Nine

" – so you see why we need to help her," concluded Jim. He leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at his First Officer, who had listened to his entire story without a word, fingers joint at the tips as he surveyed his captain with no emotion. It had stopped bothering Jim a long time ago.

"Actually, Jim, I do not see why we have to help Dr. More at all," said Spock evenly. "Your personal relationship with her has nothing to do with our mission, or her current situation. It is unfortunate, of course, I cannot deny that, but I fail to see the logic in the idea that we are the only ones who can aid her. Her father is an admiral."

"Her father is an asshole," said Jim bluntly. "Trust me on this one, Spock, if she doesn't want his help she has a reason for it. And I already said I'd help her."

"Why?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Why do you insist on helping her?" asked Spock. "Her father is an admiral with better connections than either of us could use to keep her safe from harm, and she has a perfectly intact family for moral support. I have seen that it is these two things human specifically want in times of crisis. So why you, Jim?"

Jim hesitated. "I owe her my life, Spock."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You owe many people your life."

"This isn't like that," Jim shook his head. "Tori was all I had growing up. My mom was never around, and my uncle hated my guts. When I stole his car and took it for a joyride, I got arrested and –"

Spock's eyes widened. "You stole a –"

"Yeah, not the contention point of the story, Spock," Jim rolled his eyes at the half-Vulcan's look. "I stole a car, crashed it, got busted. I was eleven, and Rupert didn't care what they did with me. They wanted to send me to Tarsus IV."

Spock raised an eyebrow again. "Are you saying –"

"– that I was almost present on the planet when the trigger-happy governor killed four thousand people?" asked Jim sardonically. "Yeah, Spock, I am. And I didn't end up there because of Tori."

Spock inclined his head in understanding. "She used her father's influence."

Jim snorted. "She used her influence. Came into the station with my uncle in tow, yelled at the sergeant in charge for manhandling a minor, and made Rupert sign a ton of forms and a few cheques that got me off the hook in exchange for community service," Spock looked like he wanted to interrupt, but Jim held up a hand. "She was nineteen, home for the summer from college. Nearly blew her head off when she found out about what happened on that planet and called my mom to tell her to get her shit together or else she'd lose her son," Jim snorted at the memory. "My mom flew back almost immediately, but I ended up staying at Tori's the whole time. She drove me to community service every day for ninety days, picked me up, made me breakfast and dinner, and didn't bat an eye when I ran away from home when I was fifteen. She let me crash in her empty house when I needed to, paid my hospital bills every time I got in a fight, basically kept me alive until Pike found me and got me to enlist. I know you think emotions compromise your decisions, Spock," said Jim earnestly. "But I can't abandon her now. Tori is the closest thing to family that I've got. I'd do the same for my sister, for my mom. You get that, right?"

Of course he did. Spock leaned back in his chair, and judging by the minute emotion that he allowed himself to know, Jim knew he understood. "If you have made your decision I fail to see why you asked my opinion."

"I didn't ask your opinion, exactly," said Jim, grinning. "I wanted to ask for your help."

"My help?"

"You wanted to hire her before, didn't you?"

Spock looked torn. "Considering her situation –"

"She's brilliant despite her situation and you know it, Spock," interrupted Jim. "If we're having her on board anyway, surely it would be better if she was working at whatever she's good at? We could always use more exobiologists, and she's the best one out there. We already have an opening in geosciences."

"Her background –"

"Taken care of. I'll send you the file later. It's toned down so that if someone tries to search for her she won't turn up, but it still leaves her more than qualified."

"She will need a new identity," Spock tried again, but Jim knew he was winning. Not only was he annoying, but he had finally appealed to Spock's logic. And he knew having Victoria More on their ship would only do them good.

"She has one," shot back Jim. "The name is Dr. Natira Woodville. There's no connection to her whatsoever, so she'll be virtually untraceable. I can still call her Tori as a shortened version of Natira, in case I want to, but I'll hold off on being seen with her publicly so that doesn't look too suspicious. She's changed her appearance pretty drastically, so that shouldn't be a problem either."

