Where No Man Has Gone Before (private, mature)

bun-bun · Number of posts: 1176 Age: 17 Location: Ebon Hawk Registration date: 2008-11-26

As soon as the turbo lift doors opened wide, Kirk found himself weaving through the sea of Ensigns and officers. Anger bellowed deep inside of him, tearing his heart into tiny shreds; sorrow flooded his stomach, feeling extremely nauseous. What would McCoy say to this? Kirk began to think of his friend, his love to put his stomach in relief. He remembered McCoy’s half-smile during a seasonal hypospray shots—no doubt he was smiling for his Captain was flinching over a tiny shot when the man has been through a lot worse. Kirk remembers how even the slightest touch from McCoy made his skin burn, and soon his whole body would be burn. The burn was so tender, so gentle, so welcoming to Kirk. It was a burn like no other. It didn’t leave any scar on his skin, but it left a giant scar on his heart. No matter if McCoy was gone, or Kirk left, that scar would remain upon his pounding, reckless heart.

Kirk made his way into his quarters, finding a secluded place from his crew, from his fellow officers. He closed the doors, locking them…and for a minute, it almost seemed as if he was running away from the problem. Unable to handle McCoy dying, unable to handle Spock’s logical perspective, unable to keep the Enterprise from being destroyed; he was at a lost for the first time. However, this only lasted a minute. Kirk pushed away from his door and crossed over to his private computer. He sat down in the chair, turning on the computer to the library’s database. Three days. Three days to save McCoy’s life. Don’t mess this one up, Kirk. Don’t you dare mess this one up.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…and suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be. Kirk closed his eyes, recalling yesterday’s routine; remembering the daily visit to the good doctor’s office.

Kirk took his normal break, sneaking his way down to the sickbay. He entered the room to find it empty, not a soul in sight. He grinned as he tip toed into the examination room, thinking ahead to what he would do to McCoy. Once within the examination room, he tore off his two customary shirts, tossing them on the back of chair next to him. Kirk slithered over to the exam bed and crawled on top of it, laying down on his back, in a comfortable position while he waited for McCoy.

Kirk expected McCoy to be here on the dot—like a cheetah to see his partner…yet McCoy was taking ten minutes. Kirk pouted, drifting his head on to the bump at the top of the bed. He couldn’t believe that McCoy would skip this; Kirk knew that McCoy love—enjoyed what they have been doing for the past nine months…maybe some ensign ate something he was allergic to, causing McCoy to stop and help him. Kirk grumbled, cursing the ensign or officer who was in need of medical attention.

The sound of the examination doors sliding open gave Kirk a little jump. He sat up immediately to find McCoy cranking his neck as he placed down his medical kit and removed all items from his belt. By the looks of it, this ensign or officer wasn’t only slightly sick. “What’s up, Doc?” Kirk grinned, leaning forward in hopes that the comical reference to a cartoon so far dated back would brighten McCoy’s day.

McCoy turned around with an annoyed look upon his face, eyebrow raised to its highest peak and a frown that nearly touched his chin. “I can’t goof around today, Kirk. One of your engineers sliced his arm open while fixing some—I don’t know what it was, but something that hazards shouldn’t be on this ship.”

“Was it Scotty?” Kirk asked immediately after McCoy took his pause.

“No, it wasn’t. An ensign, but Jim, you should’ve seen his arm. His whole FOREARM was nearly spilt into two! It kept bleeding and bleeding…it was horrible.” Kirk’s eyes went wide in interest and in fear—now he was wondering how that must’ve felt…and wondering what the hell did this to him. “He would be in the sickbay now, but I’m afraid to move him. Half of his arm nearly slipped off, I had to do the surgery in the engineer room. After the surgery, we transported him into his quarters. He can’t do much without damaging it again, so he’s relieved—by my orders—and isn’t allowed to move. I’m keeping him on close observation; after two days, we should transport him into the sick bay.”

Kirk leapt off of the exam bed and crossed over to where McCoy was standing. Kirk wrapped his arms around McCoy’s waist, to only have his arms be pushed away. “Not now Jim. Because of that, I had to push back my whole day. I need to do my charts, take inventory, order new supplies, do my reports, then I have to check up on the Ensign, then I have to give him a dose of—“

McCoy was cut off by Kirk smashing his lips against his. McCoy lifted his hands to Kirk’s shoulders, attempting to push him away, but as the kiss went on, he was subdue by Kirk’s tongue whipping at his lips for an entrance. McCoy opened his mouth to allow his lover to enter, but Kirk pulled away, leaving McCoy with his eyes closed and mouth opened.

“You work too much—close your mouth before it freezes like that,” Kirk teased, tapping McCoy’s chin with his fingers.

McCoy’s face flushed in embarrassment, and he closed his mouth. “Damn it Jim, don’t play tricks on me. I have to work and that’s that. If you will, leave me be.” McCoy knew very well that would only urge Jim to stay—why in God’s name did he say that??

Just as predicted, Kirk gripped McCoy’s wrist, jerking him over to the exam bed. Kirk would get his way even if it would mean taking a rougher course of action. Kirk pushed McCoy down on the bed and climbed his way on top of McCoy. He straddled McCoy’s hips and pinned McCoy’s arms above his head. “Doctor, I came in for an examination, and I can’t push back the appointment to any other day. I’m worried, that this ache, this burning will continue on if you will not look at it.”

For a second, McCoy thought Kirk was serious, but with that second gone, he realized what was that bump pressed against his thigh. “Jim, control yourself! I can’t do this now, I have to—“

Once again, McCoy was cut off by Kirk’s lips pressed up against his. McCoy moaned gently, giving into Kirk’s seduction; he closed his eyes, drifting his head towards Kirk’s and tilting it to get a better angle. The two men both opened their mouths in unison, immediately whipping their tongues together to create a forceful fiction that made their body’s tingle. Kirk caressed McCoy’s face, using his thumb to brush the man’s cheek lovingly. Their mouths opened wider, almost shoving their tongues down each other’s throat. Even though these men had each other on a regular basis, they felt the need to kiss and hug and make love as if it was their last time. They wanted to savor the moment, because tomorrow they could meet death.

