There were twenty-one minutes and thirteen seconds left until the end of Dr. McCoy's shift. Spock hoped that he could kill the time until then. He crouched behind his console and repaired a broken panel, one-handed, as he dictated his report. He stopped when he heard Kirk's voice behind him,

"Spock, is that blood?"

Starfleet engineers usually avoided making substances blood red, but in Spock's case it could have been High-Temperature Impulse Engine Lubricant or Class Four Fire Suppressant. He decided not to lie.

"Yes sir."

Kirk gave him a strange look.

"You ordered me to fix my console and then to start the incident report--" Spock continued.

"I also ordered all the injured people to go to sickbay."

Spock continued to turn the wrench in his good hand,

"I do not think I am that seriously injured."

"You're bleeding all over the bridge! Get to sickbay!" Kirk barked, turning to indicate Spock's console to a member of the repair crew, and then showing another a cracked vent. Spock got up slowly, to avoid jerking his arm.

"Found him mulling around the bridge, bleeding," Spock overheard Kirk say into a Comm. on the opposite wall, "... might be in shock ... let me know if he doesn't get there."

Spock walked to sickbay quickly. There was no point dragging. He couldn't plausibly kill nineteen minutes, fifty-eight seconds.

"I think my arm is broken," he said to the nurse as soon as he walked in.

"Genius!," he heard McCoy yell, "You should be the doctor!"

Spock looked at his arm and saw that a piece of bone was sticking out of a rip in his uniform. He quickly looked away.

"Take your shirt off and sit by the counter, and I'll be there shortly," the doctor continued.

Spock seated himself, and then pondered how would remove his shirt. From his field medic training he recalled that he should cut the shirt instead of pulling it over his head, and that a pain killer should be given first. But of course, he could handle the pain.

"Excuse me," he said to a passing nurse, "Can I have a pair of scissors?"

She gave him his second strange look of the day.

"The doctor told me to remove my shirt," he explained.

She gave him a last concerned glance, and then walked off and returned with scissors. Spock was relieved to see she also had a hypospray.

"Just relax," she said, giving him the hypospray, cutting the seams of the shirt, and then peeling the pieces off of the injury. The arm still throbbed a bit. Spock figured he'd been given a human dose of the medication, but didn't think it was worth bothing the nurse about. It wasn't the worst pain he had ever experienced.

"I'm surprised he told you to take it off, you're not supposed to do that," the nurse commented amicably, trying to explain her earlier manner.

"It is quite busy today," Spock replied, "He is probably distracted."

He didn't have the energy to ponder theories of ill-intent.

After what seemed like hours, but was actually thirty-three minutes and one second, McCoy got through the more urgent patients and came to see him. He started by examining for other injuries.

"You are intoxicated," Spock stated weakly, as the doctor leaned in to examine his pupils. In his current condition, Spock found the smell of his breath very offensive.

"I didn't know I was going to be on duty until the ship flew smack into a spacial anomaly!" McCoy spat angrily, as he looked into Spock's ears and then felt his head for bumps.

A few responses occurred to Spock: that it was 900 hours, that it was Tuesday, that he had checked McCoy's schedule in order to avoid him and he was on duty, but he didn't say any of them. He didn't want to start a conflict.

McCoy continued the exam, moving down the neck and to the shoulders. Spock looked up to find McCoy staring at him. It took him a minute to realize what he was staring at. A set of deep, green nail marks started at the top of his shoulder and ran all the way down his back. McCoy chewed his lip and then traced the marks with his eyes, a look of pure disgust on his face. He gave one last scornful glare before reaching for his stethoscope.

"It's just a broken arm," he said eventually, "I'm going to push the bone back in, and then one of the nurses will do a cast."

Spock nodded. McCoy began to push the bone, and his arm began to look strangely warped.

"Most humans prefer to look away," McCoy added, "The stretching of the flesh can be disturbing."

Spock turned his head away pointedly. The manual had said nothing specific to humans. He felt a sharp pain followed by the sound of cracking.

"There we go," McCoy said, rubbing his hands together and walking off. A nurse came in and dabbed away the blood before binding the arm.

*****

Walking to his quarters, Spock saw people stare at him. They had lent him a jacket at sickbay, but his cast hung out, there was blood smeared on his face and he was limping slightly. He struggled to hold a collection of PADDs, which he was bringing back to finish his report, under his arm.

For a minute, Spock imagined he was Kirk. When people stared, he would smile back at them.

"Someone had to save the ship," he would say with a roguish wink. He would revel in the attention.

Intentionally, he would struggle with the PADDs, and someone would come to help him. Maybe a girl trying to get his attention, or an ensign hoping to learn his secret to success or a long-time crew member captured by his congeniality.

Spock shuffled through the hall, trying to avoid taking up too much space.

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Thanks for all the reviews (even the constructive ones), I really appreaciate people taking the time to say they read the story

Also want to note that both times I've broken bones I've panicked so much I had to be sedated, so there's probably some glaring innacuracies in what happens above :)