LET SLEEPING VULCANS LIE
by ardavenport
The door hissed aside and Captain James Kirk entered Sickbay's examination room. It had been the middle of the day on Gamma Trianguli Six when he returned to the ship, where it was the middle of the night. It was rare when planetside and ship day-schedules synched.
The room was darkened, in dark gray shadow, but with Sickbay's recognizable antiseptic air. What he was looking for, his first officer, was lying on his side on an examination table; he was covered with a blanket and apparently sound asleep. The usual beeps of the monitor above Spock's head had apparently been muted.
Nurse Christine Chapel looked up as he entered, her blonde hair almost glowing in the light from the viewer she was reading from. She got up and came to him.
"I see that Mr. Spock is still in Sickbay," Kirk said in a near whisper.
"Doctor McCoy thought Mr. Spock should rest." And before Kirk could ask. "He's in his office." She pointed.
Kirk nodded his thanks and went through the connecting exam rooms to Dr. McCoy's office. The room lights were only half on. His Chief Medical Officer was at his desk in an island of light as he recorded a report, but he stopped when Kirk entered.
"Well, I see Spock's still out of commission. Did you have to knock him out to keep him Sickbay?"
McCoy scowled. "No," he replied, his tone offended. "He fell asleep on the table while I was working on his back." He sat back in his chair. "I decided it was best to let sleeping Vulcans lie where they were."
Kirk's brows rose in surprise as he slid into the opposite empty seat at the desk. "Really? Well, Spock's not going to like that."
McCoy scowled, "Why?"
"You know Spock. He doesn't go to sleep unless he plans it ahead of time."
"He got hit by lightning.' McCoy's voice rose. "And there was that poison plant yesterday. He's hardly eaten anything since then and I know he didn't get any sleep last night in that village. Even Spock needs some rest after all that."
Kirk just shrugged. "Only if he decides to rest. He likes to be in control."
"So, do you," McCoy countered.
"I'm the Captain. It's part of my job." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "And right now, my job is to answer to Starfleet."
McCoy scowled again, like he knew he was not going to like what was coming.
"And right now, they want a Prime Directive Violation Review for Gamma Trianguli Six."
"They can't be serious!" McCoy objected. "Did you tell them what was going on down there? That giant Vaal machine running those people's lives. Not to mention that it almost destroyed the ship."
"I know," Kirk agreed. "They acknowledged all that. And even Admiral Komak sounded like it was just going to be a formality. But we still have to collect the data for it. Spock was sure there was going to be a review and he was going to assign our two sociologists to go down to the planet. As soon as he was done here." Kirk glanced toward the examination room where Spock was asleep. When he heard that his first officer was still in Sickbay, he sent orders to the sociologists that they would find when they got up in the morning to initiate the required study.
"Hmmph. Who's down there now?"
"I've got Chekov and Landon in charge, plus the engineering team. And I sent down Tong and Linquist and two people from Security."
"I hope you warned them about the poison plants."
"And the exploding rocks," Kirk added, very serious. "I told them."
"Are you sure it's a good idea to leave Chekov and Landon down there? Together?"
"I had a little talk with Chekov," Kirk assured him. "I don't care if they get together on the ship, but not down there. And Tong is friends with Landon, so I think they'll behave themselves." He frowned. "Have you finished the autopsies?"
They had brought back the bodies of three of the four deaths from Gamma Trianguli Six. Kaplan had been incinerated by lightning; there had been nothing left of him to autopsy.
"M'Benga finished the last one and sent them all for you to sign off on."
Kirk's expression remained grave.
"You look like you could use some rest yourself, Jim."
"I plan on it. But I have to finish the messages to the families first. Security's going to have a memorial at 1600 and they want to attach a recording of that, too."
Kirk did look tired to McCoy, and he might have told him to get some rest first, but no amount of rest would make his task any easier. It was unthinkable for him to not send some condolence to the families of anyone who died under his command. And Kirk had known Mallory's family. That message would be very hard to write.
Kirk pushed himself up out of the chair. "Tell Spock, when he wakes up, that he has leave for the rest of the day, but I'll expect him at the memorial at 1600."
"He won't take the leave," McCoy predicted, "Even if he needs it."
"Well, if he needs it, try logic on him. He likes logic. Just try not to be too hard on him." He stood over the desk, head and shoulders above the light around the desk.
"Me?" McCoy replied, looking insincerely innocent. "Spock's the one who needs to worry about being too hard on Spock. And I'm not the one to talk to whenever Spock gets up on the Vulcan side of the bed in the morning."
