boldygoing | The Long Silence [for losthunter]

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The Long Silence [for losthunter]

Jim had been looking forward to getting drinks with Hunter after the end of the Nibiru mission.

Sure, it didn't exactly go according to plan, but when does it ever? And with the news of a five-year mission in the works, not yet assigned to a ship, he's pretty excited that the Enterprise might have a shot at the most prestigious and ambitious assignment Starfleet has ever offered. No crew is more prepared, he feels. And getting to explore uncharted territory every day for five years is a dream come true.

But that's before he gets called into Pike's office and busted back to fucking cadet.

Before the admiral tells him that the Enterprise is no longer Jim's.

Before Pike tracks him down in a dive bar, spiraling into the black hole of his own thoughts, consuming everything except the horrible, sinking feeling in his gut that somehow he's done everything horribly wrong, and the admiral tells him that he's not out of the running just yet.

He's not captain anymore. But Commander Kirk is the first officer of the Enterprise now, and as awful as it is that Spock has been reassigned, it's a rope thrown to a drowning man.

He's not okay. But maybe eventually he will be. And he barely has time to process any of this before the call comes in, that there's an emergency session called at Headquarters. Something like that is never, ever good news. And no matter what it's about, Jim has the distinct feeling that he's not going to be able to get around to having drinks with Hunter tonight.

He hurries to get into his gray dress uniform, and fires off a quick text message to the now-familiar number. Need raincheck. Emergency @ HQ.

Surely he'll have the time to reschedule later, once the crisis is over.

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The nurse gives him a wary look for a moment before her expression clears slightly. "You must be Hunter. Commander Spock told us you'd be coming. One moment please." She leans over and touches some kind of control on the desk, which emits an audible chime. "Due to the heightened security, no visitors are being allowed into the CCU unaccompanied. The commander will be here shortly to escort you."

Hunter will not have to wait long. Spock appears from the depths of the hospital corridors, hands clasped behind his back to hide how they still tremble. Unlike last time they met, his Vulcan calm has cracked, and though his face is still nowhere near as nakedly expressive as a human's would be, he's visibly rattled.

Hunter feels that chill in the back of his spine when she mentions that he would have to be escorted to CCU. That Jim is in a bad enough state that his room would be located there.

And it especially unnerving to see how rattled Spock is. Hunter feels his own emotions aching to be expressed. His eyes are wet. His voice cracks a little, when he speaks. "What should I be prepared to see?"

Spock waits to answer until they are further down the corridor, out of earshot of the other visitors waiting in the lobby. "The captain is currently comatose and his respiration is being supplemented by an oxygen field. There is also a stabilization field protecting minor fractures to the T12 and L1 vertebrae until he has recovered sufficiently to allow surgical repair."

The Vulcan hesitates, clearly struggling with his own emotions, while also realizing that he must take Hunter's into account. "Are you familiar with CCU visitor protocol?" he asks. While he doesn't know that Hunter is not from the twenty-third century, it's logical that many citizens would not have had the need for this knowledge before.

"A coma?" His voice cracks again. He is not sure what an oxygen field is, but assumes that it means something similar to an oxygen tank. And he is also unsure what a stabilization field is either. His confusion is a little evident.

"No. I am not." Hunter admits. "What am I allowed to do? And not do?"

Edited 2017-05-26 04:28 (UTC)

"As stated before, recording devices are not allowed within the Critical Care Unit, as the less scrupulous members of the media may seek out invasive images or soundbytes to accompany their reports," Spock says, finding some solace in the recitation of familiar rules and guidelines. It's only a small comfort, but it's something. "The captain's immune system is compromised from radiation exposure, so you must undergo decontamination every time you enter his assigned room. The procedure is swift and is not uncomfortable."

Spock pauses for a moment. "I have... been informed by Doctor McCoy that comatose humans are thought to heal better with tactile contact, or by hearing familiar voices. You need only refrain from any physical behavior that may interfere with medical apparatus or cause further injury."

Hunter is very familiar with less scrupulous media people. His father was one of those people. And he nods in understanding.

He can also see that Spock is relaxed a little, reciting the rules and regulations.

"Radiation exposure?" He repeats, feeling even more concerned. "What kind of effects would decontamination have on someone who is scarred? And pierced?"

He has to raise an eyebrow at Spock's comment about refraining from any physical behaviour that might interfere with Jim's medical care. "Dude..." He shakes his head. He would not do anything to endanger Jim's life in any way. And besides, there is nothing sexy about a hospital.

