Chapter Text
For all of the Chief Medical Officer’s tiresome ranting about the temperature of Spock’s blood, along with other vulcanoid vital signs, Spock had never before woken up cold in his sickbay.
Logically, it followed that he was not currently in Sickbay. At least, not on the Enterprise, in the correct universe, and under the care of Dr. McCoy, despite the familiar smells of coffee and ultraviolet sterilization. Spock kept his eyes shut and allowed the facts of his current state to shuffle into line.
Fact the first: he was in a medical facility, presumably for treatment, as evidenced by the smells, the intermittent cheep of a biobed receiving an anomalous reading, and the chill pinch of intravenous rehydration in his left elbow.
Fact the Second: he was freezing. This, combined with the fact that the biobed continued to chirp without investigation by medical staff, or a gruffly barked instruction to “shut that damn machine off,” suggested an absence of not just Dr. McCoy, but the entirety of the Enterprise’s medical staff. Further supporting the conclusion that he was not on the Enterprise, no one had yet discovered his return to consciousness.
Fact the Third: his lack of immediate recall as to where he was suggested sedation, either for medical treatment or purposes less pleasant. The lurking, distant ache in his left arm suggested two possible answers as to why it had been necessary.
He attempted to discreetly wiggle his toes, and failed. It was a likely conclusion that he had been sedated with either Sestanyl, or a medicine similar to it, which had once before produced an anomalous, twilight state of consciousness in him.
Most assuredly, he was not on the Enterprise.
Steps approached his bed. They sounded like Starfleet Uniform boots – more than one pair.
“Doctor, I don’t understand – his fever’s still not down.” The voice was unfamiliar, but young sounding. Possibly an ensign or a trainee nurse. Human, by the accent. Belatedly, Spock realized that the continuous anomalous reading must be himself.
“Damn. If only this ion storm would let up so I could get that medical file transferred – I’ll call the Enterprise as soon as it does. Turn the bed’s cooling field up, Nurse.”
It was fortunate that Spock slipped back into full unconsciousness before his teeth started chattering.
***
Memory returned with his next brief foray into consciousness. He had transported over to the Concord, a small Starfleet Courier vessel with a crew component of forty five, to aid them in interpreting some readings they had gotten when an Ion storm had damaged their sensor array while passing by a Class M planet.
Unfortunately, the ship’s sensor console had suffered a catastrophic short circuit somewhere in the internal power supply while he had been elbow deep in it, attempting to extract the memory core. It had caught both him and the ensign assisting him unawares, shocking the ensign and setting Spock’s sleeve on fire.
Listen as he might, Spock found himself unable to determine the Ensign’s fate.
***
“You gave him what?”
Spock awoke for the third time to heat, and to the strident, but not necessarily unwelcome, tones of the Enterprise’s CMO.
“Sestanyl is the standard for emergency sedation in Vulcanoid patients with unknown histories of -”
“I don’t make patient files for the sake of my health, you know! Why, of all the slipshod ways to medicate a burn patient – don’t you know that Sestanyl depresses Vulcans’ body temperatures?”
The Concord’s doctor sounded stiff and annoyed. “Commander Spock,” he said, “Has been consistently running a fever of thirty three and a half degrees, which is significantly higher than the Vulcan norm -”
“And two degrees below average for Spock,” McCoy spat.
There was a long, prickly, and irate silence, and then footsteps retreating. McCoy snorted irritably. A hand descended on Spock’s good shoulder, a mere brush of mind against his mental shields through his shirt and blanket, and squeezed briefly.
“Sestanyl, huh? Don’t bother tryin’ to wake up, you’ve got nowhere to go. Your little assistant is just fine, and we’ll be back on the Enterprise before you know it.”
Spock, still without any conscious control of his movements, could not reply, and suspected the doctor of using the moment to get the last word.
“Soon as we get another break in that ion storm, or someone finally sends us a shuttle, anyway,” the doctor grumbled.