Well, I can't actually believe I'm finally uploading the next chapter to this, and I'm so sorry it's taken nearly 2 years. I have been struggling with such massive writers block with this chapter. I think it's partly because this one is more Spock centric, and as much as I love him as a character I have found it harder to find him, and connect with him on a more emotional level. I hope in some way I have managed to do that, and that this was worth the wait. If there is anyone out there still sticking with this, I hope you enjoy it, and I would really appreciate a review. I haven't given up on this story and I hope this proves that. Thank you!
It was another couple of hours before McCoy finally found himself standing outside the door to Spock's quarters. He let himself in using his medical override without first buzzing the intercom to announce his presence, and was relieved, if not a little surprised, to find the Vulcan resting. He was lying on his back in bed, his hands folded together in front of him, fingers clasped in what appeared to be deep thought. He looked over at McCoy as he entered and got stiffly to his feet. The doctor noticed that he was still wearing the uniform shirt he'd put on to join in with the search for Jim earlier that morning, and he reflected on how that was one thing the Captain and his First Officer had in common – it was rare to see either of them out of uniform, even when they were off duty.
As Spock approached him he thought that he still looked a little tired. His eyes were dark and deeply shadowed, but most of the colour he'd initially lost after he'd collapsed had now returned. McCoy hadn't had much of a chance to take a proper look at him earlier but he now observed that the sickly pallor of the day before had been replaced by a much healthier looking complexion. It was a reassuring sign that at least Spock could be trusted to follow medical orders, sometimes, and the extra rest had evidently done him some good. M'Benga's latest report had shown that his blood production rate had now almost returned to normal and his blood cells looked healthy. There had been no further sign of any malformation in his latest blood samples and both doctors were in agreement that he could probably be cleared fit to return to duty in another day or two.
The state of his own health however appeared to be the last thing on the Vulcan's mind.
"What is the captain's condition doctor?" He asked him, his concern only thinly veiled and McCoy stepped further into the room, feeling the warmth and the rush of the much cooler air against his back as the doors closed behind him. Spock's cabin was always kept a few degrees warmer than the others aboard ship, Vulcan being of a much hotter climate than that of Earth, and the First Officer having a higher tolerance of it. It seemed even warmer today than usual however and the doctor wondered whether the stimulant had also disrupted the Vulcan's ability to regulate his body temperature, making him more sensitive to the cold.
The situation was perhaps not quite as bleak as it might have been had they not found Jim when they had. Once they'd got him back to sickbay McCoy had been able to drain the infected fluid from his lung without any further complications and his condition had seemed to improve slightly once they'd hooked him back up to the IV pump. He'd been seriously dehydrated, but intravenous fluids had helped to make him more comfortable, and they'd started him back on a course of strong antibiotics. McCoy had still been a little worried about his breathing – the laboured rise and fall of his diaphragm a sign that he was still having to work far too hard to fill his lungs with enough air – and he'd placed Jim back on the respirator. The man had quickly fallen asleep without any need of the sedative the doctor had given him – evidently completely exhausted by his ordeal – and McCoy had wanted to make sure that he stayed that way. He had been so weak the night before that he still couldn't figure out how he'd managed to walk out of sickbay without anybody noticing.
It had been a difficult decision to make but he and Nurse Chapel had come to the conclusion that they needed to use the restraints on him until they'd managed to bring his fever down – avoiding the one that would usually go around a patient's torso to spare putting any additional pressure on his chest and abdomen, not wanting to aggravate the pain of his internal injuries. McCoy hated to have to do it to his friend, but he knew that the potential consequences if he were to leave sickbay again could be even more serious. They'd been lucky this time, to have found him when they had, but Jim couldn't afford to expend anymore energy on anything other than recovery.
He regarded Spock, feeling wearier than he'd had cause to feel in recent memory, and hoping that it didn't show. The Vulcan regarded him with an expression which suggested that it probably did however.
