Inside Commander Spock's quarters, 07.42 ship time
Spock pauses in the middle of the room, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he lets deep breaths slide in and out repeatedly, trying to focus.
His mind is overloaded and his body still floating on waves of adrenaline that cannot last for long. He needs to get back into balance. He needs a long thorough meditation session and a thorough analysis of his recent experiences, but right now there is no time for that. He certainly is not going to miss his shift today, even though the doctor seemed intent that he did so. Instead Spock obtained his health clearance after passing the doctor's scans and eyesight evaluation with flying colors. Well, there are still some minor things in his physical body that still need to restore themselves to the optimal level of health after having been infected with Denevan parasite. But it is simply a matter of time and rest and body control now. And the doctor insisted on Spock's visit to sickbay after the shift anyway.
What is more important, Spock has a lot to think about. About all these times he lost control… But not now. He has work to do. He has to be at his captain's side and help to navigate the ship and analyze the results of the Deneva mission. He has to morally support the captain who was undeniably affected by the loss of his brother. And also Spock knows better than to keep the good old country doctor waiting in the corridor for too long.
Spock opens his eyes and hurls himself into action - juggling closet doors, drawers, hairbrushes, laser razors, clothes and boots with a truly superhuman speed. The same speed that used to arouse a highly unproductive emotion called "envy" from his roommates in the Starfleet Academy.
At the door to Commander Spock's quarters, Deck 3, exactly 5 minutes later
Needless to say, Spock emerged from the door exactly 5 minutes after he had gone in. The doctor didn't even bother to check the time. Instead, he stared dumbfounded at the Enterprise's First Officer.
Now Spock looked every inch like one. No surprise in that, sure, but the green-blooded bastard also looked remarkably and annoyingly good - for someone who had been literally going through hell and dying slowly these past few days - and for someone who had suffered a very bad lab accident just the day before… (God, if only it had really been an accident!). Feeling somehow that "good" was an understatement here, the doctor's mind helpfully supplied another word: freaking dapper. Like Spock was fully ready for a parade or an ambassadorial event, even in his everyday uniform. Crisp new uniform, mind you, most likely previously unworn, new glossy boots, hair brushed even glossier, reflecting the corridor's headlights like some witchy dark mirror…
And what's downright unbelievable – Spock looked healthy. Was that because of a more flattering lighting here? (In sickbay earlier this morning Spock's face still looked somewhat drawn and pasty green, even with all his breakfast lounging). Or simply that the dark shadow of growing stubble had miraculously disappeared in just five minutes? Or simply that Spock's face looked relaxed (as far as his self-discipline could allow it, sure): no frowns, no lines of tension, and no grimaces of pain that had plainly terrified the doctor these past few days… No open wide-eyed shock of those minutes right after being blinded (the doctor had already seen that face in a nightmare that night, and would probably now be seeing it for many nights…). No quiet and resigned desperation of the following hours either. Of that time when Spock was mostly left under Christine Chapel's watchful care, because Doctor McCoy was plainly and shamefully afraid to approach him. In spite of the Captain's direct order: "Take care of him!"
Instead, Leonard H. McCoy, MD spent many hours hiding in his office. Lurking like a coward. And only occasionally and warily peeping out through a crack in the office door. Dumping all the work in the main ward on his assistants. Reaching for a drink in the middle of the day and continuing well into the night. Like a total coward, he was quite honest with himself in that.
And the thing he was so afraid of that it petrified him and rendered him unable to think clearly – no, it wasn't the possibility of Spock going berserk and trying to kill the doctor for revenge or at least to destroy the room. Doctor McCoy could handle that stuff in his own sickbay, thank you very much. He had already handled Spock's fit of berserk on the bridge the other day, when the parasite-controlled Vulcan broke his bed restraints, got to the bridge and tried to take over the ship. Sure, the old country doctor used some help there – in fact, the help of all the male bridge crew present, including the captain himself (Yeah, and much good it would've done our hero macho Jim to try to fight the crazy Vulcan alone…). The doctor knew perfectly well what to do with fits of all kinds and what hypo sprays to use, even on this unique Human-Vulcan hybrid. But this time – it was different. This damn all-too real martyr situation…
The doctor didn't know what to do with it. Especially when he, Leonard McCoy, was in the role of theexecutioner. An unwilling one, but still… His unwillingness didn't change anything. His subsequent poring over the data for hours in his office – or trying to, numbly – didn't change anything. He, Leonard H. McCoy, MD and CMO, had – with his own damn hand – cut down the career of a brilliant Starfleet officer. And his own career too, just like that. Just because he, Leonard H. McCoy, MD and CMO, had been in too much hurry to wait just a few minutes for new data to arrive… Just because he couldn't find a better option. Because both he and Jim thought it a fair trade to possibly ruin Spock's eyesight if they could only kill that nerve-wrecking parasite in him. Because even Spock himself thought so – but since when did the doctor agree with him?
"Mr. Spock is the best First Officer in the Fleet!" So he had told Jim then, after Spock closed the door of the test cubicle and seated himself in the armchair. And Jim – Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise – had turned an agonized face at the doctor and quietly ordered: "Proceed". And the doctor duly proceeded. Very much like activating an electric chair… Too damn similar. Way too similar to an execution of the old times. Except that Spock was innocent.