Spock almost looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. "This is not a spy movie, Jim. A new haircut is not going to deter someone who wants to find her."

"Well," Jim looked smug. "She's been sitting at the table to your left since we walked in here and you haven't noticed her, have you?"

Spock was finally caught off guard. He turned to his left and narrowed his eyes, spotting a vaguely familiar, dark-haired woman seated at a table alone, sipping a drink and reading something on her PADD. Almost as if she sensed his eyes watching her, she looked up and gave both men a half-smile. Jim smirked and beckoned her over, and she crossed the room easily, sinking into a chair between them and smiling a little wider.

"My stylist told me only Vulcans were observant enough to see through her work," said Victoria. She picked up Jim's drink without invitation and took a sip. "I'll have to pay her double for fooling you, Mr. Spock,"

"Dr. More," Spock greeted, still faintly surprised. Jim looked delighted.

"Dr. Woodville," corrected Victoria mildly. "You ought to get used to that one."

Once he had gotten over his surprise, Spock did not look pleased. "You seem to have figured it all out."

"I have a few conditions that Jim doesn't agree with, but I think you will."

"Such as?"

"Minimum contact with your crew to ensure that nobody can be coerced into revealing my location," said Victoria. Her tone could rival Spock's when it came to a lack of emotion. "I also want to request that we avoid mentioning this to Dr. McCoy."

"He is the CMO," countered Spock immediately. "And considering your health requirements, it would be unwise to keep him in the dark."

Victoria shook her head. "He cannot be involved, Commander. I understand that I've done little to earn your trust in the matter, but you need to believe me when I say that the less any of you know, the better."

Spock looked unconvinced. Jim sighed. "We need you on board, Spock. Tori's willing to do pretty much anything in the science department to make herself useful, and she's too smart for us to waste her talents."

There was a long silence as the half-Vulcan considered their words. "Perhaps it would be better to agree to avoid mentioning your presence on the ship to Dr. McCoy until absolutely necessary," said Spock finally. "Was I correct in assuming that you will have certain medical requirements?"

"For the foreseeable future, yes. If he signs off on the medication, I can administer it myself easily."

"That is reasonable. But we cannot guarantee that he will never see you or interact with you for the next two years."

Victoria's lips twitched. "So you're giving me what I want without proming me anything. How very diplomatic of you, Commander."

Jim shrugged. "Just don't get killed and you can avoid Bones as much as you want. We'll give him your fake file and hopefully he'll be too busy saving my ass to wonder who the hell you are."

Victoria sighed. "Until absolutely necessary," she agreed, reluctantly.

Spock inclined his head. "Then welcome aboard, Dr. Woodville."

!

"Damn it, Spock!" McCoy groaned as the Vulcan appeared in his peripheral vision, nearly making him drop the syringe he was holding. "What're you creepin' around for?"

"My apologies, Doctor," said Spock, stepping into the office and standing uncomfortably still near the door. His hands were behind his back. "I did not realize your aviophobia was strong even whilst we are in warp."

"'Course you didn't," muttered McCoy. He dropped the syringe back into the pile he was inspecting and reluctantly turned to face the half-Vulcan. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, yes," never one to waste words, Spock promptly offered him the file he had been holding behind his back. "I have a new patient for you."

"Do you now?" asked McCoy sarcastically, taking the file. He didn't open it. "Why isn't this in my system?"

"I have no doubt that it is, but Dr. Woodville is in my department and I felt it my responsibility that you know the circumstances as soon as possible."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Every person on this ship is my patient, Spock, favouritism isn't really my style when I'm saving a life."

"I am aware of that, Doctor," said Spock. "However, you will find that Dr. Woodville requires a precise set of medications. It would be my request that you would prepare them yourself."

"Myself?" McCoy flipped to the last page of the file, which contained medical history, scanning it quickly. With every word his face seemed to get redder and redder, a sign, Spock was sure, that the doctor was getting angry. "What the –"

"I can feel Bones' anger from all the way over here," said Jim dryly, sauntering in without invite. He spared both his friends a glance, noted McCoy's purple face and Spock's impassive one, and sighed. "You'd think practically being abandoned together on a desolate planet would have made you both friends."