"He's sleeping again now." He told him, his voice leaded with a fatigue he felt deep within his very bones, giving it a strange gravely quality, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "The physical strain of last night has weakened him further. I've got him on a twenty-four-hour watch until his fever has broken and we can be sure that he's no longer a flight risk. I don't think Jim meant to leave sickbay last night, but in some ways that concerns me more than if it had been a deliberate decision on his part. We can't risk it happening again." He concluded gravely.
Spock looked suitably sombre and nodded in understanding. Having observed Kirk's condition for himself, he was keenly aware of the seriousness of the situation they now found themselves in. As one of his closest friends Spock had seen Jim sick and injured before, wrought with emotion and even with a suffering of his own making – especially after one of his rare shore leave drinking binges with Scotty, who could handle his liquor far better than he – but never as sick as he'd seen him over the past few days.
He recalled the last time he had seen him, just prior to his own discharge from sickbay.
The crisis had finally passed. The Orion ship had been destroyed and the Andorian imposter was dead. Kirk had requested that his body be brought to the morgue and that Doctor McCoy perform an autopsy, although that all seemed rather pointless now that Spock had deduced the man's identity and the apparent motive for his attack.
Sarek's operation appeared to have been a success, and the atmosphere had been a more light-hearted one than earlier that day as the captain and the doctor had stood at the foot of the two occupied beds. Amanda had been standing between her husband and her son – the loyal wife and the devoted mother – as Spock and Sarek seemed to be taking as much amusement as was possible for a Vulcan in their teasing of her. Kirk however had been looking increasingly uncomfortable and had evidently been experiencing some pain as he'd leant heavily against the end of Spock's bed. There had been a growing sheen of perspiration glistening against the pallor of his complexion and he'd held himself awkwardly, favouring his uninjured side.
Suddenly he'd flinched, reaching out to McCoy for support as his body had appeared to slump unsteadily sideways and he'd grasped at the wound in his back with one shaky hand.
It was at this moment, as he'd watched the doctor and Nurse Chapel manhandling the weakly protesting man back into bed that realisation had finally dawned on the Vulcan that the captain hadn't in fact recovered, as he'd been led to believe, but that between them they'd deceived him into thinking so to get him to consent to providing the transfusion for Sarek's operation.
Later Spock had watched Kirk as bed had evidently done little to alleviate his discomfort, as the man had struggled to find a comfortable position until McCoy had given him a dose of metorapan to help ease his pain. This had seemed to help make him a little more comfortable, and he'd ceased his fidgeting as the medication had reduced the sharp stabbing pain in his back to a dull ache, but as the evening had worn on there had, in hindsight, been signs that his condition was perhaps more serious than it had first appeared.
Once the adrenaline – which had kept the captain going on the bridge during the Orion attack on the ship – had worn off, all his remaining strength appeared to have drained away from him. Spock had watched as he'd trembled unsteadily on his feet whilst Nurse Chapel had helped him out of his uniform and into the standard issue blue and grey sickbay robes, assisting him to slide one arm weakly through the sleeve of his gown and then the other.
Secretly, Kirk had not trusted his own legs not to buckle from under him. His left side had still been very sore despite the painkillers McCoy had given him, and he had failed to conceal a grimace as he'd raised his arm to help her and had felt the tight tug on the wound in his back and the resulting deep internal ache in his chest. The air had felt thick - like breathing viscid gas. It had felt heavy in his lungs and he'd attempted to disguise his reaction as he'd felt a sharp stab of pain upon venturing to try and take a deeper breath, regretting it immediately as the expansion of his diaphragm had driven an invisible dagger deep into his chest cavity. It had felt like he was being stabbed all over again, and he'd swallowed hard to try and stifle an involuntary whimper and contain the accompanying nausea.
Sarek had finally managed to convince Amanda to return to their quarters and get some rest, and whilst he had himself being unable to withdraw physically from the room, he had retreated discreetly into a meditative state – thereby giving the captain some privacy, for which he had been grateful. It was a well-known fact that Kirk, like most captains, hated to be seen as anything less than at peak physical condition. Spock had himself once told him that as the captain he couldn't afford to appear to be anything less than perfect in front of his crew. Vulnerability was a privilege which was not his for the asking. Fear was a disease amongst men and women aboard a Starship, like a virus too easily spread, and the loss of faith in one's captain could be a most profound catalyst for an epidemic.