"Has he responded to anyone yet?"

"It is not an important factor," Spock assures Hunter. "The sterilization process targets surface contaminants only."

Spock, being Spock, wasn't thinking about sexual contact in any way whatsoever, so Hunter's offended reaction puzzles him slightly. If anything, he might expect perhaps an attempted hug, which is ill-advised to say the least, or a kiss a la Sleeping Beauty. But he says nothing, unable to tell what Hunter is thinking about that particular restriction.

He stops outside a closed door, turning to face Hunter as he contemplates his answer. "Not in any meaningful way," he says at last. "His electrophysiological scans show mild stimulation in brain activity, but there is no external equivalent as of yet."

"Surface contaminants." Hunter repeats. It doesn't sound like their version of decontamination would be as complex as something a hospital in his timeline would have to complete.

He feels like he is repeating a lot of what Spock is saying. It is a lot for him to take in... plus, he is trying hard to fit in, even though he doesn't understand any of their technology.

"You haven't tried a Mind Meld?" Hunter asks softly, before the door is opened, and they might not be alone anymore.

There's a device over the top of the door, a long gray box that lights up with a bright green light, the moment Spock touches a control next to the door. The beam sweeps over Spock and Hunter, causing only a slight, momentary prickling sensation like a static charge, but without the risk of shocking anything on contact.

Spock gives Hunter a slightly surprised look, raising an eyebrow. "I am not a trained healer," he admits. "I have been able to verify his presence, but nothing more." Still, he sounds a little relieved that Jim is still in there somewhere.

"That is something good to hear." Hunter is assuming that the surprised look was caused by him voicing something personal that Jim had told him.

He enters the room, preparing himself mentally for seeing Jim.

The room is almost as painfully white as the rest of the hospital, though one wall is actually a large window, looking out over the city - the undamaged part of it, thankfully. Another wall is taken up with a blue and white holodisplay, which gives a constant stream of vital signs, tracking far more than just pulse and blood pressure.

There's only one bed in the room.

Jim almost looks like he's just sleeping. His eyes are closed, his face slack in unconsciousness, his breathing slow and steady. But there's a faint white glow in the space around his head, coming from a small flat machine that sits along the edge of the pillow. Two silver devices sit on either side of his torso, projecting a yellow field that seems to focus on his back. And apparently even in the twenty-third century, IV lines are still the way to go, as one hand is hooked up to clear plastic tubing, slowly dripping medication of some kind into his system.

All things considered, he doesn't actually look that bad. There's no blood, no scars, though he does have some odd mottled bruising that looks like it's trying to fade to green.

Spock stands back, allowing Hunter to take it all in at his own pace, respectful of the human's emotions.

Hunter doesn't even know how to approach the bed for a moment. He is glad that Spock told him about the oxygen field, he assumes that must be white glow around Jim's head. And the yellow field must be the stabilization field. And while the IV lines are a familiar sight... they are not a pleasant sight.

Finally moving forward, Hunter reaches out gently, to trace his fingers over the top of Jim's hand.

And while they have not known each other long, it still hurts all the same to see someone he cares about in such a state. And to feel helpless.

"Hey handsome." His voice cracks a little again, as he speaks to the sleeping figure.

Jim, of course, doesn't move or reply. But he feels warm - perhaps a degree or two too warm - under Hunter's touch, and the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat through the bed's sensors doesn't falter, steady and regular.

Spock would consider offering him the chance to be alone, but as Hunter is still something of an unknown to him, he's reluctant to do so. And besides... he isn't the biggest fan of walking off and leaving Jim behind, either. It's illogical, but his own responses these last few days have had little to do with logic.

Hunter continues his gentle touch on Jim's hand, even with the slight warmth of Jim's body. He kneels down beside the bed, sliding his arm up a little further up Jim's, very aware not to disturb any IV lines.

"I was able to complete a little more of my clay model of your ship."

He realizes that it is quite possible that the Enterprise is damaged too. Just like the other ship that he crashed.

He turns his head to Spock. "You must have been there with him. And I know you can't tell me anything. But I'm sorry, for whatever you had to experience."

"As am I." Spock found the entire experience deeply disturbing from beginning to end, and it is not yet over. He stands there, hands still clasped behind his back, assured at least that Jim is doing better.

He can't tell Hunter how bad it really was. The captain's death is highly classified, as is the medical miracle that Doctor McCoy was forced to perform to bring him back. He must continue to use the cover story that has been established, both to protect the doctor from the fallout of literally raising a man from the dead, and to protect the captain from those who might seek to experiment on him further.

