DAY 52: BREAKFAST

[nobleobliged.livejournal.com]

How one's body could maintain a waking schedule when sleep came unnaturally and in a room without windows, must surely be a mystery. Yet, as if working on cue, Natalia stirred well before her nurse arrived. That was normal. Less so, the weight that sought to press her eyelids closed again, the heaviness of her limbs that made lifting her hands to her face an effort. She put her wrist to her forehead with a frown, then attempted a jolt of energy – to swiftly dig her hands into the mattress and shove herself into a seated position, and from there, to her feet.

Not to overexert herself once again, but to refuse that it could be possible after sleeping. Happily, though all still felt leaden, her head did not swim. Encouraged, Natalia put on her slippers, rearranged the bedding, and waited. There came the announcement (reminding her, suddenly, of what she had last heard, and the guilt that had twisted in her gut, Jill--), and her face wrinkled with disgust at the hacking sound. Therapy and breakfast. Food would surely help.

Natalia did not wait long before her nurse opened the door, and after exchanging cursory “Good Morning”s (with rather more enthusiasm on the other woman's part), they began the walk to the Cafeteria. With, of course, the essential rest room stop, where water was splashed and scrubbed over her face, and her hair toyed with to no great satisfaction. At least the shower had renewed its body.

Separating in the Cafeteria, Natalia took her place in line and loaded her plate: eggs, fruit salad, fried “tater tots” (potatoes?), and curious meat wrapped in cooked dough. Some of everything, with juice and water. She thanked her servers, collected utensils and napkins, and found a seat at an empty table. It was early yet.

Sparing a brief look around to be sure no one she recognized had arrived – though she remained eager to greet every patient, at the moment she chose to focus on the possible strength gained from the meal – Natalia began to cut up the items and eat with a refined gusto. Entirely possible!

[Claude!]

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[hes-deadjim.livejournal.com]

McCoy looked at him, puzzled. Now what was this about people going back home and not seeing a soul? That might have been easier to handle. Going back to a deserted ship against going back to that same ship, and then realizing no one even knew you were right there besides them while they searched for you? That there wasn't a damned thing you could do to help?

If there was one way to hit below the belt, that was it. The next had been that visitor shift. It seemed like the facility was doing everything it could to get to them, and McCoy hated to say it, but he had to admit it was turning out to be highly effective. Even Jim looked unsettled. Thoughtful, considering everything he gathered, but unsettled.

McCoy toyed with his food, deciding to ignore for now that he wasn't following his own advice to the captain on the subject. "Well that's something. It might have been better that way," he grumbled. Jim really did want all the gory details, didn't he?

"You. We saw my Jim, Mr. Spock and Scotty about an hour after I was taken. They were investigating my disappearance," McCoy tried to offer a weak grin. "For what it's worth, Mr. Spock hasn't decided I'm dead yet."

McCoy wasn't sure just how in-depth to cover that visit. The investigation and the meeting, sure, but after Scotty had left? That had seemed personal, even if it was well, them in a way. What were things like over in their reality? Maybe the same. Spock had seemed unsettled, but that was a Vulcan for you. It had to be odd seeing your counterpart show some semblance of emotion or empathy for others. As much trouble as McCoy gave his Spock, the fact was that he did care in some fashion, and he'd gone to (for him, at least) great lengths to comfort Jim, in his own way. He wasn't as stone cold as he'd have them all believe. This Spock probably didn't even know what to do with it.

[doneinthree]

Bones' grumbling could've been dismissed as just that, more crankiness from the crankiest doctor he'd ever known (which was saying something), but Kirk could read the underlying bitterness in those words. Where the idea of an empty Enterprise — a ship without a crew - sounded like a nightmare scenario to him, for Bones it would've been preferable to being in the same room as his friends after so long, but unable to communicate at all. Yes, in a way, Bones had spent this entire time with a Spock and Jim; and yes, at times Kirk thought he forgot they were different people, just as he sometimes forgot that this Bones wasn't his Bones, but... of course it wasn't the same. He had no illusions on that front, and also realized that he couldn't really know what McCoy was going through.

But fact of the matter was: he and Spock went, they saw the other Enterprise, and that information was relevant. Kirk had already guessed that Bones had encountered his crew, but there was still a weird shock in hearing it: an older, more experienced him with the same Spock and Scotty, except this time they weren't an unlikely team thrown together through desperate circumstances, but a seasoned well-oiled crew... missing their CMO. And the captain's best friend.

On this matter, Kirk didn't need to reach far to guess how someone might be feeling, although he had a leg up on the other Jim in that he at least had an idea of where Bones was. Even so, Kirk was powerless to save him — and Chekov — while still trapped within Landel's walls. He knew objectively that he had to concentrate on the people here first, but logic still didn't make it feel any better.

"They're looking for you," said Kirk, realization dawning on his face. Looking for a man stolen across space and time, without even the first idea of what sort of technology was responsible? It was a long shot, of course he knew that. Spock himself had immediately shot down the idea when they'd learned that this couldn't possibly be the same universe as home. But if he knew himself at all, then he knew Bones' captain: "And they're not going to give up until they get you back."

[hes-deadjim.livejournal.com]

McCoy looked at him long and hard, then put the fork down. There was never a time when the difference between this Jim and the one he knew was more apparent.

Maybe it was because he was (if McCoy had figured it right from Spock) fresh to command, and he hadn't had a chance to settle into the hang of things, much less have to deal with Starfleet in this capacity. It would be nice if things worked like that, if they could keep searching. McCoy didn't doubt that given time and resources, Spock and Jim and the rest of that ship could come up with something, even without that many clues. The entire crew was some of the best and brightest, after all.

What they didn't have on their side was that time.

"No, Jim," McCoy said flatly. He would love to believe it too, in fact, his Captain would want to do that, but he also wanted to be realistic about the matter. So should this Kirk. "They'll keep looking for me as long as they can, but sooner or later, HQ will come callin' and Jim can't ignore their orders indefinitely." He could delay them, drag his feet through as many technicalities and loopholes as he could. The only reason Spock, Boma, Mears and himself weren't some brief flash in Taurus II's atmosphere was because of that stalling, but it would've only worked for so long. Jim had got lucky with that pon farr business, and T'pau had stepped in. But he didn't think either of those would happen here.

While it was heartening they at least knew he was gone and were tackling it from another angle, McCoy thought it prudent to prepare for the possibility that outside help might not be coming. They would have to count on getting themselves out, unless either of their people managed to make contact and coordinate with them.