There were only two places on board where Kirk felt truly able to be himself, and where he could allow himself to submit to the influence of his own vulnerabilities, and that was within the privacy of his own cabin and the sanctuary of sickbay. There were also only two people in front of whom he would allow himself to surrender to the fact that he was only human, with a job that so rarely allowed him to be so – and they were Spock and McCoy. They were his two closest and most trusted friends, and as such had seen him at both his best and his worst. Scotty too was a good and valued ally and had seen him at some of his weakest and most vulnerable moments, but there were limits to what he would allow the man to see. He'd felt grateful to Sarek for understanding this, especially when the knife-like shock had sucked the air from his injured lung, leaving him breathless. The pain had been bad, causing a dizzying wave to wash over him, and Nurse Chapel had reacted quickly to steady him as she'd observed him stumble slightly and he'd swayed weakly on his feet. She'd caught him gently under the arms, regarding him with a concerned frown.
"Sorry, I'm just a little dizzy." Kirk had apologised, raising a hand to cradle his still swimming head and feeling more than a little lightheaded as his stomach had done a sickening roll. McCoy too, who'd been busy dispensing medication into several hyposprays for his three patients, had noticed him stumble and had quickly made his way over.
"Just take it easy Jim." He'd told him as he'd gently placed one steadying hand against his stomach and another on the small of his back, keeping them there to help brace him whilst the nurse had finished fastening the gown around his middle, before carefully guiding him to sit back down on the edge of the bed.
The surgeon had frowned as he'd helped him to lie back gently and had observed the readings on the screen above his head. The K2 factor had been elevated, indicating a significant degree of discomfort. This hadn't been surprising in itself, even with the painkiller he'd given him. He'd only given him enough to take the edge off the pain, but his lung function had also been concerningly low, and McCoy hadn't been happy with how fast his heart had been beating. It had been a sign of just how much of a strain the act of standing had been for him.
"Your blood pressure is rather low Jim." He'd observed, and he'd asked Nurse Chapel to bring him a hypo of Lectrazine to try and help stabilise it, along with another dose of metorapan. His oxygen saturation had also been on the low side and McCoy had hooked him up to a respirator mask to help him breathe a little easier. When Nurse Chapel had returned with the requested medication he'd given him a mild sedative, mixed in with his pain relief, and Kirk had slept for several hours after that, the small amount of supplementary oxygen they'd kept him on helping him to rest more easily.
He'd awoken only briefly at intervals and Spock had done his best to keep him company during these broken periods of wakefulness, but as the afternoon had worn on Kirk had become increasingly reticent, disinclined to talk and his contributions to their conversation uncharacteristically clipped. By the time the Vulcan had finally managed to convince McCoy to agree to his own discharge later that evening Kirk had fallen asleep again, although it had been clear to them all that it hadn't been a restful one.
Spock had had a lot of time to reflect over the past twenty four hours, and the question as to why the captain had seen it as necessary to leave his sick bed before he'd clearly been fit for it, and why McCoy had allowed him to risk his life in such a way, still bothered him. He felt a stab of strong emotion, which he found profoundly distasteful, and crossed towards the computer station to sit down. The doctor watched him closely for any signs of unsteadiness. His footing was firm and seemed quite stable however and first impressions gave him no further cause for concern.
"I've given him another dose of metorapan and he seems more settled at the moment." He told Spock a little more hopefully, reflecting on the fact that managing Jim's pain and keeping him comfortable was the best they could probably hope for right now. He noticed a slight flicker in the Vulcan's otherwise unaffected expression – to those who didn't know him Spock's face might have appeared unreadable and therefore it could be interpreted as belonging to a man with an almost cold indifference towards his friend. This however would be doing him the disservice of assuming him to be completely devoid of emotion, rather than one who was capable of feeling it very deeply but who chose not to acknowledge it. As much as McCoy himself would often bite at his apparent coldness at times, he knew that there was more feeling in that tiny flicker than could ever be conveyed in words.