Kirk pulled away from McCoy’s mouth to undo his black pants, and just as he let his defenses down, McCoy took Kirk’s shoulders and flipped him to be lying upon the bed. McCoy grinned at his achievement and straddled Kirk’s hips this time. “Let’s make this quick, you do have a ship to control.” Kirk didn’t want to leave, but McCoy was right, Spock couldn’t hold the ship forever…he would definitely get suspicious and go off on a search. Kirk nearly turned himself off just imagining Spock walking in on McCoy and him—the look on Spock’s face, the embarrassment of the head officers. Geez, it’s frightening.

McCoy’s hurried hands undid Kirk’s pants and snagged them to his thighs. Kirk shifted his hands to the hem of his pants to push them down lower, yet McCoy slapped his hands away. “No, that’s as far as they go.” The tone in McCoy’s voice was so forceful, so strong…so powerful…it made Kirk feel so small. Kirk didn’t mind for it was McCoy speaking to him this way, and he knew that if McCoy had that tone, that meant he cared—to some degree. Kirk moved his hands from his waist and folded them behind his head to keep them from drifting away again.

McCoy tugged down Kirk’s underwear, watching his member rise up in freedom. McCoy took no hesitation, even though he wanted to admire the thickness of it; he wrapped his two paws around it, gently grasping it, and in reaction, Kirk gasped in pleasure. McCoy began to pump Kirk’s member, using his fingertips to stroke his shaft. Kirk grunted every so often to keep in a loud moan, and throaty, soft moans escaped his lips. Kirk was grinning, enjoying every minute that McCoy’s hands were on him, controlling him. And McCoy was just glad that he could make his man moan, Kirk had been with hundreds of woman, yet he was sure they couldn’t get Kirk to moan so freely.

It wasn’t long until Kirk announced he was coming; McCoy merely smirked, pleased to see that he could have Kirk release so quickly. McCoy reached his arm down to the floor, snatching up Kirk’s black under shit. He used that to cover the tip of Kirk’s member, keeping his mess from spilling everywhere. When Kirk came, only few drops of splatter cum landed on the exam bed. Kirk was relieved, grinning, adjusting his starry eyes. “We’re done,” McCoy announced, sliding off the exam table. “Go on, change your clothes and get back to the bridge.” McCoy used the shirt to wipe up the remaining substance on the bed.

Kirk quickly buttoned himself up, and eased off the bed. “But Bones, I can’t let you wander around with that showing—that would be disgraceful of me. Come on, let me take care of you for once,” Kirk stepped around the bed to wrap his arms around McCoy’s waist.

Immediately, McCoy drew away, pretending that he wasn’t throbbing and yearning for Kirk’s touch. “No, I can take of myself. Go Jim, before Spock—“

The sickbay’s doors flew open and Spock came into the room. “Captain, you’re break is over, I request that you return to the bridge to announce further orders.”

Kirk turned around to face Spock as McCoy used the bed to cover the lump within his pants. “Mr. Spock, wouldn’t have been as efficient if you called me over the intercom?”

Spock nodded in agree, “Of course. Yet you wouldn’t return as quickly as you would if I came and returned you myself.”

Kirk somewhat pouted, cursing mentally at Spock for ruining his moment with McCoy. “Right…I’ll be there in a moment, let me change.”

Spock’s eyes drifted along Kirk’s moist body with sweat, and he raised a brow in wonder. “Captain, why is that you’re sweaty—did you run a physical on him, Doctor McCoy?”

McCoy looked up from the bed, and nodded his head. “Yes, yes I did.”

Spock stood up straight, “I thought the physical is in a month…”

“Early bird gets the worm, Mr. Spock,” Kirk bought up his excuse. “Now return to the bridge so that I may change.”

Spock nodded his head and turned on his heels towards the door. Yet as the doors slid open for him, he turned around. “I expect you to be on the bridge in ten minutes, Captain.”

Kirk rolled his eyes, and then nodded. “All right, I won’t take a long shower. Now…go.” Spock nodded his head once again and left the sickbay. Kirk turned around, half grinning and half glaring. “Sounds like a worried mother.” Kirk lifted up his hands in motion to have McCoy toss over his clothes. McCoy did what he was told and picked up the yellow uniform and tossed it over to him.

“I’ll wash this for you,” McCoy said, motioning to the black t-shirt.

Kirk smiled in appreciation and crossed over to McCoy. He placed a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips before turning away and out of the sick bay.

TO BE CONTINUED...

bun-bun · Number of posts: 1176 Age: 17 Location: Ebon Hawk Registration date: 2008-11-26

CONTINUED

Kirk nearly smashed his desk in anger, feeling regret for not returning the kindness McCoy bestowed on to him. He loved the man, loved him like he loved no other person. Kirk was now starting to think that he may love McCoy more than his ship, the Enterprise…his pride and glory. Kirk lowered his head, listening to the hum of the computer searching for McCoy’s medical files.

“Computer received all data on medical files.”

Kirk looked up to the screen, “Computer, search all data on sudden comas.”

“Searching…”

The low hum of the computer was audible once again. Kirk leaned back into his chair, drifting his head over the back of the chair. Nervous shook his body and sorrow flooded his insides. He tried to keep his cool, keep himself from going crazy, but he felt as if he already gone mad. Why did fate curse him? Why did fate curse McCoy? They had done nothing wrong…they’re heroes of the universe. Heroes.

