The chime of his communicator fulfilled a growing need in Jim: a need to be useful. To do something.
When Bones had dashed off after Spock, he felt it necessary to remain with the ambassador and be a presence in the dining room.
No matter what Spock said, the logic of this fact didn't make it any easier, especially not when his best friends were off doing important things. Knowing Bones, probably saving lives.
"Kirk to Enterprise."
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Spock making a mad dash for the doors, or what was left of them…
"Scott here," came the crackled reply.
"I'm standing in the aftermath of an earthquake, Mr. Scott," Jim explained, surveying the damage with a heavy heart. How much worse had it been for the rest of the city…? "I need you to beam a medical team down to our location."
"Aye, sir. I'll have a team assembled in no time at all."
"I knew I could count on you, Scotty. Kirk out."
As he stuffed the device back into his pocket, Spock came careening back across the room, hands now tightly clutching Bones' medkit.
The moment he opened his mouth to stop his first officer, to get an update on what was going on, a trembling hand grasped his arm.
"Captain Kirk," Aedon began, "I hope none of what has occurred here will interfere with our negotiations…?"
Jim couldn't tell if that was a statement or a question, but he shook his head nonetheless. "I'm afraid that's yet to be determined. Something's been going on here, and if somehow you're not a part of it, then you and I have both been walking around this week as blind men." With a firm yank, Jim dislodged his arm. "Excuse me, Minister."
Jim surveyed the room, touched base with Lieutenant Trist—the only security personnel to survive—and straightened a few chairs.
If only to give himself some sense of usefulness. In the grand scheme of the destruction, the now upright chairs looked very out of place, but Jim couldn't bring himself to care.
Eventually, his medical team beamed down, four nurses and Doctor M'Benga.
"I assume Mr. Scott briefed you," Jim began, to which the team nodded. As they got right to their work, he pulled M'Benga aside. "I'm going to beam Bones up. Do you think you can handle things down here?"
The medic nodded. "Of course, sir. However, Doctor McCoy might not... appreciate being taken off the ground in the middle of a disaster relief mission."
Lowering his voice, Jim took a quick glance around. "Something's been going on here that I've been missing. Trust me when I say, it's better for Bones to be on the ship until I figure it out."
M'Benga's brows dipped. "Is Leonard all right?"
Swallowing was a chore and Jim couldn't recall when his throat had tightened so. "I... I don't know. But I'm... working on it."
In hindsight, he knew he should've sounded more confident to his subordinates, but there was just something about M'Benga's calm, kind face that made you want to tell him everything.
The doctor nodded. "Keep me updated, sir, if you will."
Jim gave him a light clap on the shoulder. "Of course."
Leaving the main dining hall for the first time since early that morning, Jim hastened into the side hall, the one he'd seen Spock run toward what felt like hours ago.
His first officer was kneeling on the floor, tending to the wounded as best he could—no doubt per McCoy's instruction.
His eyes trailed along the sea of bodies, landing at last on a hunched figure in dust-coated blue with a hypospray in hand.
"Captain," Spock acknowledged from the sidelines as Jim worked his way down the corridor.
Jim could only nod, his throat still tight. He ached to bombard his officer with questions. Though now didn't feel like the right time, he had the sickening thought that he was being left in the dark.
And he had a feeling Spock knew that, if the slight regret on his face was any indication.
"Status report, Mr. Spock." Only by the grace of some higher power did Jim manage to keep his voice steady, his gaze darting back and forth between Bones, the bodies, and Spock.
"Only two losses so far," Spock began, straightening to a half-hearted attention. "However, many of the others are in critical condition and require more medical assistance than Doctor McCoy can give under the circumstances."
"In other words..." Bones' sudden inclusion in the conversation startled Jim more than he cared to admit, and he couldn't recall seeing the doctor stand to join them. "Until I get better equipment and a med team, we're living in the Dark Ages here."
A ghost of a smile haunted Jim's lips, one he couldn't quite seem to bring to life. "Your wish is my command." At Bones' raised brows, Jim gestured toward the dining hall. "Doctor M'Benga just beamed down with a team. He can handle things until the Cursioans can get their team here. I'm going to work out things with the minister and see if we can beam the most critical patients directly to our medbay."