Kirk opened his mouth to object . . . but McCoy wasn't exactly wrong. He waved in surrender. "Okay, but if you get into a fight over it, I'm taking Spock's side."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." McCoy grumbled. "Captain." He shouted as Kirk headed out the door.
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He was awake.
And not.
He was not in his quarters but . . . his awareness of sound and his surroundings formed. He was on the Enterprise.
Spock startled awake.
He was in Sickbay. He heard a soft voice nearby, but understanding of the words did not reach him before he identified the voice. Nurse Chapel.
And then, she was there, standing over him. He was lying on his side, shirtless, on a padded examination table and covered with a blanket. His boots had been taken off. Chapel leaned closer.
"Mr. Spock. Do you need anything."
He started to answer, but she continued.
"Water?"
His throat was uncomfortably dry. And his responding croak told him that he did need water. "Yes."
She immediately produced water in a cup with a straw. He would much rather have sat up and taken the cup in hand, but he had not fully assessed his present condition. He accepted the straw as a necessary indignity. His responding, "Thank-you," sounded much better after he finished.
McCoy had been healing the burns on his back, where there was now a large bandage covering it. And there was a smaller bandage adhered to his chest, where Nurse Chapel had applied medication to the puncture wounds there, after she removed the body hair from around that injury. He had felt uncomfortably exposed during the procedure, especially considering his . . . complicated history with Christine Chapel. But she always reliably prioritized her professionalism over her morass of Human emotions.
Chapel hovered over him, but he had no more requirements while he continued to internally review his condition. And just because she always remained impartial in her actions, her emotions were not there. His best choice was to ignore them.
McCoy . . . but his suspicions were unwarranted. He felt none of the residual effects of sedation. And the welcome painkiller for his now healing burns did not affect his awareness or his internal sense of time. He had been unconscious for six hours and twenty-three minutes.
This was an unacceptable failure on his part. He had not lost consciousness from his injuries. He had carelessly fallen asleep with no more self-discipline than a toddler would have.
Unacceptable.
McCoy entered the exam room.
"Well, it's good to see you up. Have a nice nap?" He asked in his most cheerful tone.
Spock was not in the mood to be belittled by McCoy. He needed to return to his overdue duties. He pushed the blanket aside, sat up and swung his legs off the table. The motion did not cause any dizziness but he still felt some residual queasiness.
"Now hold on. I want to look at that back again." He produced a scanner, but Spock noticed that he had a hypo in the other hand. He stiffly waited while McCoy examined him.
"All right. Lie down on your side again."
He turned his head toward McCoy, who was standing behind him. "Is that necessary, Doctor?"
He held up the hypo. "I sent that plant thorn to the lab and this will clear the rest of it from your system. Unless you want to continue with an upset stomach for the next few days."
He lay back down. It was a very logical reason to stay. After studying the readings on the monitor, McCoy pressed the hypo to his upper arm and injected him. There was no immediate effect, but after a few minutes, the tenseness in his stomach completely left him. And he felt just the beginnings of appetite.
"How do you feel?" McCoy asked, his scanner out again.
"Much better," he replied. "Thank-you. Though I would have appreciated it sooner."
"You did get it sooner," McCoy retorted. "That was the second shot. You just didn't wake up for the first one."
Spock frowned. His inattention to personal discipline was worse than he thought. He pushed himself up again and McCoy did not stop him. "I trust I may return to my duties now."
"Like that?" McCoy asked, looking down.
Spock looked down at his bare feet and naked toes. He was also shirtless and bandaged.
"If you would return my boots to me."
A hand with his boots and a fresh pair of socks appeared from his right. Turning his head, he saw Nurse Chapel holding them. And with a folded undershirt and uniform in the other hand. She must have gotten them from his quarters. He had not noticed that she had left.
He took the boots and socks. "Thank-you."
"You're welcome." Chapel inclined her head and put the clothes down next to him with a friendly pat. Smiling back at him, she left.
Still sitting on the exam table, he put on socks, boots.
"Jim's giving you leave for the rest of the day. But he'll expect you at the memorial service for Hendorff, Kaplan, Mallory, Marple at 1600."
Spock picked up the undershirt and sorted out where the bottom opening was. "I shall be there, but the leave is unnecessary." He pulled the black undershirt over his head. But surprisingly, all he heard from McCoy was a grumbled, 'Of course.' He ignored the doctor while he pulled his uniform on.
"Spock, in my medical experience, when it comes to healing, it is usually better to listen to your body, more than your brain."
He paused, hands still on the hem of his uniform and eyed the doctor suspiciously. "Are you implying that my judgement is impaired, Doctor?"