- - -

Spock used a pen light to view McCoy’s pupils and found that they were not dilated; a good sign, and also a bad one. Spock stood up straight, groaning in pain from the stiffness of his back. For over an hour now, he’s been bent over McCoy’s body, searching for an explanation for this odd and nearly impossible fall into a coma. Spock rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, removing all the built up sweat. Was he anxious? No, he couldn’t possibly be. Spock didn’t allow his question to linger any longer and went back to searching all over McCoy’s body.

There were ways that could figure out McCoy’s illness, symptoms, but all of the choices could and would kill McCoy on the dot. Spock began to curse the unreasonable man who placed this mockery on his crew. He was disrespected, he was being played a fool of and did not like it one bit—he began to wonder, Kirk was more irrational, reckless, how is he doing? Spock than again pushed his question to the side to work. This was making him lose his concentration, turning his stomach and slightly pushing his emotions up.

He hasn’t felt like this since he was along side Captain Pike, when his emotions still lingered and he had not full control over them. Happiness, sadness, anger, and jealousy were in his heart then, but he had to keep up an image of a Vulcan. Present time, he was an empty shell, the Vulcan image goes untainted. Yet, here he was managing to keep his emotions down midway and it almost seems as if he couldn’t handle it any longer.

Spock looked up to the screen that presented McCoy’s vitals, his pulse beeped at a healthy rhythm and his respiratory was calm. At least McCoy wasn’t suffering—at least his body wasn’t. McCoy had always been the kind of guy to view life and problems with his emotions, what was he doing with them now? Spock wanted to know, but this wasn’t the time. Three days until McCoy can die, three days until had to find the cure, three days and they might need a new doctor…

“Spock? Are you there? Spock?” Kirk’s voice boomed into the room, nearly knocking Spock off balance from the sudden roar.

Spock made his way to the red intercom and pressed the white button to pull through the call. “Yes Captain?”

“Have you found anything that I can put in the computer? I have the whole list of sudden comas on my screen now; tell me what to enter in next.”

Spock sighed, turning his head over his shoulder to view the serene man lying on the bed. “So far Captain…” he paused, regretting these words and readying himself for a punishment that he should not take. “I have found nothing wrong with him. He’s a healthy man…at least in my point of view. I-I don’t know what to say, Captain.”

Spock could hear the grunt Kirk released in fury, and surprising that was all he did. There were no yells, no pounding a fist on a desk, no lash out of blaming Spock. “Do another check through, Spock. We have three days and it may seem like a long time, but it’s not. We need to work around the clock, we need to help McCoy get out of this coma. We need to, Spock.”

Spock agreed with the Captain, that’s what they need to do. Now, he began to fear that Kirk would go past his limits to save his friend and doctor. Spock played the scenario within in his head, finding a reasonable way to avoid it. “Of course, Captain. I will do another examination right away.”

“Good…good…Notify me if you found anything…” Kirk cut the transmission with a sigh.

Spock released the white button and returned to McCoy’s side. He glanced about McCoy’s body, before he started to remove the man of his clothes. He used one arm to keep McCoy’s dead weight up and heaved the two shirts off of him. He moved down to the end of the bed and removed McCoy’s boots, then tugged off the man’s pants. Spock folded all the garments to the side and placed the boots on top of the folded pile.

He turned around to examine McCoy’s body and found something very obvious that worried him. Spock rushed over to the intercom, pressing the white button once more. “Captain, come down here quick! There is something you must see.” Kirk didn’t reply, and Spock knew he was rushing his way down here this instant. Spock examined the body, finding scratches, bites marks, bruises, it was horrifying. Spock touched a bite mark upon McCoy’s stomach, and with his eyes centered on the man’s torso, he found a bruise hidden under the man's undergarments. Spock gently lifted up the man’s hem of his underwear to find a large bruise on one hip. “Who could’ve—“ the sound of the doors sliding open forced Spock to step away from McCoy’s body.

“What is it?!” Kirk shouted breathlessly, his eyes switched from Spock to McCoy’s have naked body. “Why did you…take off his clothes, Mr. Spock?” Kirk slowly crossed his way to the bed, fingertips gently touching McCoy’s arm.

“Without his clothes, the search on his physical body would be of some use. However, I found these scratches and bites…bruises on his hips. There’s also several scratches and bruises on his back…who could’ve done such a thing? Is it possible that McCoy did—“

“No,” Kirk spoke up, voice squeaking. “Of course McCoy didn’t do this to himself. He must…have someone aboard the ship…”

Spock raised his eyebrows. “The good doctor asks people to do this to him? Very interesting…”

“No!” Kirk’s voice squeaked once again. “No, no. I meant, maybe a partner…a mate. The two prefer rough intercourse…it seems.” It took all his might not to have his face bloom in pink hues. Kirk didn’t think that he could’ve done this damage to McCoy. He knew that McCoy liked it rough, but usually when they made love it was in a dark room, always in hiding. Kirk couldn’t and shouldn’t blame himself; it would only be harder—harder to apologize when McCoy’s dying. Kirk stood up straight, “Have you found anything else?”

Spock shook his head, “No Captain.”

“Well…keep searching…”

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Kirk keeps his cool throughout the old man’s hemming and hawing, face schooled impassively. His clenched fist is the only outward appearance of his ire. This bastard hurt his best friend, his…lover. Funny how it takes a tragedy to make him finally admit this thing between Bones and him. Nine months of insecurity, of laughs, of mind-blowing sex (of course), of constant companionship.

He feels cold. Empty.

A soft touch to his right shoulder has him almost shying away, but he forces his spine straight. He’s Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Scotty’s normally compassionate face drifts into his peripheral, offset by the strangely comforting blank countenance of Spock. “Yew and Spock should go. I’ll take command…not like there’s anything t’ take command of.” Kirk looks to his crew, from apprehensive Chekov to a discomfortingly concerned Uhura, and nods.

