It was a waiting game, a game in which not much could be done. Christine hated to feel helpless. She yearned after the familiar labs of the Enterprise and the presence of Dr McCoy. The one mercy was that the virus did not appear to be highly contagious. Even those who had been in close proximity to Spock showed no signs of infection under detailed scans. She had been particularly worried for his frail grandparents, who had sat near him at the dinner table last night, but so far not one viral cell could be discovered in their systems.

Christine piped very soft music through the comm system and let it soothe her. She slept for a while, while Sacha slept on the floor. No one seemed to object to her presence, thank god. She hated to think of sending the poor dog to some kind of kennels while Spock was confined in hospital.

Around midday she walked over to the window and looked out over the city. It was a largely low-rise place, and the low flat roofs were drifted with snow. The streets made harsh black lines between blocks. Cleared earlier by hovering maintenance skimmers, they were slowly becoming dusted again with snow. The whole world seemed to be made of snow and straight lines. The snow felt like the only organic thing in existence, and she longed to open the window and breathe in the frigid air, but the room was being kept artificially warm in deference to Spock's biology.

She turned back to look at his bed. A doctor had been in not five minutes ago to check on him personally, although his readings were continuously fed to the nurse's station and could be checked remotely at any time. She was glad this was the kind of place where the staff interacted physically with the patients. Too many overstretched hospitals found themselves becoming more and more disconnected with the actual living flesh they had been built to serve.

She sat down on the moderately comfortable chair by Spock's bed and closed his hand between hers. How many times had she done this? How many times had she sat beside him like a lover when in reality they had not been more than colleagues? At least now she could take his hand without feelings of guilt. It had never quite been ethical for her to treat him as she had, but she had carried on hoping. And now here she was, with the perfect right to press his hand between hers.

She tried to sense something of his mind through the touch. She could feel him there, deep down, as she felt him sometimes in the night when their bodies touched. He was not dreaming, but just sleeping very deeply. There were no thoughts moving in his head. It was not an absence, as such, but just very deep quiet.

'Get better,' she murmured. 'Just get better...'

Spock stirred and murmured something, but she could discern no meaningful words, and he slipped back into sleep.

She took another look at his readings, then straightened up, stood up purposefully, and left the room, leaving Sacha sleeping under the bed. She went to the hospital labs, where staff were trying to discover and manufacture a treatment for the virus. There had been scant hints in what of Dr Alunan's work had been sent to them.

She opened the door and looked round the edge.

'Can I help?' she asked quietly.

A technician turned around and greeted her with a tired smile. Christine had been down to the lab a few times before, but only ever briefly to hear a progress report.

'Oh, Lieutenant Chapel. Really, no – '

'I may be a nurse, but I'm also an accredited bio-medical researcher,' she told the woman seriously. 'I spend a lot of my time on duty working on problems like this and I know Spock's biology better than anyone here.'

'Well, come on in,' the woman said, moving aside a little. She was standing at a high powered microscope. 'I'm Laura, by the way.'

'Christine,' Christine smiled, reaching out to shake the woman's hand. 'Now, let me see. Is that the virus you've got on magnification?'

'The virus and a possible anti-viral agent,' the woman told her. She gestured towards the eyepiece. 'Go ahead. Take a look.'

Christine bent over the microscope, looking at the image in the viewer. The tiny virus cells and the anti-viral agent were artificially coloured by the computer interface and looked like a minute and colourful animation moving about before her eyes.

'It's having some effect,' she murmured. 'But not enough. Have you thought of working some anti-thyalase into it to help break down the outer structure?'

'No,' the woman said with a degree of curiosity in her voice. 'No, that's not something I've come across.'

'Used it a few months ago against a particularly virulent virus on Absolom Seven,' Christine said. 'I didn't know if it had filtered through into mainstream medicine.'

'No, it hasn't,' the woman said. 'Can you show me how to replicate it?'

'I practically know the structure backwards,' Christine said with a grin. Although she didn't like to leave Spock unobserved, it felt so good to be in a lab actually doing something about the problem. 'Where are your medical replicators?'

'Right over here,' the woman said, gesturing towards a pair of glass doors into another part of the lab.

Christine smiled and moved towards the door. The intercom beeped as she did and she paused to listen as the technician called Laura answered it.

'How far have you come with the treatment?' a male voice asked.

'We're getting there,' Laura replied.

'Good, because we've got another patient in.'

Christine turned abruptly, listening intently now.

'Who is it?' she asked in a low voice, and Laura repeated the question, 'Who is it, Jack?'

'An elderly lady. I think the name was Grayson.'

Christine's heart seemed to contract. She waited until Laura had finished on the comm then said, 'That's Spock's grandmother. She's very elderly. We've got to get this thing beat.'

'We will,' Laura said with determination in her voice.

Christine smiled quickly. 'Come on. I'll show you how to replicate the anti-thyalase. Maybe it'll help us find a cure before she gets too bad.'

'We'd better hope we do,' the woman said seriously.

Christine wiped her hand over her forehead. She felt so exhausted that she was sick to the stomach.

'We will,' she said determinedly. 'We have to.'

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Spock felt as if he were surfacing from somewhere deep, deep down. He was hot. His throat was dry and sore. There was something constricting his left arm. He was confused and very thirsty and when he tried to move he couldn't because of that thing holding his arm. He turned his head and tried to sense Christine, but she wasn't there. He coughed, and his saliva tasted odd.