"It may be my own wishful thinking," He sighed, leaning back wearily against the wall behind him, "but Jim is a fighter Spock. If anyone can get through this it's him." His legs were beginning to ache again after so many hours spent on his feet, and he willingly let the ship take some of his weight for a moment. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that not enough time had yet elapsed for them to determine if the antibiotics were going to work against the infection, and therefore enable them to assess Jim's prognosis properly. It would be another few hours before they could expect to observe any noticeable signs of improvement and there was still every reason to hope that he would respond well to the medication.
Pleuratic Viripirum Perifercurlosis was a nasty infection, and the drugs used to treat it could be just as hard on the body as the bacteria itself. The side effects were varied, the worst of which had been documented on the autonomic nervous system, most notably on a patient's blood pressure and heart rate, as well as the drug's potential to cause inflammation of the gastrointestinal tract. For this reason things often got worse before they got better, but Jim was currently holding his own.
What McCoy hadn't revealed however was that he had already started to exhibit signs of some of the rather more unpleasant side effect of the medication – possibly due to the rather large dose of antibiotic the surgeon had been forced to give him after they'd found him. They hadn't been able to risk waiting until they'd got him back to sickbay. It had been necessary to try and mitigate for the hours Jim had spent off the IV pump, but he had experienced a sharp drop in blood pressure shortly after they'd got him back to sickbay and another about an hour later. McCoy had put him on lectrazine and midorizine to try and help stabilise it, and he'd also ordered another scan of his chest and abdomen to check that there were no further signs of internal bleeding.
"I only wish I had better news, but it's still too early to tell if the medication will work. Medically speaking there's still no significant sign of improvement I'm afraid." He explained as he straightened again, feeling the click of his knees, and the heavy ache return to his feet as he began to make his way over to where the Vulcan was sitting. Spock looked up at him as he approached, his thin lips pursed sombrely, and Bones recognised the veiled sadness in his eyes. He'd seen it a few times before.
"I know, it hurts doesn't it Spock?" He sighed rhetorically, already realising that the Vulcan couldn't reveal the true extent of his feelings, but that they were there, being held in check just beneath the surface of the stony Vulcan veneer.
"What would you have me say doctor?" He asked him, and McCoy nodded sadly. Spock was right – there was nothing more either man could say that would make any difference, and he found himself once again reflecting on the events of the past forty-eight hours.
He battled with his own feelings as he wondered on the outcome of their situation had the captain simply followed through with their agreement to turn the Bridge over to Scotty once Spock was clear, or if the Vulcan had just handed over command in the first place and consented to provide the blood transfusion his father needed. If he had then Jim wouldn't have then felt the need to risk his life.
Of course, the doctor realised, that there was no guarantee that lying flat on his back in sickbay would have prevented any further internal bleeding, and it was likely, given another set of circumstances that he would still have succumbed to the lung infection he was now fighting, but he wouldn't have been quite so weak, and therefore would have been in a better position to fight it.
It was hard to accurately appoint blame, both men had only acted as their nature dictated, and McCoy considered himself also responsible. Jim couldn't have let Sarek die, just as he hadn't been able to leave the Bridge whilst they'd been under attack. He'd realised this even as he'd been operating on Sarek, as soon as they'd been informed that the ship was under attack he'd known where the captain would be.
Spock equally couldn't ignore his duty, and the expectation that as the First Officer he should return to his post as soon as he was physically able to perform the duties expected of him. There was a reason there was a chain of command, and both Kirk and Spock were highly regarded within Starfleet as amongst the best in the Federation.
There were others who may have been able to fly the ship in an absolute emergency but besides the Captain and his First Officer, Scotty was the only other man aboard who was skilled enough to take command. Furthermore having only one competent officer at the helm whilst in open space, especially with so many important interplanetary delegates on board, had made them vulnerable. To save the life of his father or risk the ship and the thousands of lives she carried aboard her must have felt like an impossible decision for Spock, even if he hadn't shown it.