He pulls Scotty closer. “Find a way out of here, Scotty.” For once, the Scotsman didn’t argue or say it was impossible. “Mister Spock.” Spock nods, hefting the unconscious doctor’s arm over his shoulder. His science station will be fine with Ensign Lécuyer, the next-in-command. While he and Dr. McCoy might come to verbal blows over every little thing, he could appreciate the other’s efficiency. To let the man die for some off-the-cuff prejudices would be illogical.

They are blocked by a determined Christine. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about some idiotic game. I’m bringing him to Sickbay.” Her tone and her face brook no arguments. She slithers her way between Kirk and McCoy, grabbing the doctor’s arm and pulling it over her thin shoulders. She was smidge taller than Spock, so it is awkward, but she doesn’t let it show.

“Mr. Chekov, continue scanning. Mr. Sulu, impulse power status--” The turbolift shuts halfway through one of Scotty’s commands, leaving them in silence.

Once inside, Christine keeps to the Sickbay’s storage. All she wants to do is help, screw the rules, but if she did, McCoy’s life was forfeit. Helping him to Sickbay was probably pushing it, and she was never a lucky one. She tries to make herself useful by taking inventory (a heavy duty job considering either McCoy or Chapel really liked tidying up). She slams the inventory PADD down, gripping it with surprising strength.

She was a Certified Nurse Practitioner, dammit! And, while she wasn’t required to take the Hippocratic Oath, her workload often went above a physician. Couple that with her degree in Bio-Research and tireless work with many bacterium and viruses; she should be in there! Spock, at least, had scientific training, so he knew about reactions and what things could kill humans. Kirk, as much as she respected him, she doubts he knows a dermal regenerator from a hypospray. He should, considering the not-so-ethical way he was brought on board. By McCoy.

McCoy.

It takes all of her will to stay in the cramp, closet-like room.

’Five dozen hypospray jets, 8 boxes of hypospray capsules…This is ridiculous! I need to be out there.’ She kicks a crate in, sending it flying against the wall. She flinches at the resounding crash, pausing to compose her unexpectedly shaking frame. The door opens, and she shuffles her feet to avoid getting hit.

“I heard about Angry Doctor,” the Orion engineer, Gaila, begins with a toss of her brilliantly red curls. “It saddens me, and I do not like this feeling.”

“I don’t either, Gaila.” Chris frowns, glaring at an innocent medical tricorder. She sighs explosively, tugging a hand through short hair, avoiding the shoulder-length, braided forelock. “How do you know about Len?”

“She might be big, but she is still a confined space. News travels fast.” There is a pause before the green-skinned woman gasps, covering her mouth. “Pavel always tells me to be polite. I forget. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Gaila tugs at her hand.

“Come. I will make you something the old-fashioned way with heat!” The other woman looks so earnestly determined that Christine couldn’t even fathom saying ‘no’. Before long, Gaila has her chopping an onion-like vegetable as she fiddles with the stove’s knobs.

bun-bun · Number of posts: 1176 Age: 17 Location: Ebon Hawk Registration date: 2008-11-26

The old man's eyes shifted from one crew member to another, watching their reaction within this crisis. The old man was tickled by them, seeing their connections when they, themselves did not see it. It was humorous and yet, also very sad. He wanted to show these people of the USS Enterprise their true colors, whether they lived by The Federation principles or not. This was at first just a game, a simple pastime of entertainment, but now the old man felt as if he had a mission to do. He leaned forward when it seemed that he had the captain’s attention once more, and this time the captain asked of his terms. For a moment, the old man forgot that this, to them, was still a hostage take over and needed to be on their toes. The old man couldn’t let that go or they would easily slip from his grasp and never know the strong connection between them.

“You have a mighty fine crew, Captain, sir. I am amazed how they are all on their tippy toes, in tip top shape for any situation.” The old man paused to chuckle, and then returned to the matter. “My terms are simple, my dear sir. You solve my riddles, or trials, whatever you may call it, and I’ll let you go.” The old man’s glossy, warm eyes shifted once again, watching each crew member look at each other in uncertainty. The old man knew what it was like to be controlled by something, and he knew all too well of the nasty feeling locked inside the beating heart. “It seems this is not all of the crew, is it?” He asked, eyes shifting from one person to the next. “I want—“ he paused, closing his eyes in thought. “Leonard McCoy…hm, Montgomery Scott…Christine Chapel….Janice Rand…” he reopened his eyes, grinning slightly. “I think that is all for now.”

Kirk leaned further back into his chair, having a look of inquiry plastered upon his face. He did not want to test the man to leading them into danger, but his instincts told him to ask. Just as he opened his mouth, the old man lifted his hands to have Kirk make the call than ask. Kirk sighed through his nose heavily and shifted to the left of his chair; he pressed a button on the arm of the captain’s chair and called in for the very same people: Doctor, Head Nurse, Head of Engineering, and Quartermaster. Within the moment, the four people came out of the elevator eyes wavering from each crew member to the screen.

Scotty squinted at the screen, “Looks like mi old granddad.” He stepped down into the center of the bridge along with the other four crewmembers.

“What is this about?” McCoy asked, moving to the red railing to the left of the captain’s chair. Rand came up sheepishly from behind McCoy, grabbing on to his arm for emotional support. McCoy patted the woman’s hand wrapped around his arm, giving her a reassuring smile for her safety.

“Haha,” the boom of the old man’s laughter silenced everyone within the bridge. Tension suddenly brewed between each member and their silence turned into anxiety. “Granddad, that’s gold,” the old man chuckled, wiping a tear or two from one eye. “Ah, you have yourself a fine crew, Mr. Kirk.”

“I have them up here, now tell us what you’re going to do,” Kirk injected the old man before he would babble on about his crew being “fine” or “great.” Kirk wanted to know if they would be a live crew or healthy crew.

“Yes, yes. Now, on with the first riddle. Your doctor, Mr. Leonard McCoy here will be the star of the show. He will fall ill of a fatal virus after our transmission will end.” The crew straightened up in terror, eyes shifting to McCoy to view his reaction. He too was stiff with fear; his eyes shifted to his captain, allowing his superior to handle this situation.

