A Sight for Sore Eyes-Part 3

Early the next morning, I awaken past my usual rising time, and I notice a stiffness in my neck. My cabin seems warmer than usual as well. I attribute all of this to the trauma of the previous day. My body needs time to heal itself, I suppose. It is a good thing that I am still on the sick list.

My stomach rumbles. When I cannot remember my last meal, I know that it is time to take nourishment, but the thought of food nauseates me.

My last thought puzzles me. Why am I so nauseous? Should I trouble McCoy with this, or do as Mother would say and "tough it out"?

The sound of the door buzzer rouses me from a light doze. When did I fall asleep? I am truly mystified as I call out, "Come."

Nurse Chapel stands at my door. I signal her to enter.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Spock?" she asks as she waves a scanner in my direction. I open my mouth to answer, but then she rushes to my console and hits a button.

"Medical emergency, Mr. Spock's cabin!" she calls urgently. I open my mouth to ask a question, but my voice sounds suspiciously like Dr. McCoy's. Then I realize that it is he speaking over the intercom.

"What's wrong?" he demands.

"Mr. Spock's temperature is highly elevated, Doctor," she replies. I have a fever? That would explain the heat in this room.

"Any other symptoms?" he asks. Chapel cocks an eyebrow my way. She does a very good impression of me, I notice. I then realize that she is waiting for me to answer McCoy.

"I am very nauseous," I answer weakly.

"When did you eat last, Spock?" the doctor asks. Again about food! I shame myself by responding with a couple of dry heaves. "Okay, I'll send a team with a gurney. Start the IV right away, Chris."

"Understood, doctor. Chapel out." I watch as the nurse enters my lavatory and emerges soon after with a wet washcloth. She runs it gently over my heated face then fans it a bit, folds it, and lays it against my forehead. It feels so good, so comforting. She repeats the process a few times while waiting for the orderlies.

"What's wrong with me?" I croak.

"Looks like you have some kind of infection," Nurse Chapel replies. "Where are those orderlies?" she mutters.

"An infection? Would that be causing my stiff neck as well?" I ask. Christine starts.

"Stiff neck?" She hands me the washcloth, picks up the scanner again and runs it over my neck. "High fever and stiff neck are classic symptoms of meningitis," she tells me.

We both turn at the sound of my cabin doors opening.

"Took you long enough!" the nurse fumes as she scoops up the IV supplies.

"Sorry, ma'am. Corridors and lifts are real busy this time of morning."

"Well, we'll just have to review emergency procedures, won't we, Corpsman," she answers as she efficiently hooks me up to the IV. Our head nurse seems to be a lematya when riled. I'll have to remember that.

As the orderlies load me onto the stretcher, I hear Christine once again at my sink, rinsing the cloth and hanging it to dry. How considerate of her, I note.

The orderlies have placed me on my back, but I cannot abide that position for some reason. It irritates my neck and upper back. I roll to my side before they have the chance to tighten the restraints.

"Try to lie still, sir," one of the men state.

"I can't," I grouse. My, I sound petulant! What is wrong with me?

"Ma'am?" the other orderly calls. "Did you see this on his neck?" I hear the nurse snap on some protective gloves and then feel her gentle fingers lifting my hair and pulling down the neckline of my t-shirt.

"Some kind of rash," she muses. She straightens suddenly, passing gloves and masks to the others before donning her own mask. "Let's roll, guys." I feel her drape something over my neck and upper back.

"CLEAR THE HALL!" one of the orderlies bark as we exit my cabin.

Once in the turbo lift, I hear Christine activate the intercom.

"Maintenance department, take lift car 3-starboard off service for bio decontamination, authorization Chapel. Out." Decon? I reflect. She thinks I'm contagious?

"Standard procedure, Mr. Spock," she tells me, as if she had been reading my thoughts. I am too miserable to think of a reply. Christine turns again to the intercom.

"Sickbay, contagion procedures recommended."

"Sickbay, acknowledged," is the last thing I hear as sleep overtakes me again.

A low moaning rouses me. I'Chaya feels so different, so smooth, as I snuggle closer. He also smells so much better. But why is he moaning, and what is that annoying beeping?

I realize then that I am not at home, I am not holding my pet sehlat, and that I am once more in Sickbay. I am on a diagnostic bed, lying partially on my stomach, with a large, firm pillow under one arm and leg. I am hot, I am weak and I need to relieve myself. I try to call out, but all I can manage is some weak sounds.

It is enough to summon Nurse Chapel. She bends down to peer into my face.

"Mr. Spock? How can I help you?" she asks. I moan again feebly in the effort to speak, but I can manage one word.

"Urinal?" Christine smiles gently.

"You don't need one," she whispers.

"Yes, I do," I insist softly. The nurse leans closer.

"You have a catheter." I try to lift a brow.

"I do?" I manage.

'Yes," she croons, "so just ... go." I feel her lift the hair at the back of my head.

"What's wrong with me?" I croak.

"Your body is trying to get rid of the remains of the creature inside you," she answers. "Your white blood cells are attacking it. That's the reason behind the fever and these pustules." The nurse smoothes my hair back down. "The pattern across your neck and back remind me of shingles." Shingles? I wonder.

"What do wooden signs have to do with my illness?" I murmur. Christine actually laughs out loud.