"How do you feel?" Bones enquired, bringing the conversation back around to the original purpose of his visit. "And don't try to tell me you're fine when I know you're not." He added, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Whilst he'd accepted that there was really no one to blame for what had happened, that didn't mean that he wasn't still angry and his words came out rather more harshly than he'd intended.
Spock regarded him with a slight raise of one eyebrow, unmoved by the irritable bite to the doctor's tone. He was used to the effect of strong emotions on humans, and had developed a certain degree of understanding of it, being, as he was, at constant war with his own. He found their apparent inability to control their response most illogical however.
"I'm sorry Spock." The doctor apologised, softening as he raised the fingers of one hand to gently massage his forehead as though he was developing an ache there. "I'm just very tired, and I'm worried about Jim." He explained.
"I quite understand doctor." The Vulcan nodded, offering nothing of his own usual banter as he responded. He could see that McCoy was reaching the limits of his mental and physical tether.
"Your assessment is quite right, I am not fine." He confessed. "But I am quite sufficiently recovered to return to duty."
"Let me be the judge of that." McCoy said gruffly, taking his hand held scanner from the small, black medical pouch at his hip, and proceeding to run it over his friend. He wanted to confirm the results of Spock's latest blood tests, and paid particular attention to the area around his spleen and liver. The stimulant placed particular strain upon these organs, resulting in inflammation and localised swelling of the tissues. In the worse case scenario this could cause them to become enlarged, potentially leading to organ failure, but they had given him medication to try and prevent this before the surgery, and to his relief he found no evidence of any such abnormality. His heartrate and blood pressure were slightly elevated but not sufficiently enough to cause him concern, and after he'd reassured himself that Spock had sustained no significant long term repercussions from the stimulant and that the last of it had now been flushed out of his system, he took a step back and put the small device away, satisfied with the results of his examination.
"How do you feel?" He asked him again, realising that he hadn't actually received a response the first time he'd asked him this question.
"Much as you yourself have confessed to feeling doctor." Spock responded. "I am a little tired, nothing more."
McCoy sighed sceptically, but there had been nothing in the readings he'd just taken to suggest anything more than what the Vulcan had already confessed to.
"Very well Spock," He finally conceded, "you can start back on light desk duties tomorrow and I'll let you return to full duty in a couple of days, so long as you continue to take it easy until then." He wanted to give him a couple more days to rest and recover some more strength before allowing him to return to the Bridge.
At that moment the intercom buzzed, signalling the presence of someone outside the room, and Spock called out to whoever it was to enter. As the doors slid open Scotty stepped inside, mopping at his brow with the back of his hand as they closed automatically behind him and he felt the dry heat of the room. His cheeks were slightly flushed and he was breathing heavily as though he had been running. There was also a mildly strained expression upon his face and beneath the slight reddening of his cheeks McCoy thought that he looked a little pale, leading him to wonder if the headache which had afflicted him the evening before was still plaguing him. The Chief Engineer was smiling however.
"Mr Spock, Doctor." He greeted them both as he began to make his way over. "Nurse Chapel told me that I'd find you both here."
"What is it Scotty?" McCoy frowned. The man paused for a moment to catch his breath and as he did so he dabbed some more of the moisture from his face. The room was indeed uncomfortably hot and the doctor himself tugged at his collar as he felt the sweat trickle down the back of his own neck.
"We've received a response from Starfleet headquarters regarding the captain." Scotty explained. "I thought I aught to tell you both in person."
McCoy tensed slightly. He had secretly dreaded this moment. Whilst the channels of communication had remained silent they'd been able to indulge in the hope that Jim would be allowed to remain with them aboard the Enterprise. They'd all known that once Starfleet Command came to a decision about his fate they would be forced to carry out their orders, no matter what the outcome of their ruling, or how difficult that decision might be.