“There is a catch, however. Only Mr. Kirk and Mr…Spock will be able to aid him in his time of ill. No other may help him or nurse him back to health—if so, then Mr. McCoy’s life will end on the spot. And no other medication will be injected into the man’s system, only that of the antidote that Mr. Kirk and Mr. Spock will have to produce. You’ll have three days, if those three days pass and you still haven’t found a cure for the illness, then Mr. McCoy’s life will end.” He paused, watching McCoy tense up in fear that the transmission will end. “I wish I can trust you not to leave, but I’m afraid I cannot. The engines have been cut off and there is no fuel to drive your ship. You will have only the electricity powered by your ship’s back up generator.” The old man sunk into his chair he was seated on. “I hope you will make the right decisions and save your friend, but if not, then we will continue on to the next riddle.” The transmission finally ended, leaving the screen blank.

Everyone twisted around to McCoy, waiting for this virus to react. A minute passed a nothing happened. His fearful eyes shifted to his body; he lifted his hands before him, making sure that he was not physically changing form. Janice released her grip on his arms, afraid that she might be infected by this deadly disease. McCoy turned to Rand, watching her sink behind Kirk’s chair. “If this is true, then Spock…Kirk…we must go to the sick bay immediately to watch the symptoms form.” He took off towards the turbo lift in the back of the bridge.

Kirk lifted from the chair, ordering Scotty to man the captain’s chair while he is down at the sickbay. Spock stood up from his station and quickly crossed over towards the Turbo Lift along with Kirk and McCoy.

“Have you been injected with an unknown serum by Nurse Chapel or possibly another crew on the ship? Spock asked, having McCoy stop in his tracks to turn around.

“I would never do such thing!” Nurse Chapel informed in a stern tone.

“There you have it,” McCoy presented the facts to Spock. He turned back around to the turbo lift and lifted his hand to motion the doors open; halfway there, he froze in pain. His face went pale and he sucked for air, as if his lungs gave out. He stumbled back, losing his balance as his eyes blurred and his brain fuzzed, confused to the very pain surging inside of him.

Kirk moved forward, catching the doctor in his arms; he motioned Spock to help him to carry McCoy into the turbo lift. Spock shifted the doctor’s right arm over his neck and Kirk reflected the action with McCoy’s other arm. They dragged the doctor into the turbo lift; “Sickbay” Kirk spoke up. Nurse Chapel quickly darted into the lift, catching it before the doors closed on her. His distressed eyes shifted over to McCoy’s pale and pain-stricken face. “Don’t worry Bones, we’ll take care of you,” Kirk assured the unconscious man.

“How can this happen, Captain?” Spock inquired, eyes shifting from McCoy to Kirk next to him. “It is extremely illogical. If no person upon the Enterprise had injected him with this…illness, then he shouldn’t be in such condition. It is possible that McCoy’s brain really considers that this disease is within him.”

Kirk didn’t believe that, he knew McCoy had a stronger will than that. McCoy was a doctor, and in no way that he would allow himself to think in such a way. Even if Spock doesn’t see it, Kirk knows that McCoy takes the logically steps when it comes to medicine. Kirk quickly shakes head in disagree. “Sometimes Spock, you can’t always deduce situations with logic. Sometimes,” Kirk’s heart began to pound within his chest. “Sometimes, you have to feel—” Kirk stopped himself before he could go on any longer. He found it useless to argue with Spock about logic and feelings. The man kept his in a safe, and Kirk…Kirk and McCoy, they dealt with almost everything through feelings. Kirk looked to McCoy, heart broken to see his friend in such disarray.

The turbo lift doors at the sickbay entrance, dragging McCoy into the room where McCoy would lay in a coma for three days. Kirk lifted McCoy on to the bed, stroking the doctor’s hair. “Bones, stay strong for us. We’ll get you through his,” Kirk’s other hand, shifted to McCoy’s hand, grasping it within his own.

“Nurse Chapel, do the examination and blood tests. Send them down to the—“

“NO!” Kirk shouted, catching the nurse and Spock off guard. Their attention turned towards their captain awaiting orders. “H-He said no one else can help McCoy…we can’t risk his death.”

Spock didn’t believe what the old man said, and taking the chance was all they had. He stood up straight, trying not to look disrespectful as he denied his captain’s orders. “It is the only way we can know what is wrong with him, Captain. I say it’s the best approach to the situation.”

Kirk shook his head, “What did I say, Spock? Don’t always rely on your logic.”

“Logic is all that I have, Captain.”

Kirk lowered his head in defeat. Spock was right, that was all he had. Poor…sick bastard. Kirk stood up straight, releasing his grip upon McCoy’s hand and shifting the other hand off the man’s forehead. “Listen Nurse Chapel, no one is allowed to come near him unless it’s myself or Mr. Spock—that’s a direct order.”

Nurse Chapel nodded her head quickly in obey.

“Not even if McCoy wakes up screaming for help are you to come close to him with a hypospray! The man said only Mr. Spock and I are allowed to aid him and I want to keep it that way.” He sluggishly moved to the wall, leaning his body against it. He rubbed each temple in thought, going over everything that had happened, figuring a solution to the mess.

‘Captain’s Log
Stardate 2208

It started out as a distress signal from an unknown class-K planet. However, the distress signal isn’t what we had expected it to be. The planet disappeared, blew up—or it was all an illusion. A ship soon appeared on our scanners and the occupant of the ship sent us a transmission. The captain of the ship was an old man searching for a “game” to play…he said it would be harmless. Yet, moments after he said these exact words, my doctor was sent crashing to the floor with a strange and unusually illness.’

“Captain, what are your orders?” Spock disturbed Kirk’s thought.

“We watch him…wait for his symptoms to show, and then we find it in the library’s archives for it…and come up with the antidote. It shouldn’t be a disease that we don’t know, something common.”