There was a whimper beside him and suddenly a wet nose pushed into his hand, which lay still on the covers. He tried to flex his fingers and found that they worked, although his joints ached. He murmured slightly, and Sacha licked his hand. He was in hospital. He remembered being taken from the house on a gurney, Christine talking to him. The scents were of antiseptic and a lack of nature, and he was mildly surprised that Sacha was here.

Maybe there was a button somewhere to press for assistance. Of course it would be red and very obvious to the sighted, but not to him.

He turned his head and opened and closed his mouth, trying to rid himself of the dry sawdust feeling about his tongue. He blinked at the light in the room that was filtering through into his eyes, and then blinked again.

There was more light there. There was far more light that he was used to. He had grown used to a shifting and blurred awareness of bright light, but not this. There was a clarity. He could see sharp edges, like – He blinked again. It was an edge. It was a line above him, something high up, a whitish colour, as if there were a bar across the ceiling that ended in a bright light, like a lamp on a movable arm.

He tried to sit up, and abruptly remembered again that his arm was held by something. He fumbled at the long, solid device. It felt like a standard medical drip and monitoring system and he found the catch and felt what must have been a needle retract from his arm as the mechanism released. As soon as it did so a soft alarm started to sound and Spock felt a measure of satisfaction. It was perhaps not the conventional way to attract the attention of staff, but it would work.

As he sat he heard the scuttering of Sacha's claws on a hard floor, and the dog pressed her nose into his hand again, whining. He turned his head towards her, blinking, and was aware of brown and black in vague shapes, moving as she moved.

'Fascinating,' he murmured.

He felt across his chest, discovering that he was wearing some kind of lightweight hospital garment that appeared to be a pale green colour. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and as he did so someone came bustling into the room, a confused moving blur of dark blue and white, and a male voice said, 'Oh no, Commander Spock. Lie down. You're not getting up yet.'

'I feel quite well,' Spock countered. That was not entirely a lie. He certainly did not feel as ill as he had. 'Please give me my clothes.'

'I'm Dr Badami,' the man said, coming over to the bed, ignoring Spock's request entirely. 'Lie back down in bed, please, and let me take your readings.'

Spock sighed out air between his lips, and swung his legs back into the bed. He had learnt from his experience with Dr McCoy that sometimes it was quicker to acquiesce at first.

'Doctor, I need to see an ophthalmologist,' he said as the sounds of a scanner beeped softly nearby. 'My sight has improved quite considerably.'

'Well now, that's fascinating,' the doctor said, the tone of his voice changing and the beeping coming closer to Spock's eyes. He had to hold himself from flinching as he saw actual movement before his eyes. He could not tell visually how far away it was and the visual input was distracting his other senses. 'I have your medical records here, Commander Spock. There is a significant improvement in your field of vision and in the opacity of the cells which cause your blindness.'

'Doctor, are you aware of the origin of the virus with which I was admitted?' Spock asked.

'Oh yes,' the doctor said, still studying Spock's eyes. 'Yes, I know it was meant to help with your sight. Meant to, but was put into use far too soon.'

'I should contact Dr Alunan,' Spock said.

The doctor cleared his throat. 'Dr Alunan died of the virus that he infected you with a few days ago,' he said soberly. 'Like I said, it was put into use far too soon. Your Vulcan physiology has resisted the worst effects very well, but the same can't be said for Alunan – or for human victims.'

Spock took in the words about Alunan's death, but his attention sharpened at the mention of other people who had succumbed to the virus.

'Human victims?' he asked. 'I believed that there were no human victims?'

'There was a certain delay in the virus showing up,' Dr Badami told him, 'but it did show up, I'm afraid.'

Spock sat up in bed again, determined this time to make it to his feet.

'How many people are infected?' he asked.

'Just a handful so far,' the doctor said, sounding preoccupied as he finished his scan. 'You're not fit to be up yet, Commander Spock. You need more time to rehydrate for one thing.'

'I am quite fit,' Spock said flatly. 'Please give me my clothes. And if you know there whereabouts of the lady who brought me in – ?'

'That's Lieutenant Chapel, isn't it?' the doctor asked. 'I'm afraid she's quite unwell by now.'

Spock stiffened, forgetting that he was sitting in a scant medical gown and had been asking for his clothes. 'She had the virus?' he asked.

'I'm afraid so,' the doctor nodded. 'She's in a room just down the hall. We're keeping visitors to the minimum to prevent the sickness spreading.'

Spock carefully controlled the anxiety that was starting in his chest and said, 'Miss Chapel is my bondmate, Doctor. Will you tell me the precise details of her condition?'

'I didn't know that, Mr Spock. I'm sorry,' the doctor said sincerely. 'Right now she's very ill. We have four patients, all human, all showing the same symptoms. They're all having trouble with cell cohesion, among other things. There has been some internal bleeding and some breakdown of various membranes in the body. But Lieutenant Chapel was working with some of our research team before she succumbed to the virus. We believe they're well on their way to a cure.'

'I can help,' Spock said firmly.

'No, you can't,' the doctor replied in just as firm a voice. 'You are sick, Mr Spock, and you also need to see a doctor who can tell you more about your sight, since the cells which caused your blindness seem to have reacted to this virus. It is beyond my remit to release you at this time.'