taxonomites | 006 ¤ [Visual | Location: Enterprise Sickbay]

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006 ¤ [Visual | Location: Enterprise Sickbay]

McCoy rarely looked content with the world; his face would be forever contorted into its permanent frown of disappointment or exasperation at whatever the situation at hand was. Better than him smiling all the time and making people suspicious.

What was the theme for his bad temper today? Well, it was Taxon, as usual. It seemed he could not walk down the street without injuring himself or the powers that be were plucking more people that, in loose terms, were at the very least associated with Starfleet rather than being apart of their crew.

It became more frustrating the longer he was here. With nothing better to do, he began looking over the medical reports he had conducted since arriving in Taxon while he sat in Sickbay... or in his CMO office, to be more precise. And not because he was ordered to.

"Just a piece of home," He announced to no one in particular, as he abandoned the reports and swivelled his chair opposite the visual feed and got to his feet before disappearing towards a futuristic looking cabinet that contained his collection of drinks, and punched a number into the console. The hiss that announced the code was correct was swiftly followed by a sigh... or perhaps a growl of infuriation from the doctor. "... that I need to change the codes for."

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Goddamn it... where are you?

I am in my quarters in the Sanctuary.

I don't usually do house calls, Spock. I'll be willing to make an exception this time... wait while I catch one of those trams.

And I do not make a habit of requesting them, Doctor.

I will await your arrival.

Of course.

[Switches off his tablet and leaves the Sickbay for Sanctuary.]

It had been somewhat difficult for Spock to return to his quarters after his encounter with the creature on the streets of Taxon. Though his wounds - largely cuts and bruises, though he suspected that he also had a number of bruised or broken ribs - were not immediately life threatening, they were uncomfortable. He had contacted Doctor McCoy as soon as the opportunity had presented itself.

Spock waited patiently for him to arrive, remaining as immobile as possible on the bed. He did not wish to aggravate his injuries before receiving treatment for them. Though he and Doctor McCoy argued frequently, he had faith in the CMO's medical skills and his knowledge of xenobiology.

While Spock had retreated to his quarters in the Sanctuary For All after encountering that pumped-up Orion on the streets, his evening had ended a little differently in comparison; not that he could actually recall much of Halloween anymore after being knocked out and regaining consciousness back on the Enterprise with an almighty headache and a Captain looking somewhat frazzled.

Figures Spock would have waited until he was back on duty before he finally relented and told him he was injured by the same thing that had smacked him around. Stupid, thickheaded Vulcan. It did not take McCoy long to make it to the Sanctuary without the aid of a transporter. No, he would not use one of those things, not since Kirk had beamed him back to the Enterprise without his consent.

"Spock?" He knocked on the door of the room he knew belonged to that hobgoblin crewmate of his, deciding to give the Vulcan a moment, before pushing the door open and walking into the room with his medical kit tucked under one arm.

"I am here, Doctor," said Spock. Though he knew that Doctor McCoy was already aware of his presence - a hypothesis that was confirmed when he entered without awaiting further instructions - the half Vulcan also knew that some sort of response was required when such a question was asked.

He turned his gaze to Bones without moving from his position on the bed. Spock was sitting up and, although it was not a comfortable position to be in, he did not believe that any of the alternatives were acceptable either. His current physical state was not conductive to comfort.

As always, his crewmate wore that ever-impassive mask on his face as he walked into the room which could probably be interpreted a good sign. It was a damn sight better than dealing with a giggling, hallucinating Spock.

But seeing the Half-Vulcan sitting more stiffly than ever on the bed while waiting for him made him frown regardless. If he was injured, why the hell wasn't he laying down? Deciding to save the lecture for a more appropriate time into the medical examiation, he rooted through his medkit and took out the medical tricorder, before scanning him.

"Where does it hurt the most?" He asked Spock, eyes barely glancing up from the screen of the tricorder, as the scanner hummed and whirled to life.