Spock lowered in his eyebrows in disagree. He stepped around McCoy’s bed to Kirk. “How did you come about with this conclusion?”

“The man shut off our engines, we can’t possibly travel. If that’s so, then the man wouldn’t expect us to find the antidote if we need foreign items to create it.”

“You don’t know this, Captain. This man could be just searching something to destroy.”

Kirk didn’t want to accept that thought, but he had to keep it in the back of his mind. “I can only go about how I feel in my gut—and my gut tells me this man isn’t looking for a dead man upon his hands. He’s searching for a game to play and I don’t think he would come about laughing at McCoy’s loss.”

“Captain…”

“That’s enough Spock! Examine McCoy yourself and see what you can find. Nurse Chapel, hook up McCoy to the life support system.”

Nurse Chapel rushed over to McCoy’s bed side; she clicked at the machine above McCoy’s bed, turning on the system. Just as she clicked the first button, McCoy gasped in horrible pain, curling up like a dying animal.

“Stop!” Spock raised his voice, slapping Chapel’s hand away from the machine. Nurse Chapel gasped, gaining distance from Spock. Spock turned off the system, watching McCoy’s body release in relaxed state. “Even the systems will kill the man. We have to do this on our own.”

Kirk’s eyes widen. “Impossible…” he turned around, crossing his arms. “Then so be it; Spock, watch McCoy, I’ll be down in the library searching for the disease in McCoy’s books. If anything has changed or come up, contact me immediately.” Kirk went over to the red intercom, pressing the button. “Scotty, continue to man the bridge, Spock and I might be down here all three days. If the man contacts us once again, notify me. I want to be there when he speaks.”

“Aye, sir,” Scotty replied.

Kirk stepped away from the intercom, eyes wavering slowly to his boots. He looked over his shoulder, watching Spock inspect McCoy over. Kirk felt so helpless, felt so weak compared to his man. This man was defeating him so easily, attacking where it hurts most. His friends, the people he loves. He shifted away towards the archway, eyes still upon McCoy’s limp body. ‘Stay with us, Bones. Be strong.’ Kirk turned around and exited the room, and then making his way out of the sickbay into the turbolift.

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Normally, Hikaru Sulu focused more on the controls than his helms-partner. He had to be; one hesitant maneuver, one order not executed perfectly, and the ship was in trouble. Sometimes, he felt the fate of the entire ship rested on his gold shoulders.

He found himself looking at Chekov. He felt a kinship with the man that went beyond their mutual duties. He was the youngest child in his large family and often felt swamped, so he knew what Pavel was going through…kinda. He thought of them as siblings, but quickly found out that the feelings ran deeper than he thought.

And, he had tried to hide it. Pavel was seventeen at the time and in the chain of command; Regulations and Sulu’s own honor wouldn’t allow for those kind of feelings. So, he pushed them away in their mission against the Narada, focusing on how not to get them all killed instead. It was a perfect plan, until the Enterprise crew was mandatorily marooned in San Francisco for psych evals. They had just finished destroying a man who destroyed one planet, planned on destroying theirs, incapacitated their original captain, and was in possession of a WMD; suddenly they were declared unfit?

He had found himself in a bar. Unlike most of his classmates, he did not drink. He found it a waste of time and money. Nevertheless, he was in a bar—a bar off the beaten trail, somewhere none of his (former? future?) crewmates would dare step in. The walls were decorated in dark, earthy tones, light jazz flowed from the surround sound system, and there were rules against loud, drunken behavior. None of his crewmates would be here, which was exactly why he picked it. He needed to think, to sort out his feelings. He wanted to be the Enterprise’s helmsman—he did.

Didn’t he? He glared into his sake cup. The liquor wasn’t enough to get him as drunk as he wanted, but it would do. It would have to.

The door jangled, and Sulu looked up—his fencing and other physical arts made him overly cautious even as a civilian. He groaned when he saw the familiar curly mop. What was the chance that Pavel Chekov would pick this exact bar? He rubbed his face.

“You turned off your communicator, but the GPS signal was still active,” the young Russian said, answering the Asian’s unspoken question. He took his place to Sulu’s right, unconsciously (or consciously; one could never tell with the wily Russian) mimicking their working relationship. “Vhere have you been? You disappeared after our ewaluations. Do you want to talk about zit?”

“I’m fine. I’m just…fine,” he remembered saying before ordering some of the harder stuff. Chekov, to his surprise, ordered vodka. The night passed by in a blur. When Sulu woke up, he was on his modest apartment's couch, tucked in.

He never did get his explanation.

The ship jerked to a complete stop, sending everyone on the bridge flying. Both Sulu and Chevok splayed their fingers to avoid launching a missile accidentally. Uhura gripped the edge of her console, another burst making her face screw up. She looked up to Spock reflexively; he was as calm as ever. She cursed herself for thinking about him. They had decided to mutually and amicably split up after Vulcan was destroyed. But, there would always be a small part that's still in love with him.

The wizened face on the screen beamed jovially at them all, as he told them of his ‘game’. Uhura looked towards Kirk, almond eyes narrow. After he didn’t respond for a while, she ripped off her earpiece. “Tell me you’re not thinking about it, Captain-“

“Lt. Uhura.” She stilled at the steely undertone of command, not happy. It would not do to lose her temper while the two-way screen was still in on. Jim turned to face the old man. “What are your terms?”

Ensign Chekov couldn’t stop his blurted question: “Keptin, you tink it wise to trust him?” Kirk leveled a glance at him, and the younger man shrank away minutely, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Mr. Sulu, Mr. Spock, do you have any words of wisdom for me?”

Spock met his gaze coolly. “I have none at the moment, Captain, but I shall notify you the moment I do.”

