Chapter 32- No Rest for the Wicked

I held my breath all the way down to 5. I hoped that McCoy gave me my full 10 minutes and wasn't hiding somewhere ready to spring on Jim the moment he laid eyes on him before he had the chance to get away. It seemed the entire quadrant of the universe needed manipulating control today and I was starting to get tired of trying to keep everyone marching in step. It felt a little like trying to herd cats.

When we got to sickbay, Sulu was lying on a biobed being treated by one of the nurses while McCoy sat on the bed next to him and supervised with a sullen look on his face. His feet dangled and swung aimlessly over the side of the bed while he watched and shooed away anyone who came near him with a scowl. He may have needed to be looked at, but damn it as long as he was conscious he was the CMO and he dictated when and where that would ultimately take place. Jim was right- he was a bit of a control freak.

I had never really seen much interaction between Sulu and McCoy, mostly because Sulu had the good sense to keep to himself and stay out of harm's way for the most part. Except, of course, when Jim was involved and there was no escaping that. Still, it seemed like McCoy felt sorry for him. Although he would never say it, he probably felt at least a little respect for the pilot because it always seemed that he either tried to keep Jim safe on away missions, or very often was the one to retrieve the Captain after the inevitable mishap and bring him to McCoy and for that he was thankful. Sulu was his eyes and ears on Jim when he couldn't be there.

McCoy's face brightened only slightly when he saw Jim, he regarded his friend with a small nod and resumed his management duties. "See?" I whispered to Jim. "He can relax now. He didn't spring on you like a leopard." Jim seemed incredibly surprised that he wasn't wrestled on to a bed and immediately poked and prodded. "Now like any desired behavior, you have to reinforce it." I instructed with a smile. "To consistently get that response from him you need to show up early and on your own when you have to."

Jim grinned at me and he hopped up on a table and removed his shirt as the attending nurse asked him to. "So is that how you do it? You go around training people like seals or something? Can I have my fish now?"

I laughed and allowed myself to be directed toward the bed across from Jim to get checked out. I knew there was really nothing wrong, but it would set a bad example if I were to refuse treatment while Jim and McCoy were both down there trying to comply even though it ran counter to their very instincts. I sat patiently while the nurse scanned me and took his vitals for the record. As I suspected, nothing but a small cut, a bump, and a light headache. Nothing a little sleep and time wouldn't fix. Now if I could just sleep…

I tried to stay out of the way while making the rounds between Sulu, McCoy, and Jim. Sulu smiled up at me while the nurse cleaned the cuts on his head. "You know, Dr. Collins, I was hoping you would get a chance to sword fight with the guards. I know you could have beat them. They were stronger, but you are faster."

I patted his leg and replied, "I have had a very good teacher. Speaking of, we should practice again soon before I get too rusty." He smiled again and I knew that eventually I would have to talk to him about this experience, but I thought it could wait. He seemed the most psychologically stable of them all and probably the least likely to suffer ill effects from his rough handling. Some people are just naturally more resilient than others.

McCoy finally acquiesced to being treated and I gave him an encouraging squeeze on the arm when I read his expression to say something like, 'This really sucks.' I knew firsthand what it felt like to be on the other side of the desk so to speak. Doctors probably make the worst patients because we simply can't handle the loss of control. I guess in our own way we are all control freaks. I knew that talking to him about this would be a bit harder. He eventually would, in his own time, show up at my door late at night when he was ready to rehash it; most likely with a bottle of whiskey or bourbon to keep his nerves from getting jittery. I had to work on getting him to feel more comfortable without the liquor, but that was in the long term treatment plan. One step at a time.

My heart faltered a bit when I stepped back to take a look at him. His wrists were raw and bloody from the shackles and his ribs were bruised for his uninvited objections about being branded. All of that was common to the others as well, but without his hair he looked strange. His eyes stood out much more and the intensity of them was almost unbearable. His eyes, so unusual in color, now looked haunted and it broke my heart. I knew that he would be ok and that the damage could be repaired, including the Queen's mark, until only the faintest of scars remained. But it was the raw mental scar that I saw in his eyes that bothered me. I couldn't imagine what that must have felt like to be held down and burned in that way. He may have been a trained officer, but he wasn't a soldier like Sulu and Jim. I gave him another light squeeze and silently told him that I would be around if he wanted me. He narrowed his eyes a bit and telepathically replied, 'I will talk to you alright!' All of a sudden I felt like Jo being scolded by her disappointed daddy. How terrifying that must have been for her.

Jim was casually chatting and flirting with his nurse while she worked him over and I smiled. The thing with nurses is that they are in reality the most powerful and devious people in the medical field. They largely control when you get what you need from admission to discharge- you are completely at their mercy. They have generally seen and heard it all so they tend to be jaded, but they will giggle and demur as long as it helps move the process along. Jim probably didn't know he was dealing with a wolf in sheep's clothing, but it didn't deter him one bit. I began to wonder if flirting was almost a reflexive response for him, like a coping mechanism when he was faced with unpleasant circumstances such as being in sickbay. I smiled and wondered how his response may have differed if he got the male nurse. Maybe it wouldn't and he would try to charm him with equal vigor. It seemed that James Kirk hadn't a clue what a boundary was, but that made him all the more intriguing.