"Dr. McCoy and I are on perfectly good terms, Captain."

"I'll give you good terms, you hobgoblin!"

Jim winced. "If he blows an artery, Spock, I'm putting you in charge of medical."

Spock, however, did not seem bothered. "Doctor, I do not see what the problem is."

"The problem?" spluttered McCoy. "You mean other than the fact that this guy is a walking disaster? Who cleared him for duty, in deep space, anyway? I ought to –" muttering profanities, he flipped a few pages, eyes narrowed in concentration. "There isn't even a damn attending physician's name! Where did you pick this guy up, Jim?"

"What guy?" asked Jim, the same time as Spock spoke, "I requested Dr. Woodville's presence on this ship many years ago, we are lucky to have such experienced personnel on board."

Jim's eyes widened at the name, but he schooled his expression into one of faint interest when McCoy turned to face him, practically breathing fire. "Jim, this guy is trouble," he said bluntly. When Jim continued to look blank, he flicked open the file to a random page and read it out. "Woodville, N. Most recently involved in the collapse of Yorktown Plaza, surviving with broken leg and arm, concussion, cracked skull and three broken ribs. No immediately family, unable to contact next of kin," McCoy looked up and pressed the file into Jim's hands. "Read it," he insisted. "There's more stuff, just like that. He needs regular doctor visits, a hell of a lot of counselling and therapy, and he might even need a few more surgeries! You don't go through this stuff and then jump off into the next assignment that comes your way!"

"Yorktown has cleared Dr. Woodville for duty and the doctors who performed the initial surgeries have assessed that there is no lasting damage," said Spock calmly. "If there is, Dr. McCoy, our medbay is sufficient to deal with it."

"Sufficient?" demanded McCoy. "Hell, I've already done three surgeries since we left the base and that was just this morning! You don't send anyone whose health is at less than one hundred per cent into space, Spock!"

"Bones, we can't send Woodville back now," said Jim carefully, noticing that Spock was no longer speaking. He had no doubt that the Vulcan agreed with McCoy's sentiments. He had certainly made that clear when they had spoken last night. "Let's just make the best of a bad situation, eh?"

McCoy didn't stop scowling. "You can't just dump patients on me that clearly need more care than we can provide and expect me to be happy about it, Jim. I'm a doctor, not a damn nursemaid!"

Jim sighed, but before he could say anything Spock interjected coldly. "Perhaps if you spent less time indulging in the bottle of whiskey under your desk, Doctor, you would find –"

"I wouldn't need whiskey if you weren't so damn emotionless, you f–"

"Alright, shut up!" Jim snapped, causing both officers to quiet abruptly. He shoved the unopened file back at McCoy. "I'll see about updating your records so you don't have to lug around that file, Bones. Until then, just give Woodville whatever is needed, okay?"

"Who the hell is this guy anyway?" demanded McCoy, shifting his annoyance from Spock to Jim. "I haven't treated him before, Jim, I can't hand out drugs like they're candy!"

"If the file says its required, you do it. That's an order," said Jim, his tone brokering no arguments. "Spock, join me on the bridge."

They made their way outside and McCoy muttered to himself grumpily, but stomped off in the direction of a trembling nurse, barking orders before heading back to his office. Jim waited until he was gone before turning to Spock as they made their way to the upper deck. "Thought we agreed to keep her away from everyone, Spock?" he raised his eyebrows.

Spock didn't seem remorseful. "Dr. More requires treatment for the injuries she sustained during the attack on Yorktown. Dr. McCoy is the most qualified on this ship to provide her with the help she needs."

"He's not supposed to know she's on the ship, Spock, she specifically asked us not to tell him."

"He merely has to treat her, Captain, not see her," said Spock, as if it were obvious. Jim waited for an explanation. "The medicines she takes do not require Dr. McCoy to administer them. Nurse Riley has already agreed to deliver them to Dr. More's quarters, and Dr. McCoy will not question it if she does not enter the medbay herself."