Kirk stared at the man on the screen. “What are your terms?” he asked again.

bun-bun · Number of posts: 1176 Age: 17 Location: Ebon Hawk Registration date: 2008-11-26

Chekov felt out of place after the Captain answered in a reassuring tone. It was as if he was going against orders to ask him what Kirk’s plans were—and even with the giggles upon the bridge, Chekov was still ashamed of himself. He swiveled back around to meet the navigational controls once more, curling his toes within his shoes to hide the humiliating feelings within. He pressed a couple of buttons on the screen before him, making sure the coordinates were correct and the ship was sailing in the right direction. This kept him occupied from the guilty feelings inside.

The elevator doors slid open and Spock stepped out with his hands still folded behind his back. He crossed over to the center of the bridge to the Captain’s chair and stood next to Kirk, staring out into the space before them. “The Sickbay is not active, thus the supplies you asked for by McCoy shall be ready to send off to the planet immediately.” Spock turned away, not caring if Kirk was thanking him or not—it was hard enough to remain with a perspective that kept McCoy from losing his cool, and he would have to do the same with Kirk. Spock returned to his controls, but as he crossed half-way, a loud shriek came from Chekov.

“VOAH! VOAH! The planet! It’s gone!!” Chekov shouted, as he quickly clicked away at his screen. “It’s gone, it’s disappeared!!” Chekov repeated in panic, knowing all too well that this would happen. His eyes remained on the screen, attempting to see if he made a mistake or there was a glitch in the system. Yet, everything checked out normal and the planet was gone for good.

Spock rushed to his controls, scanning the area around them and the once was planet for any signs of a ship, missiles, floating bombs, or anything that could’ve cause the planet to explode. He looked over his shoulder to Kirk, “Nothing is on the radar.” His eyes returned back to the radar to only have the screen black out. Suddenly, the ships lights flickered off, leaving the ship to float in space. Spock heard the soft clicks from the Captain’s chair and Spock shifted his eyes to find Kirk clicking at the control panel to get in contact with the lower deck.

A moment later, the power returned and all the systems booted back up in a restart. Chekov clicked at his screen, demanding it to hurry until the system was back online. He examined the map before him and turned his head over his shoulder. “The planet is still gone.”

“A ship has appeared on my sensors,” Spock spoke up.

“Incoming transmission,” Uhura pronounced, already shifting the audio and visual message to the main screen.

The wide screen in front of the bridge flickered on to an elder human male scratching at his thick, white beard. He remained silent for a while, eyes examining over the bridge’s occupants. “I apologize for the rude introduction I made with the disappearance of the planet that you did in fact receive a distress call from. As you may already know, that distress call was fake, just to have you fall into my web. Cliché isn’t it? I’m terribly sorry that I have no better ideas than this, but this is what I live for—dear me, I’m blabbing. My name is, ah you need not know my name, now do you? I’m just an old man seeking for some fun before I die. I have a game for you all—do any of you enjoy games? I do, my favorite pass time. Will you mind giving this old man the pleasure to have a game with a couple of young folks as yourself? It would be mighty kind of you.”

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Personal Log Stardate: 2259.40
Entered by: Head Nurse Christine Chapel

My interaction with CMO McCoy over the Enterprise’s unfortunate and mandatory docking seems to be working in the unit cohesion’s favor. At least he’s not yelling at me to whip up a vaccine (of which he had used the disease to drug his friend) Stricken From Record By User Anyway, I’m just glad he’s not being half as ornery as I know he can be. He addresses me as ‘Chris’ in private. That gives me hope. Still, he keeps touching me. He claims it’s some Old-Fashioned Southern Thang, but as a b-Vegané, I have my doubts.

Spock just walked in. If I don’t do something, there’s going to be blood on my shiny Sickbay floors.

Chapel, out

Christine moved from her office to the main floor, willowy body tense in anticipation. Spock, for all his Vulcan tendencies, had an almost human-like temper. She and Dr. M’Benga would often argue about what drove the First Officer and whether his emotions stemmed from his Vulcan half or his human.

“Dr. McCoy,” she called out, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him to one of her latest bio-research experiments—a virus. She tried to reason with herself that if she could prevent most of the damage, it meant more than some silly b-Vegané rule. “Yes, this is Yeoman Richard’s virus. It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

“What’s all this about, Chris? You look nervous. Hell, if you still had your long hair, you’d be toying with it.”

“No I wouldn’t. Veganés don’t ‘toy’. Now, look through this microscope.” Spock was approaching and fast. She wondered if a cutting motion over her neck would deter him or spur him on. She was left floundering as the Vulcan cleared his throat and made his presence known. “Oh, flarg,” she swore, almost wincing at the incredulous look McCoy threw at her.

“What do you want, Mr. Spock?” he hummed, straightening up from the microscope. He listened to the pointy-eared bastard with a calm look on his face, the kind of look he got when he was rearing to swear someone down. Christine had witnessed this look many times in the bar, squished between a wildly flirtatious Kirk and a sullen McCoy. It was his bar fight face. Before she could intervene, Spock strode out, his mission finished and leaving Christine with the inevitable lashing out.

Jim looked out to the screen, the dizzying star display flickering over all of their faces. All of them were young, none moreso than Chekov, who celebrated his eighteenth birthday just last week. And, who hesitantly voiced his question in the quiet room. He could feel Uhura’s somber eyes on him, knew she was waiting his response. He grinned his quicksilver grin at Pavel’s direction, head tilted slightly. It was his unassuming position. It made people trust him for some odd reason. “Don’t worry, Ensign. I have a plan. It’ll all work out.” He heard Uhura’s delicate snort and could almost see her head shake. Sulu giggled at her reaction (although, he would later deny it with every breath in his body) and the tension dissipated.

Kirk drew back, pressing the transporter toggle. “How are we doing, Scotty?”

“Almost done, Cap’t! Who’d a-thunk! Beaming across vast distances with only wee coordinates! God, if I were someone else, I’d buy me a whiskey!”

