And so, the Commander and the Lieutenant make their uneasy journey toward the ship's medical wing. As the former trying his utmost to conceal any outward indication of ailment, the latter has her arm hooked through his in a possible attempt to help him remain somewhat steady. There is nothing, or very little, that either can do to mask his inability to normal, steady breaths; nor the blooming discomfort and pain radiating along the entire right side of his body; nor the near-unbearable nausea and dizziness; nor the now unusually hasty beating of his heart. Whereas before entering the mess hall, his steps were purposefully slowed to allow the preparations to be finalised; now, his movements are hindered by the lack of oxygen in his system, and those symptoms that had become alarmingly severe.

Following just a few steps behind the couple, is the doctor, monitoring the Vulcan's vital signs with the medical scanner.

Despite the vast scale of the ship, the journey to the medbay is surprisingly short, with a traversing one corridor and a very brief turbolift ride. For the Vulcan in his current predicament, however, the trip seems to take a much longer period of time than it normally should. With pain and numbness and a lack of oxygen surging through him, it truly is a wonder that he is moving as well as he is...for the moment, of course. A vigilant glance up at his friend, the physician's face shows more concern. The scanner in his hand indicates a heartrate far too high for the Commander, climbing well above 300 beats per minute and a tad irregular. And yes, the doctor is aware of what his friend's pulse should be: around the 242bpm range. As Spock has not been engaging in any sort of strenuous activity during this time, the good doctor has indeed cause for his alarm. Within a few long strides, he is placed in speaking range with the Lieutenant at the Vulcan's side.

"His heartrate is way too high, even for him...and his blood oxygen levels are too low. I don't like this.".

The Lieutenant responds to the doctor with a subtle nod and a tauter grasp of her struggling courter's arm. Within seconds, the trio enter the turbolift, and the small space is shut instantaneously. For a few brief moments, the closed doors offer some small privacy for the Commander, and his head is lowered, eyelids tight, upper torso angled. Not at all a welcome sight for the crewmates attending him, and their minds are abuzz with joint concern.

"We're nearly there.", the utterance comes forth from the Communication Officer's lips, her tone warm yet trembling with worry.

In pained silence, the Vulcan merely dips his head in acknowledgement of her assurance. This action, albeit a rather simple one, almost results in a toppling of the towering form, to the bewilderment of those near him. The two almost leap with a start, and their hands extend to save him from an inevitable collapse. In their surprise, he thankfully doesn't fall, with helpful arms brushed away as the turbolift doors open once more.

Mere minutes after stepping into the open corridor, the Medbay is at last within the anxious sights of the trio. In spite of their apparent proximity to the ward's invaluable arms, it seems too distant for the Vulcan still, from whom there is an abrupt crumpling of a lengthy torso. Within just seconds, the medical scanner is relinquished from the grasp of the physician, hastily shoving the gadget in his pants pocket. Subsequently saved by the two accompanying him, the Vulcan is thoughtfully lowered by their helping arms, and now lies in a strewn heap on the glossy flooring. A quiet curse from the doctor and a glance over slender shoulders by the Lieutenant, they grab at the now unconscious Commander. Their new task is the hauling of the limp form for the completion of their short journey's remaining portion. In silent harmony, the two elevate him off the cold surface, with the physician speaking as they go.

"I know he wanted to be discreet, but I think we both realise that ship has long sailed. Come on.".

At those final words, they transport the hefty figure to the Medbay; fortunately, it is but a few metres ahead.

In the secluded confines of the ward, the Commander is at once placed onto a biobed, his form carefully settled atop the pearled covering. A few reversed steps, and the Lieutenant is positioned to allow the medical staff full access to her beloved courter. As monitor screens activate, displaying the patient's vital signs in a mixture of animated images, numerical values and medical terminology, her misting coffee irises fixate themselves unto him, his strong body inert and seemingly helpless. The Vulcan's visitations to this part of the ship have been extremely rare, further adding to the shock and disquiet of those proximate to him. And yet, the medicos perform their duty in a manner of relative calm, with all their years of training accumulating into a skilled professionalism.

With figures bustling around her, those eyes of hers retain their unhindered gaze onto the bed, and her mind abuzz with unease. There are, in her conscious, questions she so wishes to ask, queries within her heart of what ails he to whom she shares her love. Answers that, she is wholly aware, even the medicos do not presently possess. Yet, her heart and her mind cry out all the same.

One member of the medical staff who had sighted the Communications Officer's outward display of unease, is the very physician who had assisted her in escorting the First Officer to the ward. With a mask placed upon the mouth of the Vulcan to supply his deprived body with vital oxygen, the good doctor approaches the distressed Uhura, to instil some consolation to a troubled mind.

"I know...I want answers too.", a soothing palm is placed onto a slim shoulder, "I think I have a pretty good idea as to what's wrong, but I won't know for sure until I open him up...okay?".

McCoy's final word is uttered as a request for consent, as if the Lieutenant were a 'next-of-kin' for the Vulcan, to speak on his behalf when he is otherwise unable or incapacitated. In some way, perhaps she is. There is, in response, a quivering nod of her worried head, and with that a 'green light' is given for the physician to proceed.

From the granting of permission, there begins the preparation and early stages of surgery on the patient. With assistance from a member of the nursing staff, the doctor methodically opens the Commander's now bare torso, in a procedure the lead medico hopes will provide him the answers for which he searches, also the subsequent diagnosis and treatment thereof.

The approximate length of time for such answers to at last reveal themselves is two hours. With the procedure's completion, there comes the subsequent sealing of the open torso, and the confirmation of a physician's hunch. Having anxiously and quietly endured outside of the medico's path, the Lieutenant awaits the doctor's discovery with concerned irises. Indeed, he does begin to approach her, moments after the Captain's entrance into the ward, following his summoning by his good friend. The two are gently steered to a neighbouring empty biobed, beside which there comes a low voice from the physician.

"Tricorder scans gave me some indication as to what was happening...elevated heartrate, low blood oxygen levels...but, it wasn't until I had a proper look with surgery that I had a better answer.". He moves but a single step closer to his blond friend, glancing both at him and the Communications Officer as he continues.

His tone now is much lower than the moments prior.

"Jim, Spock's just had a goddamn heart attack.".