There was a flash of anger in McCoy's blue eyes, but surprisingly, he did not follow it up. "I'm saying that it's pretty atypical of you to fall asleep on the table like that. Sometimes we're just wrong about knowing how much rest we might need." He shrugged. "And it is my duty as your physician to say so." There was some challenge in McCoy for this last statement, but nothing more than that.
Logical. It was a logical diagnosis based on observation. And perhaps his lapse was based more on his miscalculating how much he was affected by his injuries than a lack of discipline. Being wrong in his judgement disturbed him, but it would be illogical to deny it whenever it happened. He would have to consider it. He finished tugging his uniform tunic into place.
"Is that all, Doctor?"
"No. I've got one more prescription for you."
Nurse Chapel returned, carrying a tray. Setting it down at a table, she lifted the cover, revealing a meal, which he commonly ate in the morning.
"Eat. Breakfast," McCoy commanded.
His appetite had returned. And eating in Sickbay would be more private than in the galley. But Spock was not quite ready.
"After I visit the lavatory," Spock informed them. Doctor and nurse stepped aside. Of course, Spock knew where all the lavatories were in Sickbay and thankfully, neither of them offered to assist him.
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"Ooooh, that's so much better. You're a miracle worker, Doc." Chapel and McCoy swiveled the examination table upright so Crewman Muhammit could stand again. He had been bent over in pain with his roommate assisting him when he arrived in Sickbay, their first customer for the morning. Chapel kept a wary hand on his arm as he rubbed his lower back where his muscle spasms had been dispatched.
"Well, don't over-do it in the gym next time," McCoy instructed. Back injuries were one of Sickbay's most common mundane tasks.
"I promise." Muhammit clapped his hands together and gratefully bowed to each of them. "Oh, I promise." He waved with a big grin as he left. McCoy looked down at his hypo, flipped it in the air and caught it before putting it aside with a satisfied smirk.
"Think we should check on our other patient?"
"Unless he's snuck out on us." McCoy headed for the other room.
"I don't think he would leave without saying something to us." Chapel replied. McCoy grunted doubtfully, but he was wrong. Spock was sitting at the table, putting his napkin aside. Plate and bowl and glass empty.
Seeing him sitting at the table, having obediently eaten his prescribed meal, Christine Chapel wanted to give him a hug.
She could not think of anything that would terrify Mr. Spock more.
When she was treating his injuries, she had only concentrated on the immediate task, nothing more, with what she thought of as Vulcan-like efficiency. No unnecessary touching, no smiles, no bedside manner at all. The extra tension in his shoulders slowly relaxed as she proceeded. The most reassuring thing for him was no reassurance at all.
But after he fell asleep on the exam table, he did not wake when she removed his boots and socks. She covered him with a blanket and tucked it around him. And after McCoy left to grab a few hours sleep, she stayed and watched him carefully. He looked so fragile, totally relaxed and not holding in the emotions that she knew he had. He looked more like when he was younger, when he was willing to test out his emotions. And when she was blithely careless with them.
She had gotten up once and touched his shoulder and his hand as he slept. He might be afraid of reassurance, but she was not. He had gotten so much more stubbornly Vulcan since when they first served on the Enterprise. But he had also pleasingly matured as well, exotically handsome and more attractive than ever.
"I have spoken with Mr. Scott." Spock announced, sitting up straight in his chair as he pushed the tray away.
"Oh," McCoy answered doubtfully.
"Yes, Mr. Scott will remain in command until Captain Kirk relieves him at 1100 hours. I will retire to my quarters. To meditate. And I will resume my duties at 1100 as well. Will that satisfy your prescription, Doctor?"
McCoy and Chapel exchanged looks of amazement before he replied. "Yes, Mr. Spock, I think it will."
"Then," he stood, stepping away from the table and empty tray. "I will retire to my quarters." Nodding to them, he left.
Chapel turned to McCoy. "What did you say to him to get him to do that?"
"I'm not sure," he replied, his tone baffled. "It was something Jim said. About me not being too hard on Spock if he got unhappy about falling asleep."
"Spock's harder on himself than you could ever be." Chapel sighed, resigned, looking at the closed door that he had gone through.
"That's what I told Jim." He folded his arms over his chest. "He told me I should use logic on him." He shrugged. "I guess it worked.
"This time." Christine Chapel nodded. She had no doubt that McCoy and Spock would soon find some other thing to disagree about. Because she knew they enjoyed challenging each other. And they both instinctively knew very well how to press each other's buttons. That seemed to be the one last outlet that Spock allowed a little emotion to peek out, though he would firmly deny it. She knew better.
McCoy left for the other room. She went to the table and looked down at the empty plate on the tray.
"But logic doesn't work for everything."
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Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong to Paramount, CBS and/or whatever corporate entity owns it; I'm just playing in their sandbox.