"No contact whatsoever," Jim rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you were trying to be a match-maker, Spock."

"No, Captain, I calculate the probability of Dr. McCoy and Dr. More being happy together under the current circumstances to be at less than thirty percent."

Jim snorted. "Have you done the math on what their compatibility would be like without this mess?"

Spock didn't even bat an eyelid. "Possibly ninety percent, Captain."

!

Victoria punched in her access code quickly, the incoming footsteps making her pulse race even though she knew she was perfectly safe on board a ship in warp. Nevertheless, it wasn't until the metal doors slid shut behind her with a satisfying hiss that she finally let out the breath she had been holding the whole way to her room.

It was a standard suite, with a small living area, a bedroom through one set of doors and an ensuite through another. There was a replicator, the cupboards were already stocked with some basic crockery, cutlery and a few other utensils, and there was a brand new PADD on the coffee table in front of the sofa waiting for her. Overall, the room had the bare minimum provided and for that she was glad. She didn't want a room that reminded her too much of her old one on board the USS Omega. She had had time then, a luxury she had taken for granted, and her living quarters had been full of things that reminded her of home, her family, friends, even work. Jim had assured her she could do what she liked with this one, but she would be a fool to make the room homey. She didn't have a home. Her things were piled in a corner straight from the transporter room, and she had no doubt that was where they would stay for the majority of her time on board.

Nevertheless, there was one feature of the room that was familiar, and one she was grateful for. Feeling her quietening pulse beginning to speed up again, she quickly made her way to the small wall computer near the replicator, accessing it with her details and doing a quick scan of the rota that Spock had sent her earlier that day. She wasn't on the Alpha shift, which meant she had over six hours before she absolutely needed to show her face to anyone. It should have been plenty of time to unpack, unwind, and maybe eat something.

But Victoria did not have plans to do any such thing. Wincing at her own actions, she logged out of her account and typed in another access code, her fingers hesitating on the last button. Nevertheless, she pressed enter and waited, chewing on her lip nervously. The computer's voice nearly gave her a heart attack.

"Access code accepted. Welcome, Captain Kirk."

"Sorry, Jim," muttered Victoria. She avoided the icons that led to logs and personnel reports, instead going to the search feature that she knew very few captains had to utilise. She doubted Jim even knew it existed. The screen lit up with a timer, as the system began to collect data on Starfleet officers currently on board all deployed ships. Victoria kept her eyes fixed on it as she dug around in the pocket of her uniform. The crumpled piece of paper she pulled out was worn, but the handwriting on it was still perfectly readable. She smoothed it out, checked it over once more even though she knew its contents by heart, and then took a deep breath. "Computer, search Lieutenant Dr. Dimitri Nikols."

"Lieutenant Dr. Nikols. Assignment: USS Albatross."

Victoria didn't pause. "Computer, search Commander Jennifer Adams."

"Commander Adams. Assignment: USS Albatross."

"Dr. Lionel Hofstadter."

"Lieutenant Dr. Hofstadter. Assignment: USS Omega-G."

Victoria took another deep breath. "Computer, search Lieutenant Dr. Victoria More."

"Lieutenant Dr. More. Assignment not available."

"Last known assignment?"

"Last known assignment for Lieutenant Dr. More: USS Omega."

"Current location?"

"Current location for Lieutenant Dr. More not available."

So far so good. "Computer, search Dr. Natira Woodville."

"Dr. Woodville. Current assignment: USS Enterprise-A."

"Position?"

"Dr. Woodville is an exobiologist in Sciences subdivision Planetary Geosciences."

Victoria nodded to herself. "Computer, identify speaker."

"Speaker is Dr. Natira Woodville of USS Enterprise-A."

"System close," the screen went blank, and she quickly re-entered her own details. "Computer, set alarm for 0900 hours."

"Wake-up for Dr. Woodville set for 0900 hours."

"Lights twenty per cent." She could unpack later. For now, she really needed sleep.