Bones was already reaching for his bag. "Great. Here's hoping they had their heads about them and brought sufficient supplies," he grumbled. "Spock, can you stay here and keep an eye on these guys while I compare notes with M'Benga?"
Jim noticed that Spock made no move to affirm the request.
Bones didn't, pressing forward as he shouldered his medkit.
The last thing Jim expected when he placed a hand on McCoy's shoulder was for his friend to jerk away almost immediately. He'd only meant to stop the man, not give him a heart attack.
Calm. Calm.
Stay calm. It'll be fine.
Keep your head and don't—
"I think you should beam back to the ship," Jim blurted before Bones could start going off on him.
As expected, the idea didn't seem to sit well with his friend.
"Are you out of your mind? This is a medical emergency, Jim! If you think for one minute I'm gonna beam to safety in the middle of a crisis like this then that quake shook your brains up more than you thought!"
"Bones," Jim began, sucking in a breath, "listen to me. I don't know what just happened at breakfast back there—and honestly, I think that's part of the problem—but I do know that I feel like the ship is the best place for you right now. Besides," he added as Bones opened his mouth for another round of protesting, "someone needs to beam up with the critical patients, right? Keeping you and M'Benga down here would leave Nurse Chapel up there all by herself."
"I'm sure she could handle it." And Jim didn't miss the way Bones' gaze flicked toward one of the nearby patients, the look in his eyes undecipherable.
"Either way, I still think the Enterprise is the best place for you right now."
"The best place for a doctor is with his patients. And since when did you get so concerned about the best place for me? Was it before or after I told you I didn't even want to be here in the first place? Or was it when—?"
"That's an order, Bones." He hadn't wanted to pull that card, but this conversation wasn't getting them anywhere. It was only increasing his confusion—and that nagging feeling of guilt. "I want you back on the ship for this one, just until we get everything sorted out."
"You mean until you try and figure this all out on your own. Right." His friend snorted at this, shaking his head. "Should've seen this one coming, if this last week was anything to go by."
Jim couldn't stop his brows from dipping. "Seen what coming?"
"That you'd only let me go back to the ship the moment I didn't want to." Before Jim could even begin to process this reply, Bones whipped out his communicator. "McCoy to Enterprise. One to beam up." His hard eyes never left Jim's. "Spock knows which ones are the most critical. We'll be ready for whenever you beam them up, Captain."
As Bones disappeared in a tall cloud of gold dust, Jim tried to ignore the flipping of his stomach—and the twisting of his heart.
The weary hand couldn't be stopped once it had started its journey across Jim's forehead, trailing down to the bridge of his nose.
Why did these things always have to be so hard?
What things?
"I have a feeling, Spock," he sighed, glancing up at the silent member of their trio, "that you know what's going on here."
It took Spock a moment to gather his thoughts, a tiny battle waging deep in his dark eyes. "Captain, with your permission, I can begin transporting the more critically injured Cursioans to our medical bay."
"No, not the patients, I meant about Bones."
Silence followed, one Jim wasn't honestly prepared for, being so used to enjoying a seat at Spock's table of confidence.
"Let me guess," Jim went on, trying to force a wry grin, "it's not your story to tell?"
Spock offered the tightest of nods. "That is correct. Concerning Doctor McCoy, while I believe you made the right decision, I do not doubt the doctor will have many choice words for you when we get back to the ship. Concerning the injured, I believe..." Here, a flicker of... something... flashed across Spock's face. Uncertainty? Wariness? Was that... anger...? "I believe that it would be best to transport the Cursioans to their own medical facility as soon as they have been stabilized by Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel."
Mouth dry once more, Jim nodded. "You seem to know the situation better than I do, Mr. Spock. Whatever you think is best."
Another nod, looser this time; a touch more relaxed. "Thank you, Jim. I think..." Jim had to fix his attention back on Spock, not having expected him to have anything more to say. "...That it would have been best to leave McCoy out of this mission entirely. However, it was... good for him to be here in the aftermath of the earthquake." And why did it sound like Spock wasn't just trying to convince Jim of this, but himself as well? "Many more Cursioans would have died if it were not for the doctor's skill and quick thinking."
Jim's smile felt more like a grimace. "Well, I knew I brought him along for a reason."
"Yes," Spock agreed, though his gaze had become slightly distant now. "I suppose there is always a reason, isn't there?"