"Oh, Mr. Spock!" she replied. "No, shingles is a viral infection of the nerve roots, part of the chicken pox virus. The difference is the fever. There's no fever with shingles. Also you are not contagious, like shingles. The stiffness in your neck, the nausea, and the high fever made me think it was meningitis, which is an inflammation of the membranes around the brain or spinal cord. And some types of the disease include rash. Dr. McCoy is certain, though, that it is not meningitis. It's residual from the creature. Other victims on the planet are showing the same symptoms." I thought of Captain Kirk's young nephew.

"Peter?" I croak.

"Peter has very mild symptoms," Christine answers. She was quiet for a while, thoughtful. "I think that the severity has to do with the size of the patient and how useful he or she was to the creature's plan. Peter is a little boy who doesn't know how to build a ship, whereas you are larger and have more information. You were much more useful to the creature, so they tried to control you more by growing more tentacles inside of you." I shudder at the memory of the intense pain the creature inflicted on me.

Christine notices my drooping eyelids.

"I'll let you get back to sleep. Do you need anything?"

"Water?" I wheeze.

"I have some ice chips right here." I open my mouth as she spoons a few onto my tongue. They melt so quickly, I imagine that I hear them sizzling. As she puts more ice in my mouth, I realize how truly weak I am. I would not allow her to play servant to me if I were in my right mind.

"Ungh," Someone places a hand on my shoulder in a caress.

"Spock?" I moan again at the pain being caused by this person's touch. Who is it? I cannot open my eyes, I cannot open my mind to see who is assailing me so. "Spock? It's Jim. I came to see how you are doing." I moan louder.

"He doesn't want you to touch him." I hear a young voice. Who?

"What?"

"Uncle Jim, he doesn't want anyone to touch him." I deduce that it is Peter speaking.

"How do you know that?" Jim sounds irritated, and exhausted. I am certain that this time has been so difficult for him.

"Because I didn't want anyone to touch me either. It hurt too much." Peter sounds weak, as if he is still in the throes of this illness.

"I didn't know, Spock" Jim says softly. He was quiet for a while. "I'll be back later," he says at last. "You rest." I hear him turn to his nephew. "You, too, young man. Back in bed." I hear the soft hush of blankets being pulled up. So, Peter and I are neighbors in Sickbay. Soon after Jim's footsteps retreat, I hear the rustle of covers again. A small hand caresses the top of my head. I whimper.

"I won't hurt ya," Peter says quietly. "I know you don't feel good. My dad touches my head like this to help me calm down and get to sleep when I don't feel good. He calls me 'Sport' or "Red,' on account of my hair." The caresses stop. "He used to touch me like this," Peter whispers sadly. He sighs. "Can I do it for you? Does it help?" All I can manage is another whimper.

I am amazed as I fall asleep. Peter's touch is actually helping.

"Basin!" I call, frantic. My stomach is about to erupt. "Basin!" I call again. I hear a rustle and the sound of small feet. Soon enough, a bowl is placed under my chin, and I vomit gloriously.

"Eww!" I hear. That did not sound like a very professional response to my distress.

"I'll take over, young man," I hear Christine say. "You get back to bed." I give one more heave, then sink heavily back onto the bed. I feel a straw put gently to my lips.

"Here's some water, Spock," the nurse says. I eagerly pull a few sips. Soon I notice a foul smell. Christine lifts the bandage draped over my neck.

"Thar she blows!" she mutters. I feel her press clean gauze to the pustules on my neck and back. "Your blisters have broken, Mr. Spock," she tells me. "Once these drain, we can close up the wounds for you. " I feel her change the gauze again. "And once we get your temperature stabilized, we can get you out of here and back to duty."

The room feels suddenly warmer as Christine continues to work. I notice her gentle yet firm hands on me, I catch her clean, sweet scent, and I sense her sincere concern for me. I also notice my body's own response to her. Preposterous! I think. I am laying here wearing a catheter because I am too weak to stand up and relieve myself in a normal manner. I have her draining a mass of pustules on my neck and across my shoulders that are at this moment reeking to the stars. My breath smells of vomit. I have a little boy rubbing my head so that I can calm down enough to sleep. And in the midst of it all I am aroused? Preposterous!

It is not permitted me to respond to Christine-Nurse Chapel, I remind myself—because I am promised to another.

T'Pring.

I remember the small girl with the long, thick braid. I remember her large, solemn eyes. I do not remember her scent, just the smell of the incense as it burned, and the smell of the desert with its promise of another hot day.

I remember my anxiety and the itch of the ceremonial robes I wore. I remember how I tamped down all my fears as my father and grandfather chanted the generations of my family back to Surak. I remember how the ancestors filled me with their spirit to make me strong and to help me in this bonding.

I remember how T'Pring was singularly unimpressed.

Oh, no. All my relations, no! This heat I feel, this response of my body to Chris ... , Nurse Chapel, these thoughts of T'Pring could mean only one thing.

Oh, please! I beg the ancestors, please no. I cannot go through with this now. I'm too sick. Not now. Perhaps later. Perhaps ... never.

I have finally been released from Sickbay and am reveling in the privacy and familiarity of my cabin. The first thing I do is relight the charcoal in the assenoi and sprinkle the incense.

I notice a hand made card sitting on my pillow. It is a farewell and thank you from Peter. I will have to send him a message later.

First, it will be a long night of mediation. I have to ascertain if I am truly entering into my Time, or if it was just the fever that caused those thoughts, memories, and ... reactions.

Nurse Chapel saw to it that I ate three meals and two snacks each day I was in Sickbay so I could regain my strength. I feel as though I gained a kilo during my illness.

No one will notice if I fast for the next few days.