And don't you try to hide behind the captain's orders now, Doctor Leonard H. McCoy, his last remaining sensible part told him – because you know too damn well that in such matters, in the matters of sickbay patients, the last word is YOURS! Aren't you usually quick to declare your privilege, DOCTOR?! But this time – this time you acted like a coward, Leonard. Like a mindless idiot. Not like the educated doctor and scientist you are supposed to be. You didn't even check all the facts and possibilities…
And Spock was there at the lab door, looking at McCoy so eagerly, so damn ready to sacrifice himself for science… whatever the consequences. And that morning Spock was ready to commit mutiny just so he could beam down to that hellish planet and sacrifice himself for science… and for the planet's inhabitants, and for Jim's little nephew. Ready to commit a second mutiny in two days, only this time quite consciously. While still fighting an excruciating pain that the creature in his nervous system caused.
Well, Doctor McCoy, even if the man's got a martyr complex, always so damn ready to risk his life for others that you sometimes suspect him of being suicidal… this is still no excuse for your own mindless actions! He is younger that you, he is less experienced, he is damn reckless behind his logical facade, he is a blasted Vulcan-Human hybrid with an uncharted and unpredictable psyche, not to mention physiology, his drives are virtually unknown… Even to him. But he trusts you as a professional, in spite of whatever he may say to annoy you. And even more – he simply trusts you, and you both know it. And you have betrayed his trust: your irresponsible actions have permanently crippled him. A needlessly cruel collateral damage... Just as sure as if you were an executioner.
And then there was Spock, sitting there in a chair at the lab desk where a panicked Jim had guided him, after Spock had bumped into said desk and confessed his blindness… Spock was sitting there very still and pale, staring into nothingness, but trying to talk rationally and never giving the totally mortified Doctor McCoy even a slightest hint of accusation, or resentment, or hate, or whatever. Despite being obviously shocked and his mind barriers shattered – being still in residual physical pain probably, dammit, with the mental shock of sudden blindness added on top of it… There was Spock, actually trying to support the doctor at that moment and to even defend him against Jim's rage… And later Spock just sat on a sickbay couch very still for hours, pale and resigned, not saying a word, not pretending to accept his fate but actually accepting it and putting absolutely no blame on anyone or anything…
That was what scared the doctor out of his senses.
At the door to Commander Spock's quarters, 07.49 ship time
Holy shit!.. Leonard McCoy is jerked violently out of his flashback reverie by a simple innocent question:
"Are you alright, Doctor?"
He must really be going nuts if this nearly made him jump out of his skin! After he had lost track of time and relived so much in a couple of minutes, too. How long before he starts truly hallucinating? He must sleep, and sleep well, to avoid at least that symptom. But there is still a shift to work today, part of it being more lab tests and a certain amount of paperwork on the topic of "Spock. The Miraculous Recovery" (or better call it "Spock. The Blind has seen the Light"?). And maybe more paperwork later, on another topic that concerns the doctor himself. And, frankly, little hope of being psychologically able to sleep well in the foreseeable time…
Hell no, he is not alright. Not at all. And no hope to deceive anyone with his disheveled and exhausted-to-death looks that are now presenting an all-too-stark contrast to the smug hobgoblin's neat freshness. There must be black circles under the eyes, definitely, and signs of hangover on the face above McCoy's definitely not fresh medical scrubs. Not to mention the hair… The doctor feels actually glad he wasn't invited into the quarters and didn't have to see himself in the mirror.
"Doctor McCoy, may I suggest that you take some rest instead of accompanying me to the bridge? I assure you, I am perfectly capable of finding my way there".
Is he joking? No way. The green hobgoblin has, of course, already revealed his magic trick in the sickbay and even received a couple of scans – but the doctor simply still can't believe it all isn't a dream. And for heaven's sake, McCoy is not going to miss the show of Saint Spock descending in all his glory onto the sinful inhabitants of the bridge. Nobody expected Commander Spock on the bridge today, after his little mutinous action sequence the day before, and only the high-ranking officers knew as yet about his unfortunate loss of sight. And absolutely no one at all on the bridge as yet knew about his very fortunate return of sight, too. And the next step in Commander Spock's career must quite logically be: sacrificial crucifixion and miraculous resurrection, what else. All hail Saint Spock, the patron saint of the Enterprise! The doctor mentally scoffs at his own imagination, but God knows, right now Leonard McCoy is feeling like he is in the middle of some Biblical tale. His own role in it is not a good one though... And right now he is also quite incapable, it seems, of any witty retort to Spock's subtly implied irony ("He is being ironical again – so he is really and truly fine!").
"Come on, Commander Spock, I must make sure that you start your shift without any complications", Doctor McCoy says evenly and almost tonelessly. In his best Vulcan manner, ha. Somehow, this impresses Spock much more than any acidic sarcasm would.
"If that is essential for the safety of the ship, Doctor McCoy, then let us proceed".
And so, after exchanging these perfectly logical remarks, both of the highest-ranking officers of the USS Enterprise direct their footsteps to the turbolift, in order to ascend to the highest realm of this blessed starship. Because, you know, the Call of Duty… Commander Spock - striding serenely and proudly, some kind of mysterious glow about his not-quite-human appearance, his posture straight, his gaze as sharp as ever, his face stern and noble (or rather arrogant and aloof, in the doctor's humble opinion), his energy like a hidden spring-wire. Chief Medical Officer McCoy - shuffling along nervously, stooping tiredly and looking for all the world about to faint, his usually bright blue eyes dull and swollen, his face sullen (and looking like a slept-on pillow, in his own honest opinion), his energy somewhat too close to the lowest point.
An odd-looking couple, should anyone meet them in the corridor.
