1.

They had rigged the test cubicle hastily, but there was no doubt that it was effective. Spock had attached the high intensity light emitter to the wall himself. He had made sure that the seals on the door were light-proof as well as air-proof. He had placed the clear plastic container with the amoeba-like creature in it carefully on the chair in there, exposed it to the light, and experienced a brief, overwhelming shard of joy through his chest as he saw it was dead. The implications for the future of Deneva were phenomenal, but from a logical sense of self-preservation, the implications for himself were even better.

The next logical step was obvious, and now Spock himself sat in the test cubicle, his hands resting loosely at his sides, trying to appear relaxed. He knew the risk he was running to satisfy scientific standards. The human saying, *between a rock and a hard place*, ran briefly through his mind. It was highly probable that the light would damage his eyes. He might even be killed as the creature inside him realised what was happening. But the creature was pressuring him and he was losing. Even now it was screaming through every nerve in his body. The pain would drive him to collapse or insanity soon, or drive him to do something terrible. He had to kill it first. He had to test out their theory so they could treat all those other people who were suffering without even Vulcan control to help them.

The light appeared in a brilliant glare, and he instantly screwed up his eyes against the painful whiteness, but his eyelids had no hope of cutting it out. The light was intense enough to reach through his very skin and flesh – eyelids were like tracing paper. Even the goggles McCoy had offered would probably have let through a distressing amount of light.

The pain the creature was exerting on him increased to an unbearable level, but he forced himself to stay seated, his hands gripping so hard on the sides of the chair they dented the plastic. Then, slowly, the pain faded away, and so did the bright light, and he relaxed his whole body in the wondrous freedom. Then he heard the latches on the door snap open and knew the treatment was finished.

A cold feeling trickled down through his body as he opened his eyes. He *knew* he had opened his eyelids, but it was as if they had not obeyed his command. It was still dark, but not dark as if he was simply dazzled, or if the lights were off. He moved his eyes, sitting upwards, but all he saw was an almost uniform, green-tinged dimness, as if he was still looking through closed eyelids.

He knew Kirk and McCoy were watching apprehensively. He could sense them standing very close to the cubicle door, waiting to hear that he was no longer suffering. He stood up quickly, suddenly realising how hard it was just to get out of that awkward chair without orienting himself with sight. He stood, drawing in breath, straightening his top as much by habit as anything else.

'Spock. Are you all right?' asked Kirk's anxious voice on his right.

'The creature within me is gone. I am free of it – and the pain.'

He didn't know what he was doing, where he was trying to go as he walked across the lab. He only knew that he wanted to be elsewhere, somewhere he could stop and sit and try to rationalise this thing that had happened to him. He knew he had misjudged – both his situation and his orientation – as his thigh slammed into a hard edge halfway across the room. The desk – of course. In his preoccupation he had forgotten just how far out the desk reached. His hand only just found the edge as he staggered, stopping him from falling. He heard the reactions of Kirk and McCoy to his uncharacteristic stumble, and realised he had no choice but to admit what had happened. This was no temporary dazzlement – he was truly blind.

'And I am also – quite blind,' he admitted finally.

He heard both of them crossing the room to him, and hands gripped at his arms – Jim's hands, he thought.

'An equitable trade, Doctor. Thank you,' he said blankly.

He needed to sit down. Whether it was from shock or from the exhaustion of fighting the pain, his legs felt as though they were about to collapse underneath him. He knew his shock must be showing on his face, but he couldn't clear his mind enough to control it.

He reached out sideways and found the desk monitor with his fingertips. He felt his way along the desk, almost oblivious to Kirk's hand helping him. He fumbled for the chair he knew was there, and collapsed into the seat. Finally Kirk's hand withdrew, leaving him isolated in the dim obscurity again.

Footsteps entered the room, and he heard Nurse Chapel's crisp voice.

'Doctor. The results of the first test on the creature's remain...' She faltered off and he knew she had noticed the strange, horrific silence. Quickly, the steps left the room.

Spock simply sat in his chair, motionless. He was scared. No matter how deeply he searched into his mind for calming logic, he was scared, and he knew the emotion showed in his bloodless face. He sat with his hands lying in his lap, struggling to think of what to do next. Then McCoy said quietly, 'Oh no…' and Kirk snapped back, 'What is it?'

McCoy's voice was loaded with guilt and dismay. 'I threw the total spectrum of light at the creature. It wasn't necessary. I didn't stop to think that only one kind of light might have killed it.'

Spock responded out of habit, barely thinking of what he was saying. His voice resonated in his head. 'Interesting. Just as dogs are sensitive to certain sounds which humans cannot hear, these creatures, evidently, are sensitive to light which we cannot see.'

He felt numb. If he allowed himself to think of the abysmal timing of this new discovery he did not know what emotions might surface in him.

'Are you telling me Spock need not have been blinded?' Kirk asked in a terrible voice.

'I didn't need to throw the blinding white light at all, Jim.' There was a pause, then, 'Spock, I...'

'Doctor,' Spock said levelly before McCoy could launch into useless expressions of regret. 'It was my selection as well. It is done.'

'Bones,' Kirk said in a low, shaking voice. Spock couldn't tell if he was hearing anger or sorrow, or perhaps even blame. Whatever it was, Jim's human emotions were overwhelming him. 'Take care of him.'

And then he was gone, leaving an awful, empty silence behind him. Spock's ears caught the sound of the door to the corridor opening and closing. McCoy stayed for a brief moment, and then he, too, was gone.

******

McCoy followed Kirk quickly, catching him just outside the outer door. He caught his arm firmly as he tried to stride away, not letting go as Kirk tried to shake his grip loose. The guilt he felt at what he had done was suddenly shadowed by the depth of anger he felt at Kirk for just walking out and leaving both him and Spock to catch the fallout of what had happened.