“Maybe at the next spaceport.”

“I’ll hold ye ta tha’, Mister! Scott, out.”

bun-bun · Number of posts: 1176 Age: 17 Location: Ebon Hawk Registration date: 2008-11-26

Spock nodded his head in compliance to the captain of the Enterprise. He knew very well that the captain was only thinking of the welfare of the planet that they stumbled upon, yet the matter at hand was of their safety. Spock couldn’t and possibly wouldn’t allow Kirk to stir the ship into havoc once more, it was reckless and dangerous. And here Spock was again, tugging between two different worlds: that of the welfare of his crew members and the ship and that of the welfare of the planet. Now Spock could only hope that Captain Kirk would stir his crew into a state of wellbeing and with any luck, the planet’s as well.

Spock exited off the off the bridge through the elevator at the back, giving Uhura a glance, and whom she wished him to keep his cool around Doctor McCoy—he could see that desperation of stability upon the ship in her eyes. He nodded his head to assure her that there would not be an argument between the two men. All Spock had to do now was keep his promise to Uhura. He leaned forward and pressed the ‘SB’ button for Sickbay and stood up straight. He took deep breaths, playing scenarios through his head, having a counterattack for McCoy’s wit without insulting the man.

The elevators door opened wide and Spock stepped out into the Sickbay. Few beds were occupied for minor injuries during the work hours; however, there were no men or women who had fatal or gruesome injuries to leave them out of work. Spock lifted his chin up high, folded his hands behind his back, and ambled quickly over to McCoy. The doctor was talking to a nurse about the description of a virus one officer had, and for once McCoy looked like he cared. The moment had not lasted long for Spock interjected with a clear of his throat.

“There’s been a distress call signaled for us. Captain Kirk requires your assistance; no doubt that he would want supplies for this planet that he wishes to aid.” With that, Spock nodded his head in thank you for McCoy listening to him and turned around on his heels.

Chekov stared to the outside in front of him, watching the stars shift into thin white lines as they zoomed past them at the speed of light. He bit his lower lip, can’t help but wonder what was going through his Captain’s mind. He respected Kirk for his bravery and kind heart to help a planet in distress, but he too felt something terribly wrong. After all, Kirk was known for his rash and reckless actions. The young teenager swiveled around in his chair too meet face to face with Kirk, but the question he wanted to ask did not release into words.

He shifted his eyes over to Sulu for strength and just by his friend’s smile, he gained the courage. Chekov swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned forward to catch his Captain’s attention. “Captain Kirk, vhat are you planning to do?” he asked, his thick Russian accent flooded his English words, leaving it in a big mess. “I sense, something, terribly vrong vith this situation…” he paused, “Don’t you?”

ღτicą-chąиღ · Subject: Where No Man Has Gone Before (private, mature) Wed Jul 01, 2009 1:15 am

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"Incoming transmission, Captain," Uhura remarked steadfastly from her post at Command Central. Her fingers pressed into her earpiece, brows furrowed. "It's...garbled. I can't make heads or tails of it."

James T. Kirk—Captain Kirk—swiveled in the Captain’s chair, face solemn for once. He knew his crew, knew the hell they went through with the whole Romulan catastrophe, and he knew they weren’t ready for another even though it had been a year.

An entire year separated from his one true love. His fingers danced lightly on the Command chair’s toggles. He missed the Enterprise dearly. He shook his head; there would be enough time for that whenever whatever was done. “Lieutenant, put it on speakers. Mr. Sulu drop speed down to Warp 6.”

“Aye, sir,” both officers worked their magic on their separate, but important consoles. Uhura’s deft fingers moved a mite faster than Sulu’s and the loud squawk of static pierced the relative calm of the Command center. The young Russian, Chekov, flinched slightly at the noise, but no one but Uhura and Sulu had noticed. Sulu sent Chekov a small smile over the helm, reaching over to brush the younger man’s fingers in the pretext of pressing a button. Chekov gratefully grinned back.

Kirk leaned forward, chin on interlocked hands in a thinking pose. His brows furrowed until a tiny ridge appeared between them. He had no idea what the squawks meant and only one person on his crew would: his Vulcan First Officer. “What do you make of this, Mr. Spock.” They had their ~~big~~, ~~violent~~ misgivings in the past, and the whole “unresolved grief thing”, but at least, they have a working relationship. The Vulcan in Spock demanded no less.

The Vulcan in question turned from his own console, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “The distress signal hails from an unknown class-K planet, according to the sensors. While I do not have all sufficient data, if you are to approach, proceed with caution.”

Kirk nodded, fingers still interlocked. After a moment, he shifted up. “Uhura, cut off speakers. Keep a channel open for any further communications. Mr. Chekov, activate screen and shield. Mr. Sulu, Warp Factor 8.4, and steady.” He leaned back to his controls and toggled Security. “Lcdr. Greyson, send some of your finest to the transporter room in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Captain Kirk,” Lcdr. Greyson said, her voice sharp and clear.

“Kirk out.” He leapt out of his chair, stretching up on his tiptoes. “Mr. Spock?”

“Yes Captain?”

“Go alert Dr. McCoy. It’s a distress signal; we might need him,” he explained further, even though Spock would never think about asking such an impetuous question. The impassive look his First Officer gave him made his grin widen. Everyone in the Federation knew that Spock and Dr. McCoy didn’t get along, and that was put mildly.

Right now, he could care less about the petty squabbles of his crewmen. He had a bad feeling in his gut about this class-K planet—normally, if a planet was so technologically advanced, it would have been put under Federation law or in the enemy’s pocket by now.

Something was amiss. He pressed the transporter toggle. “Mr. Scott, prepare the transporter to beam down five in twenty-five minutes.”

“Aye, sir. And, call me Scotty, all me friends do!”

Kirk grinned. “Kirk out.” He pressed the toggle again, cutting off the Scotsman’s indignant response.