Spock remained characteristically silent although he stiffened slightly, a sign that he too was feeling apprehensive.
So much was riding on the word of a small group of officers who, between them, could make or break a man's career. Many of them had met Kirk, some had not, but their decision had the power to alter the whole course of his future.
"Well spit it out Scotty, what do they say?" McCoy pressed him.
"It's good news." Scotty smiled, his breath having finally returned to him and now that he wasn't having to work so hard at refilling his winded lungs he was able to speak more easily. "Apparently there is an outbreak of Rigilian fever on the nearest starbase with a hospital facility well enough equipped to manage the captain's condition and they do not expect us to divert from our current course to the next one." He explained. "Under the circumstances they have granted clearance for him to remain aboard the Enterprise for the duration of his recovery, however long it takes, so long as it doesn't interfere with the running of the ship or compromise our mission or security."
McCoy smiled, unable to contain his relief, but it was one heavily marked by an internal conflict – as a doctor and as Jim's friend. Even Spock seemed to sag slightly in his seat as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders by this news, but it felt wrong, and went against all of Bones's instincts as a physician, that an outbreak of something as serious as Rigilian fever could ever be considered good news. It was a terrible disease, similar to bubonic plague or malaria back on Earth, and caused great pain and suffering to a patient. High fever, nausea, vomiting and coughing up blood were rapidly followed by seizures, and inevitably death would occur within a matter of days if Ryetalyn wasn't administered promptly. The mineral was somewhat rare, certainly no Starship carried it within its medical stores, but there were a few Starbases within the Federation that kept a limited supply. He could only hope it would be enough to save the poor souls afflicted by the disease.
"Well, at least that's something." He sighed. "It gives us time to help Jim get well again."
"How is the captain now doctor?" Scotty asked him, the euphoria of hearing the outcome of Starfleet's ruling and his urgency to deliver the news to Spock and McCoy in person, now beginning to wear off as he remembered that Kirk was still a very sick man. They had a long way to go before he would be able to retake his position in the captain's chair back on the Bridge again, but at least now they knew that eventually he would.
"He's doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances." McCoy explained. "We've got him back on the IV pump and he's receiving antibiotics and fluids. We'll know more in the next few hours."
Kirk had been relatively stable by the time McCoy had left him, and he'd felt quite comfortable leaving him in the capable care of Nurse Chapel and Doctor M'Benga whilst he'd checked on Spock, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still worried.
"I'd better get back to him." He told them, feeling the now familiar twinge of pain in his feet and he found himself looking forward to the prospect of finally getting some much needed sleep that evening, now that they had Jim under close observation and he could be assured that he wouldn't give them the slip again. He still didn't feel comfortable enough leaving him so that he could return to his own quarters to rest - knowing that he may still be needed at short notice - but the cot in his office was just as inviting a prospect as it had been the evening before.
"I'll walk with you doctor." Scotty volunteered. "I need to get back to the Bridge."
Spock too arose from his seat as the two men made a move for the door, and McCoy turned back to look at him before exiting.
"He would never have allowed them to separate him from his ship." He observed, as he reflected on Jim's love for the Enterprise. Both Spock and Scotty knew this too. "He would have pushed himself too hard. At least now he can take his time to recover properly before returning to duty. Of course…" He added, in a gruff afterthought, "we can't take it for granted that they won't change their minds."
"I don't think so doctor." Spock shook his head. "They would not want to undermine their authority by contradicting their own decisions. It will have been officially logged in the captain's records. I think we can be fairly confident that his future aboard the Enterprise is now secure."
McCoy nodded. He knew that Spock was right.
He looked over at Scotty, who he noticed now appeared more relaxed and lighter than he had done the evening before, as though a heavy load had been lifted. It made him realise just how much the prospect of having to leave Jim behind, possibly never to return to the Enterprise, had been weighing down on all of them. At least now they had assurance that they wouldn't have to, and of one thing McCoy was sure, Jim would sit at the helm of his ship again, eventually. He would do everything in his power to make sure of it.