Title: Understated
Characters: McCoy, Spock, Kirk
Rating: K+
Word Count: 1166
Summary/Warning: Takes place immediately after Journey to Babel. Spoilers for that episode. Warning for McCoy snark.
Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 3845.8
Just like I suspected, our dear Captain's bull-headedness put too much stress on his injury, and before ship's night he was in a slowly-climbing fever from infection, which I'd been monitoring from the other room while I tried to finish the incident reports for this mess. At least what happened'll make a story worth telling on my next shore leave – and by golly I'd better get one, after what I've put up with.
From what I can gather, Jim's fever was escalating; not enough for me to give him another dose of medication, but enough that he was moaning in his fever-dreams. Naturally, our resident walking computer thought it logical to leave his own bed (despite having lost enough blood to satisfy all kinds of ship-destroying vampires) and try to do whatever-it-was he was planning to do to help the Captain return to restful sleep.
I could've told the idiot he'd lost too much of that green ice-water he calls blood to even think, much less walk across the room, but it wouldn't have done much good and we both know it. Anyway, not even a Vulcan can go traipsing about in that condition, and so he passed out before he made it to Jim. Took seven steps, and then cracked his head open on the edge of the bed.
Mother dear woke up then, and shrieked loud enough to be heard in the Transporter Room. Sarek was not happy to be jolted to alert status by an emotional female, and by the time I'd picked up the equipment I knocked over and made it into the room, he was giving all of us that I-am-Vulcan-so-leave-me-the-dickens-alone look, although personally I think the old boy was a little worried about Spock.
Mr. Spock had done his efficient best to give himself a slight concussion and was losing blood that he didn't have to spare, and so it was a good two hours before I had time to step back and breathe, and realized poor Jim was now near-delirious with fever. The rest of the night is sort of a medical blur, until this morning I woke up from where I'd dozed off beside Jim, and found his bed empty.
I was about to raise Cain (and a security team) when I saw he was just sitting on the edge of Spock's bed, waiting for him to come to. Lady Amanda was awake, but silent, and Sarek either asleep or doing a darn good job of faking complete indifference.
"Bones," Jim nodded with a weak smile as I stretched and moved to get coffee from the selector. "What happened in here last night, exactly?"
"Your Science Officer decided to take a stroll over to your side of the park, and fainted," I muttered, drinking slowly. "He should've known better, but you were off your head and I guess it was the logical thing to do, in his mind, to try and comfort you." Logical, my sainted aunt…
The Captain choked back a laugh, out of respect for the old granite-face at the other end of the room, but that didn't stop him from holding up one hand (the one not clutching Spock's) in that infernal Vulcan salute-thing, grinning, and saying "How many fingers am I holding up?" when Spock's eyes finally blinked a few times.
I accidentally inhaled my coffee, and so barely heard the tolerant sigh followed by "Really, Captain. I find that to be in extremely poor taste."
"Yeah, he's back to normal, Jim," I chuckled.
"Doctor, may I point out that coffee is synthesized to be drunk, not worn?"
"Very funny," I growled, setting down the empty cup and checking the readings just to be sure the Vulcan wasn't going to die on us. "One more crack like that and I'll fill you with enough painkillers your innards won't settle until after the conference."
"I believe that would constitute malpractice, Doctor." I was receiving the full benefit of the Patented Half-Vulcan Death-glare, but by now I can ignore it with the best of them. "It would give me pleasure to be able to at last legally prove the many potential claims against you, however…an acceptable trade for the temporary discomfort from the potions which you are so fond of injecting into my systems."
Lady Amanda's eyes were about to pop out of her aristocratic head, but she relaxed a little when Jim decided to take himself out of the crossfire and smile at her reassuringly. "They really love each other, deep down," I heard him say behind us.
"Captain, I assure you I harbour no such goodwill toward this dubiously qualified member of the medical profession, and furthermore –"
"Dubiously qualified! Who was it saved your sorry –"
"Way, way deep down," Jim amended dryly.
"What planet is he living on?" I leaned over and asked, checking the Vulcan's head.
One eyebrow disappeared beneath the bandage. "Doctor, I am aware your powers of perception are somewhat inferior, but surely you are cognizant of the fact that we are not currently residing on a planet's surface?"
I prodded the lump on his thick head in retaliation, and grinned to see him wince and swat my hand away. "Will you cease that hovering, Doctor McCoy?"
Scowling, even though I only wanted to keel over at the quick recovery our friend appeared to be making, I responded as expected. "I'm a doctor, not a dragonfly, Mr. Spock. And anyway if I want to hover, I'll hover – it's my right as your physician."
I received an expressive grunt, the most emotion I was likely to get from him, and looked up to see Jim shaking his head, a smirk hidden behind the hand over his mouth. "Are you two quite finished?" he asked carefully.
"For now," I snapped, pointing to the other bed. "Get back in that bed, or I'll have you sedated. You've barely broken that fever, and you're not gonna to strain that wound any more, not on my watch."
He sighed, but surprisingly gave in without the fuss I was expecting. I glanced back at Spock, who nodded slightly, frowning as the Captain bent over him one more time.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
"Perfectly, Captain," came the calm response, though only I could see the reassuring half-smile that was all any of us would get from Spock (unless one of us came back from the dead again). "I shall be functional and departing this place of torment before the day is over."
"Over my dead body," I muttered.
"That could be arranged, Doctor."
Jim ducked my glare and asked for an aspirin and earplugs. I gave Spock The Look, and he sent Jim a telepathic sleep suggestion, which knocked him out before he'd even made it back to bed, yawning his head off.
And I'm beginning to wonder if that pointy-eared know-it-all didn't do the same thing to me, because even the coffee isn't keeping me awake now…