"My ribcage," answered Spock, unable to interpret the frown successfully and choosing to appreciate the doctor's professional behaviour instead. He did not have the energy or the inclination for a verbal sparring match at this particular point in time, though when he recovered he was certain that their relationship would return to it's usual equilibrium.

McCoy raised an eyebrow at the clipped and terse reply and saw that the readings brought up as much and internal bruising from where the creature smashed his crewmate around.

"I thought you Vulcans could use some form of self-hypnosis to heal yourself." He murmured conversationally, although it was easy to pick up the cynicism behind that statement as he ceased in scanning the Commander. "Or is that just the whole mysticism?"

"You are correct, Doctor," Spock replied. He had picked up skepticism in McCoy's voice, and responded both to allay it and to give himself something else to focus on. Though the half Vulcan was capable of ignoring his pain - of controlling it as he did his emotions - it was a source of discomfort.

"However, it requires a great deal of practice and it is not advisable to attempt the process if you do not have a physician at your side to assist you in waking."

"Well, what do you know?" McCoy started almost conversationally as he lowered his tricorder and gave the half-Vulcan a look. "You're not so invulnerable, after all but it looks like you at least had God's luck on your side, Mister Spock. After a session of bone-knitting surgery and a whirl from the neural modulator, you should be back to your old infuriating self in no time."

He continued to go on as he looked back to his medkit. "I can administer a sedative, unless you want to grit your teeth. Looks like you've been doing a good job of that."

"I can only assume that your question is rhetorical," said Spock archly, raising an eyebrow. "And that you do not require me to recite my credentials."

He nodded in response to the doctor's diagnosis, pleased - for want of a better word - that his current condition would not leave him incapacitated for a prolonged period of time. Although there was no longer any sign of the creature he had fought, life in Taxon could be most unpredictable. There was no way for him to anticipate what would happen next, and he would prefer to meet it with a high level of fitness.

"I am capable of withstanding the physical pain, doctor."

"No, I really don't."

McCoy rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously related to hobgoblins as he administered the sedative to his Vulcan crewmate. Withstanding physical pain, he wished Jim would learn self-discipline like that instead of spitting hairs and cursing blindly at him whenever he took out his hypospray.

Spock elected to ignore the comment. It had been loud enough for him to hear and low enough for him to hypothesize that he was not supposed to hear it, and he had no desire to distract the doctor with further discourse while the he was being treated.

He remained impassive and still as the sedative was administered.

"I have not yet completed a full report on the incident for the captain," he noted, "I trust that you have apprised him of your own experience with the creature?"

"Nothing official as of yet." McCoy replied, thinking back to the morning after encountering the Hulk beating a building after being startled by the tram he was riding on. "I told him that a overgrown, upset orion was flailing around and it's thick skin broke my hypospray when I tried to sedate it. I don't remember much after that."

An informal report was preferable to no report at all, at least, and Spock suspected that Captain Kirk would be more inclined to respond through unofficial channels during their time in Taxon. It was difficult to follow Starfleet protocol to the letter when Starfleet was, by all accounts, both spatially and temporally distant.

"I was not aware that there were any male Orions in residency. It is likely that a resident with a different planetary origin was affected by a 'glitch'."

"Oh, right." McCoy started a little tersely. "Next time, I'll make sure just tell the Captain a large, green, possibly glitched alien with yellow eyes gave me a headache the size of Risa and cracked some of your thick ribs. If Starfleet was here, I'd be thrown into the Federation funny farm for sure."

McCoy could rant about anything, including this.

"The essentials are correct," Spock answered, "But I would suggest phrasing your report a little differently."

McCoy could rant about anything, and, in all likelihood, Spock could reply to anything with maddening logic.

"Our stories will be subjected to a full psychological analysis when we are returned to our own world."

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006 ¤ [Visual | Location: Enterprise Sickbay]

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[Location: the Sanctuary]

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