As with before, there is a tiny chirp from the communicator housed within the Captain's pocket, moments after himself and the helmsman had departed from the Medbay. Whilst the pair travel through the luminescent corridor, he glances at the device now within his grasp, somewhat surprised at an apparent summoning of him by the Lieutenant. That very crew member who had been ardently scanning the birthday gathering surveillance footage with her keen eyes. Despite the seemingly lengthy and arduous nature of her task, it appears that she has already stumbled upon a clue. Or perhaps, the attacker themselves.

"That was Uhura...", utters Kirk, "...let's hope she's found a lead." With the device retuned to his pocket, he momentarily halts to swivel around and glance at the man by his side. "Mr Sulu, I know I can trust you. We're probably going to need more of your help."

"Yes, Captain." Before their journey is continued, he goes on. "Sir, about Commander Spock...is he going to be alright?"

For the briefest moment, the Captain hesitates, almost uncertain of the answer. As if, despite all of his hope, there is a grave possibility that the Vulcan might not survive. That this ordeal may be too great, even for one so resilient as he. That there may be yet more threats to his very existence. For Kirk, the answer almost seems elusive; yet, he pushes it all aside, leaving only his hope.

"He will...you have my word."

In hushed voices, they had spoken, and, with equally silenced steps, they journey to their destination.

ooo

In minutes, their brief trek is ended and the destination reached. Their place of summons is not of the bridge, nor the Security station housed therein, but is instead of the Captain's ready room. This meagre yet apparently spacious venue has been the host of many gatherings of the senior staff, with mission discourse and issue resolution contained within. The entrance of this small space is tucked into a corner of the bridge, not entirely concealed yet all but ignored by most personnel situated within this section. That is, until such time as the space is needed.

Indeed, this is one such moment. The two soon approach their crewmate in the gleaming space, seated at a monitor placed upon the centre of an expansive table. In the white luminescence, she glares at the screen, awaiting her comrades. At once, they are in her proximity, and she begins to speak when their earshot is in range.

"I transferred the surveillance footage to this monitor. Enough time passed for my 'maintenance' of the Security station, so I brought the investigation in here."

"That's wise, considering we don't know if the attacker is on the bridge. Wouldn't want anyone finding out what we're doing.", comes the response from the Captain.

"I've been focussing on the table of cloud cakes - I made them just for Spock. They were the only thing he ate at the party. I'll also check the drinks table, despite pouring his drink myself.", adds the diligent Uhura, her final words tinted with a sliver of anger.

Quite possibly, she has placed upon herself a kind of guilt for what had been done to the Vulcan, that small yet perilous act occurred at the very gathering she had organised. Perhaps, the gathering should never have been brought about, the cloud cakes never prepared. Perhaps...

"Hey...don't be so hard on yourself.", Sulu gently interjects those intrusive thoughts. "This was not your fault."

"Agreed.", Kirk weighs in. "This...attack might have been in the works for a long time. There's no way any of us could have known."

"Thank you...both of you."

"Don't mention it, Lieutenant.", the helmsman adjoins. "We'll help you find the attacker."

"And we will find them...I promise you.", the Captain reassures his Communications Officer.

For the trio - the medicos as well - this seems quite a trying time. The Captain, particularly, is finding these moments rather taxing. He had thought that trust would be a non-issue amongst the souls positioned aboard this fine vessel. They are, after all is said and done, his crew serving on his ship. Young minds, bright and acute, devoted to this ship and her Captain. Or, that is what he had believed until this day. One amongst them had executed a callous deed against another - their own First Officer, to add. Such an act, by all his power, will not merely go by without penalty. This silent promise is made by him, by the medicos attending the Vulcan, by all those positioned within this ready room. The assailant will be pulled from their place of hiding, reparations will be had, and the victim will be restored. This last fact - this promise - as the trio stare into the screen, is one they now place all of their hope upon.

Their hope may soon begin to dwindle, however, with what may lie ahead. There is, unbeknownst to them, another plan conjured, another act to be performed. Another cruel deed.

As of this moment, all of the trust they once held now lies in tatters.

ooo

Seated at the meagre desk within the confines of his quarters, the young russet-haired man smirks at the small vial held by his fingertips. Its contents had long since been depleted, and the vessel subsequently sealed, no threat is posed to him as his digits toy with the object. With this initial part of his plan complete, his mind now begins to envisage the following step.

Within moments, he begins to assemble a fresh vial, in preparation for yet another task. Utilising a careful precision and a stable hand, a different chemical is flowing into the vessel. Sinister irises observe the liquid, as crystalline as its predecessor, fill the empty space. In hasty time, the vial is filled and sealed, soon to be placed onto the table. This is but a temporary position, until it is deemed ready for use.

This next deed may be a tad risky to him, given its setting; yet, he remains patient, like a hunter stalking prey, or a spider in its webbed tunnel awaiting a precise moment. Yet, in his mind's recesses, there lies a notion, a fact that he cannot veil. The synergy of the crew and the keenness of their minds are quite apparent to him. It is indeed rather likely that his actions would have caught the eyes of his superiors.

In spite of some of his apparent caution, however, he is uncaring of any repercussions he may soon face. As his hand reaches for his PADD, the air seems heavy with a malevolent tone.