally fries the processor core and motherboard along with any information they contain. Ensign Chekov is taking a crack at it, but I don't think we'll be able to retrieve much."

"Ensign Chekov will not be an ensign much longer. Starfleet approved his promotion to junior lieutenant to be effective as soon as Captain Kirk is well enough to perform the ceremony."

"Great. The kid's going to have more money to spend on video games and online pornography."

"I'm not finished giving my report," Ritha said.

"Doctor McCoy, though Ensign Chekov is the youngest member of our crew, he does not comport himself with any less dignity than a man twice his age. Given his emotional maturity and experience, it is not logical for him to spend his salary unwisely."

"Who said video games and online porn is an unwise investment?"

"Hey!" Ritha tried again.

Bones jerked his glance up at her to find her standing there with her hands on her hips looking rather indignant that they were talking over her.

"Rabid android geek here. I wasn't finished with my report."

"What further information do you have, Ensign Monroe?"

"When we opened the skull, Scotty found a strange cluster of nanochips surrounding a processor that has no equivalent in other androids we've looked up information on. We aren't sure what it's function is yet, but Scotty thought you might like to take a look at it when Jim regains consciousness."

"Jim has regained consciousness." The voice from the bed they were clustered around sounded weak and lacking Jim's normal vibrancy, but it was the most beautiful sound Bones had heard in his entire life.

He was on his feet and hovering the second it registered. "You gave us the scare of a lifetime, Kid. I've got you pumped so full of menders an elephant could get up and two-step after a C-section."

Everything and everyone else faded into the background while he produced a tricorder to take scans. It wasn't the kind of injury Jim would be able to jump up an hour later from, but with the menders they had, he would probably be on his feet again in three or four days. Just knowing he was awake and ready to start talking made Bones' knees practically knock.

"Oh come on. Can't it wait until someone's given me something to get the fur off my tongue? Did you let an ape squat over my mouth to make it taste so rotten?"

"General anesthesia always results in cotton mouth. Jim, you were dead for eight minutes and twenty-three seconds. I'll lecture you as much as I want."

"Dead?"

"Yes, Jim, dead. Your heart stopped beating, and you stopped breathing for eight and a half minutes. If Spock hadn't had the sense to perform CPR in the shuttle…" He let the words trail off and shook his head.

"Huh. I have officially died and been resurrected." Jim's tone was so full of wonder Bones wanted to give him a good smack to knock some sense back into him. "Can I call myself Jim Two-Point-Oh?"

"Only if you want to die again. Try to take this seriously. You were stabbed by members of an anti-Federation terrorist organization, who poisoned the ship two days ago in an attempt to commit genocide."

The captain's brow furrowed slightly. "But they didn't try to commit mass murder. Stella said they may have deliberately picked a less virulent poison, which means they were trying to get our attention instead of wipe us out."

"Only to turn around and try to assassinate the captain, the first officer, and the chief security officer? Make sense, Jim."

"Maybe they don't want to kill all of us. Maybe they just want us to leave. Maybe they're trying to tell us something. I'm telling you, Bones, there is more going on here than meet's the eye. I feel it in my gut."

"Your gut's about as paranoid as I am! At any rate, it's not something you have to worry about as of now. Spock and Paul will handle the investigation and apprehension of the Sovereign Istabul members. Your backside is staying in that bed until I say otherwise."

"Yeah, sure. Uh huh."

"Jim, I'm not kidding! Being the CMO, my word on any medical matter supersedes yours. If you so much as put one leg off the side of that bed, I'll have you locked in quarantine faster than Jimmy Mitzer can pitch a fast ball for the Yankees."

The threat left Jim looking miserably resigned to his confinement, but at least he was resigned to it. Still, every member of his staff would keep an eagle-eye on the captain to make sure he didn't try to get up and would inform him the moment an attempted escape was made. Jim and his belief in his own godlike invincibility. Personally, Bones wanted to die when he was one hundred and twenty sitting on a front porch on a sweet little piece of Paradise in Georgia with a mint julep in his hand. Jim? He would no doubt drop the crew off, assuming they were commissioned for any subsequent missions, at a Federation outpost and then fly the Enterprise straight into the center of a sun when he was sixty and considered himself decrepit.

***

Jim outwardly rolled his eyes when Bones finally retreated from Sickbay to find a shower and a bed. Inwardly, he fought with a case of Warm Fuzzy Syndrome at how haggard the man was over his health. Considering his mother had been off-planet most of his life, leaving him with his uncle and then a series of step-fathers, someone openly caring about him was still a new phenomenon capable of turning on his internal squee. Apparently Bones wasn't the only one concerned about his health. There were cards all over the stand situated next to his bed.

The events after he'd collapsed at Jiet Je's apartment were kind of fuzzy, little more than flashes of consciousness intermingled with a strange sensation as though he'd been free-floating out of his body. Surely Spock's face becoming progressively more emotional with each flash of reality had just been a hallucination on his part. His first officer was more than capable of making facial expressions. He just didn't most of the time. Jim's glance found the half-Vulcan on a chair next to his bed.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"Why do you ask questions for which you already know the answer?"

"Because laying here staring at the ceiling gets boring after a while, and I'm not ready to go back to sleep yet."

"Perhaps you would like me to inquire if Doctor Westin will administer a sedative?"

"Or you could just admit you were scared of the idea of me dying."