Fortunately, the cover story is still truth, just lacking important details. "He put his own life at risk to save the ship and the crew," Spock says quietly. "He conducted himself with honor and selflessness."

"That sounds like him." Hunter runs his fingers up Jim's arm. It is hard, seeing him in such a fragile sight. Being so afraid to touch anything else but that arm, because he doesn't want to interfere with the oxygen or stabilization fields.

He knows that visiting hours are likely limited, but really is not wanting to leave Jim's side right now. He is going to find a way to make this work, so he can continue to visit Jim as much as possible.

"You are such a good captain." He whispers up to Jim.

There's a faint hum from the door as someone activates the decontamination beam, and another man steps into the room. He's wearing the same type of white uniform as the rest of the staff, but his dark hair is rumpled like he hasn't slept in days, scruffy stubble on his chin. He falters momentarily when he sees Hunter, a stranger he doesn't recognize, and draws in a breath to demand who the hell he is before he sees Spock, who is clearly allowing this unknown person to access the captain.

Most of the fight goes out of him, assured that if Hunter was any danger to their injured commanding officer, Spock would absolutely not just be standing there. But he's also under a great deal of stress, and his tone is perhaps a little brusque when he asks, "Who are you?"

Hunter jumps a little at the brusque tone. He turns to regard the man in the white uniform. While Jim has told him about 'Bones', there was no real detail that he was a doctor. And thus no connections are made.

"I'm Hunter." He answers with his name. "I'm a friend of Jim."

They are a little more than just friends. But he doesn't need to explain that.

Edited 2017-05-26 14:34 (UTC)

The doctor frowns deeply, tempted to ask why the hell it took him so long to come visit, then. But with the crashed Vengeance taking up half of the city and the absolute mess that it has created in the media, perhaps it isn't surprising that not everyone has seen the reports that the Enterprise was involved. So he just nods a little.

He's wary of strangers in the CCU, but if Spock is willing to vouch for him, that's good enough for McCoy. "I'm Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise." As he speaks, he moves to Jim's bedside, tired but practiced eyes scanning over the readouts on the wall, though he still takes Jim's other hand in his, manually checking his pulse. "You want a chair?"

Edited 2017-05-26 14:41 (UTC)

Hunter blinks a little up at the other man. He can see a wide range of emotions on his face. And is still connecting the dots in his head to who the man is, to the 'Bones' that Jim has referred to a couple of times. Those connections are not quite made, just yet.

"A chair would be good." His knees are protesting a little already.

"Spock, make yourself useful, would you?" McCoy's southern accent becomes a bit thicker when he's stressed, but the Vulcan seems used to it, retreating to retrieve a sanitized chair to place near the side of the bed. It's not the most comfortable chair in the world, but it's better than nothing, perhaps a universal experience shared between hospitals of all sorts of eras.

The doctor adjusts something with the IV, swapping out an emptied container of medication for a full one. "Jim's gonna need all the friends he has," he says gruffly, and he can't resist trying to straighten the captain's hair a little, messy and uncombed, his hands gentle.

Once the chair is brought over to him, Hunter adjusts himself onto the seat, before returning his hand onto Jim's arm. The chair reminds him of all those uncomfortable chairs in all those specialist offices. He shivers.

He watches the doctor adjust the IV, and then smiles softly at how he straightens the captain's hair a little.

"He calls you 'Bones', doesn't he?"

McCoy rolls his eyes a little, but beneath the grouchiness there's a fondness in his eyes. "To the point where sometimes I think he forgets I have a name," he confirms.

And then, because he's a doctor and he knows to look for these things, he says, "Sorry about the chair, but it's all we've got. CCU's not meant for lots of visitors at once. Not that it's stopped half the crew from checking up on our captain here." He doesn't sound annoyed by that, though. It's been nice to have the company, especially on the bad days whenever the enormity of what happened to Jim hits him hard.

"Well, it seems to fits nicely in with some of the stories he has told." Hunter smiles a little fondly at the sleeping form of Jim.

"It's alright."

"Hear that Jim? You have so many people just waiting for you to open your eyes." He doesn't seem to mind talking to someone who can't talk back right now.

McCoy doesn't mind either. If the circumstances weren't so dire, it'd almost be a nice change of pace to have Jim unable to interrupt him. "Oh, sure. The crew, the admirals, the media... can't hide from 'em forever, Jim." The doctor looks over at Hunter. "They still camping out the front entrance?"

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