"I always like to think there is."
Spock merely pursed his lips this time and Jim could sense the conversation coming to an end at last.
Right when he wanted it to keep going.
When it became clear Spock wasn't going to offer any more bits of information—any more pieces to this maddening puzzle—Jim cleared his throat.
"Well, carry on, Spock."
Spock only nodded, quickly returning to his work.
Several things didn't add up, and yet some things were all-too clear.
Like the way Spock's gaze lingered a bit too long on Theon—the critical patient Bones couldn't seem to keep his gaze off of before he beamed out. The one who had started all this.
Somehow.
Thinking about it all only made Jim's head hurt worse than what had been damaged by the quake. Either he'd hit his head harder than he thought—had he even hit it at all…?—or this was all just one big enigma designed to break his brain. He was leaning toward the last one because it was the only option he could truly fix. A concussion would require waiting until his brain decided to go back to normal; a medical issue he couldn't do anything about.
An enigma was different. A puzzle was something he could work at, something he could crack eventually.
If Bones would let him.
Doctor McCoy came bursting into medbay as a man on a mission. Christine would have felt more relieved had she not been so surprised—and if not for the dark circles that seemed to have made a new home for themselves underneath the surgeon's eyes.
"Christine," he began, stepping into full-on command mode, "prepare the OR and get ready for an onslaught of patients."
"Of course, Doctor," she replied, listening as he delegated more tasks to her fellow nurses.
Tools needed to be sterilized.
Beds needed to be cleared.
"And for the love of God, Caroline, turn that electro-swing music off. This is an emergency room, not a dance floor."
She heard several affirmatives before disappearing into the operating room, the lingering surprise at his appearance resonating in the nurses' tones.
Even as she began scrubbing for surgery, Christine couldn't help but wonder why the most experienced doctor on the Enterprise wasn't on the ground for this mission.
Scotty had spoken briefly of an unexpected earthquake. A natural disaster like that was usually when Leonard would beam down, not up.
Someone has to be here to do surgery, she reasoned. That's when M'Benga came to mind. Usually, their roles were swapped.
As Leonard hustled in to deposit several tools, she stole a moment to take a good look at him. The bags weren't the only new part of his normally jovial features; Christine also noticed deep lines of stress that hadn't been there days ago, along with a swirl of emotion clouding his eyes.
Over the years, Christine had prided herself on being able to read McCoy's moods. She could tell what each day might bring, good or bad, and whether or not she should pull out some relaxing banter during surgery. This little gift is part of what made them such an efficient team. By playing detective, she could better help McCoy, and he could, in turn, better help their patients.
Something about the ominous cloud—no, hurricane—surrounding her friend as he whisked back out of the room told her that today would be one of those days.
The ones that felt like walking on thin ice. Like a glass ball that could shatter at any moment if dropped.
And as Head Nurse, it was her job to make sure Leonard kept that ball secured firmly in his hands.
Because if it shattered, something told her the entire mission would shatter, too.
A commotion in the main room dragged her from her musings and Christine emerged just in time to watch a handful of blood-soaked bodies materialize on the floor.
Leonard didn't waste a single second, moving toward the first one with two nurses and a gurney at his side.
"This one nicked an artery," he explained in a tone that was just a little too clipped. "He's first."
Christine jumped into action, helping the alien onto the gurney, biting her tongue to keep from commenting when Leonard's handling of the patient got a touch too rough.
This was an emergency. There wasn't time to think about being gentle.
Still.
She'd seen him work under more pressure than this and handle his patients with the utmost care—almost as if caring for a butterfly with a broken wing.
Brush it off. Now's not the time.
Later, when she had a moment to think about more than blood and arteries, she would go over the events of the day, analyzing every move she could remember the doctor making.
Because something about him just wasn't sitting right. True, he hadn't been himself before beaming down for the mission a week ago, but now he seemed worse, somehow.
Later.
It would have to be later.
Later, she would review her catalog of abnormalities, starting with the way Leonard bit out a curse halfway through their first surgery.
"Stay with me, damn it! You don't get to get off that easy! You have too much to answer for."
She would never forget the way his hand gave a slight shiver as she handed him the next tool.
Nor the way she had trembled afterward.
Because the steadiest hands on the ship had wavered.
And the glass ball had come that much closer to shattering.