Spock's glance was steady when he said, "Being faced with the very real possibility of your death was an experience I do not care to repeat."

Sweet and to the point without actually saying whether or not he'd been frightened. Jim smiled a little, because that was as close to a candid response as he was going to get. "Spock, why didn't you talk to me before disclosing Uhura's pregnancy to Starfleet? I received a message from Admiral Borden the day we went to Jiet's apartment."

"According to Starfleet regulation, any pregnancies occurring while on active duty in space must be reported immediately." His first officer was clearly interested when he asked, "What did the message say?"

"The admiral indicated she would have a replacement for Uhura ready when we make port on Corbezia for our scheduled yearly maintenance. Uhura is to be sent back to Earth for the duration of her pregnancy and her maternity leave."

Spock's brow furrowed ever-so-slightly, the only indication of how he felt. "I understand Starfleet's position."

"But you hoped it would be different."

"Lieutenant Uhura has undergone rigorous study and has the necessary aptitude to serve on this vessel. Serving aboard the Enterprise was her goal while at the academy. That she must be shipped back to Earth as a result of our relationship is unacceptable."

"Are you ready for the consequences of having a kid in space? Are you ready for the possibility of your kid being killed in battle if the Enterprise takes a bad hit?"

"The logical thing to do is ask Lieutenant Uhura to abide by Starfleet's ruling and return to Earth where she and our child will be safe. However, this is not a decision I am capable of making for her. She wishes to remain aboard the Enterprise and believes herself capable of continuing to fulfill her duties."

"Tell me you want her back on Earth, Spock. All you have to do is say the word, and I won't intervene with Starfleet's ruling. She'll never know we had this conversation and never know there was a way for her to stay on the ship." Of course he knew he was putting Spock in an uncomfortable position, but if his first officer could make th choice without allowing his heart to get in the way, he knew they were both capable of performing their jobs in space without allowing their child to rule their decisions.

A myriad of different expressions he'd learned to distinguish and read over the course of the past year passed across Spock's face. They were so subtle most people would have ignored them, but they spoke loud and clear about the kind of internal struggle Spock was going through. Fear, uncertainty, temptation, they were all written on his face if only people knew how to read them.

Finally, Spock responded, "Were I to rob her of her free will, the ability to choose her own path, it would be the ultimate betrayal of her trust and the bond we share. If I fail to respect her decision now, she would never forgive me, nor would I deserve her forgiveness."

Jim felt no hesitation when he reached out to clasp Spock's shoulder. "Then I'll begin an appeal proceeding and submit all the necessary documentation to force Starfleet to reconsider. You both might have to have a conference with them, but we'll work it out."

"You surpassed my expectations as a man and a captain a long time ago, Jim. You have my gratitude."

That was the first time Spock had ever expressed gratitude. He supposed it was against a Vulcan's nature, but it was better to change the subject now. "Did you find anything on Jiet Je's computer before the terrorists attacked?"

"I located old communication logs between Jiet Je Jong and Emperor Tam To Tien in which the emperor was informed prototype androids were displaying a certain amount of sentience. The prototypes feared death when the time came to shut down their functions to collect data."

"One of the classic hallmarks of sentient beings. What was the emperor's response?"

"The emperor indicated all government funding for the program would be rescinded and that all prototypes should be immediately destroyed and research notes turned over to government officials."

"Why put in that kind of funding and research only to destroy the prototypes and confiscate the research notes?"

"There is not enough information for me to theorize on the matter."

"What does your gut tell you?"

"Jim, I do not-"

He interrupted, "I don't care if you're only one percent sure of the theory. If you had to give an answer with the information we have to go on, what would it be?"

"He was afraid of sentient androids when they are naturally stronger and more intelligent than the average Istabulian, perhaps even afraid they would be used to seize control of the government."

"Sounds like a pretty logical guess to me. So what we need to figure out is who had the research notes and the ability to build subsequent units that were then unleashed on society in the form of anti-Federation terrorists. What was Jiet Je's response?"

"His response was polite and composed professionally, but displaying anger or frustration to an emperor would have been unwise."

"Then we need to find Jiet Je and bring him in for questioning."

There was a funny little feeling in the pit of his stomach that said they were overlooking something. He just wasn't sure what. These missions that led them around in circles weren't conducive to his natural style of trucking on full steam ahead. He wanted to hit things and arrest people not bury his nose in old evidence logs and research. Fortunately, he had just enough patience and moral composure not to jump the gun and arrest the wrong person.

Someone would be held responsible for the thirty-three crew members who'd been killed on Istabul Major, and he'd rather it be the right person. Killing his crew was an offense that would not be forgotten, forgiven, or allowed to go unanswered. Those who were responsible, rather directly or indirectly, would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of Federation law. Anything else would mean the lives of his crew meant nothing to him.

A\N: I'm going to leave a more candid author's note this time in the hopes of getting feedback on something in the next chapter I've been struggling with since I decided to post on this site. I'm wondering what people's thoughts are on the difference between a T rating intimate moment and an M rating intimate moment. Though I cut into the chapter directly after the action of the intimate scene, there is a discussion of an sexual nature that takes place that involves character building and growth, but I'm unsure as to whether or not an openly sexual conversation is allowed with a T rating. Obviously, there's nothing in the conversation that is too graphic, more along the lines of what you would see in a romance novel, but it makes reference to things of a sexual nature. Any thoughts anyone would like to share on deciding how to keep a T rating would be appreciated.