Sulu was released on a 3 day medical leave with some bruising around his wrists and face. His mark had been cleaned and reduced to a puffy pink patch although he would have to return for more treatments to further reduce the scarring. He had been given orders to rest his pulled muscles since McCoy was a firm believer in the body's own ability to heal itself and was not generally a fan of intervention unless it was absolutely called for. That meant no fencing and he seemed a little dismayed.

Jim checked himself out and pretty much told McCoy he was going to ignore the 3 day medical after 12 hours or so when he went crazy with boredom. Besides, he smirked, the ship needed him badly and it wasn't in any way fair to leave Spock in charge for that long. McCoy's blood pressure immediately shot up on the monitors for all to see. "Jim," he growled from his bed, "if I find you up on that bridge sooner than the 3 days, I will shove a tranquilizer hypo up your ass and the time will go by much faster than you could imagine."

Jim sauntered over to smile down at his friend. "I know you will, Bonsey. But you have to catch me first and let's face it, you are getting slow, old man." The nurses ushered him away before McCoy had a stroke.

Chekov and I only got 1 day advisements, which essentially meant we could return to duty if we so chose and we both did. I hung around in the sickbay until McCoy was released on a ridiculous 10 day medical which everyone knew he would blow off. I found it ironic that he would expect Jim to faithfully execute his down to the minute while he, as the CMO of course, was free to ignore his as he saw fit. A little hypocritical, but the disparity between expectation and reality never seemed to bother him in the least.

Because of the whole incident, the shifts were all off. Chekov and Uhura were relieved at around 3:00am, about the same time I was headed to 10 forward to get something to eat. I sat with them in the otherwise empty room, relieved to be back in the intimate company of friends. It had been one very long day and it hardly seemed possible that I had not slept in 3 days. I almost swooned when I rewound the videotape of memory in my mind: from being in the temple, arguing with Spock on the bridge, eagerly getting my chair to sit next to Uhura, checking on a sick McCoy during the workday, staying up all night watching him, the awkward accidental drunken kiss, his visit to tell me he had lost his daughter, discussing the scrolls with Chekov and Uhura over lunch, being cleared of Meyer's death, slowly getting my hearing back. It all seemed like ancient history and suddenly I was aware of just how weary I was. One event ran into the next like one continuous blur.

"So, an exciting day for all." Uhura smiled. Her voice was so soothing I wanted to let my head fall into my plate and go to sleep.

"You know I almost shot you, Chekov." I confessed sheepishly. "I had McCoy's phaser and I didn't know it was you at first. It was dark."

He didn't seem at all disturbed by my admission. "It vouldn't be the first time." He casually shrugged. "It vould have hurt, but I vould have forgiven you."

"That makes it worse. If it wasn't for the light from the explosion, I wouldn't have recognized you." I turned to Uhura and asked, "What was with that, anyway? I get what Jim was doing, but did he have to throw down so many?"

"He was more than just a little pissed." She almost choked laughing. "He took personal offense to being officially marked as her bitch, so he told Sulu to rain down photon torpedoes like Zeus hurling thunder bolts at the insolent mortals until she begged him for mercy."

I relayed the story Antonia had told me about the legend. Uhura's eyes lit up when she considered the possibility that we had actually found the ruins of Queen Octavia's colony. Maybe we had interpreted the scrolls wrong: perhaps part of the text was a historical account of the cultural practices of the Aurelians and the drawing depicted the armies of the Amazons defending their home against attack. Perhaps we might never know who the mysterious man that had betrayed her was, but it made for good research material to send back to Starfleet.

I couldn't sleep. Again. I was exhausted and tried to rest, but the nightmares had intensified. It was an incoherent, jumbled mess like photographs spilled on the floor. Fleeting images of chains, burning flesh, blood, my rusted Romulan cell, sounds of screaming, the vacant look in Jim's eyes, the distinct feeling of fear and misery all comingled into a hellish mix and I woke up clutching the sheets in desperation. There was no way I was going back to sleep and I started to wonder if it was possible for a person to die of insomnia.

I got dressed and against my better judgment, went to McCoy's quarters. It was still early in the morning and the ship had not yet stirred for the morning shift. The halls were quiet save for the light hum of the lighting and a soft whirring of the air system. I paused outside his door, not wanting to bother him if he was sleeping, and jumped when it slid open to reveal him and those fiery eyes that were now impossible to ignore. If his gaze couldn't cut through metal before, it would now. "How did you know I was here?" I asked amazed. He smirked and pointed down at my foot that had crossed the threshold just enough to trip the chime sensor. I felt like an idiot.

He waved me in and returned to his bed where he gingerly laid down on his stomach where he had been watching a program on his wall monitor. An open bottle of scotch sat dutifully on the floor by the bed, but not much of it was gone. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked in a bored tone. I shook my head and he added, "Yeah, me either."

"How are you feeling?" I asked taking a seat in his desk chair.

He paused for a minute and ran his finger around the rim of the scotch bottle. "A little sore, but if you came down here to pick my brain, I'm not really in the mood right now."

"I didn't come for that." I sighed. "I just couldn't sleep and thought you might be up. Misery loves company, right?"

His muddled eyes looked back at me over his shoulder and he quietly asked, "Having bad dreams? Is that why you can't sleep?"

It was my turn to be obstinate. "Maybe, but I don't want to talk about it right now."

He nodded in solemn understanding and turned his attention back to his monitor where he put on old episodes of M*A*S*H. Not another word was said between us. We sat together in a comfortable silence and watched the antics of the 4077 until the early afternoon when he drifted off to sleep and I left him to dream. Hopefully his dreams were better than mine.