'Jim,' he insisted, 'Spock needs you now.'

Kirk's voice was hard and unyielding, covering a minefield of emotion. 'And so does the population of that planet. You told me that yourself.'

'I don't think this has anything to do with Deneva,' McCoy hissed in an undertone. 'I think this has to do with you being scared to stay in there with him. You wouldn't even speak to him!'

'Spock's a Vulcan, Doctor,' Kirk snapped, finally pulling away from McCoy's grasp and moving on down the corridor. 'He doesn't need me to sit there holding his hand.'

'Jim, you're his closest friend, and he's scared, no matter what colour blood there is in his veins,' McCoy insisted, striding after him. 'Just go be with him, please.'

Kirk turned in the corridor, a moment of sadness breaking through into his eyes. 'How can I, Bones? I told him not to wear goggles. You told me he could go blind and I sent him in there. You saw the look on his face when he came out. I might as well have killed him.'

'Jim, Spock needs you now more than he ever has. He's not blaming you.'

'I have to go to the bridge,' Kirk said flatly, turning again and covering the final few yards to the turbolift. 'Tell him I'll be down to see him later.'

'God damn you, Jim, Spock needs you,' McCoy snapped putting a hand against the turbolift doors to stop them closing.

A curtain seemed to have been drawn down over the captain's eyes. He wouldn't look at McCoy as he said, 'I've got a million people down on Deneva who need me too. They're dying as we speak. You know that, Doctor.'

'And what am I supposed to do?' McCoy hissed furiously.

'See to your duty, Doctor,' Kirk said tautly, with a diamond hard glitter in his eyes.

'I will, Captain,' McCoy nodded, muttering as the captain went into the turbolift, 'which includes seeing that no one else fetches up blind when we irradiate that planet.'

He stood for a moment, staring at the closed doors of the turbolift, but seeing in his mind the look on Spock's face. Despite his anger at Kirk for feeling just the same, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was to face the Vulcan after doing such a thing to him. 'Hell,' he muttered softly. He closed his eyes, felt the helpless anger welling inside him. '*Hell*,' he said again. Then he let loose the anger, beating his fist over and over into the wall, swearing with more vehemence than he had expressed in a long time.

******

Spock sat still for a moment on the chair in the lab, hands resting on his knees, fighting the urge to curl his fingers around the seat's edges. From the flurry of footsteps as Kirk had left the lab, he assumed that McCoy had followed him. From the tight, tension-laden air that had hung around him since his revelation he guessed also that Jim would not be back very soon, and although McCoy would probably see it as his duty to return, the same tense, emotional cloud would follow him. They both seemed overwhelmed with human guilt and anger – most illogical, useless emotions. He would expect neither of them to sit about nursemaiding him anyway, since both had duties to fulfil that involved the fate of an entire planet.

He sat for a moment longer, exhaling lightly and trying to bring calm back to his mind. Nothing could be done. His injury was more or less self-inflicted, and as he had said to McCoy, it was, indeed, an equitable trade. To finally be able to draw breath without pain shuddering through every nerve was a profound relief. Even the darkness held some measure of relief – it was no longer painful to look on bright light, painful to turn his eyes in his head or to try to focus on what was before him.

He had to persuade his shocked body to move. The exhaustion now the pain was gone was overwhelming him, and if he didn't move he was in danger of staying in this chair for hours. He flexed his hands in his lap. He moved one of them sideways to the desk, trying to connect himself with reality, with something normal. He felt the hard, cool surface under his palm. Then his fingertips touched a padd on the desk. He felt over it, and found a stylus lying on top. He had left it there as he conducted the tests on the creature alongside Chapel, and forgotten about it. Distracted as he had been by the pain, he could not remember what he had written there, and now he had no ability to find out. This desk, this centre of study with its padd and stylus and computer screen, was useless to him, except as an ancillary adjunct to a chair.

He could not carry on thinking like this. If he did not move, he would simply carry on wallowing in useless emotionalism. He settled his resolve, and stood up, touching one hand lightly to the desk beside him. The door was to his left, behind him, approximately twenty centimetres away from the chair. He knew that. With an eidetic memory, he should know exactly where everything was in the room. Nevertheless, the pain in his right thigh reminded him how he had walked into the desk. Orientation, it seemed, was everything.

Spock felt out to the wall behind him, and slid his hand along it to the open doorway. He stepped through and took a few steps into the room beyond. Again, his orientation was off, and he nudged something with his side. He stopped, feeling a counter that he knew was covered in fragile instruments, and probably had a lab stool somewhere near it, in his path. He acknowledged that he was not currently proficient to navigate alone, and asked uncertainly;

'Nurse Chapel? I require your assistance.'

She was there, as he had suspected. He heard her jump up and come at a swift pace across the room to him, babbling, 'Oh, Mr Spock. I was afraid – I was – well, I don't know what I was afraid of, but when Dr McCoy and the Captain ran out like that – '

'The treatment worked,' Spock said carefully, trying to calm her with his tone of voice. It was indescribably odd to stand here listening to her voice when he could see nothing. Not ten minutes ago he had been standing beside her in this lab, analysing test results with her, barely glancing at her because he foresaw no need to take a final measure of her appearance. 'The creature is dead and I am no longer in pain. However, the light treatment has – damaged – my eyes.'

'Through the goggles?' Chapel began wonderingly.

Spock realised she still was not aware of the totality of his blindness. His eyes were directed towards her, from habit, and there was probably no discernible external damage. 'It was necessary for the experiment to undergo the treatment without goggles,' he said solemnly, leaving the rest unspoken.

There was a shocked, still silence, and then Chapel said slowly, 'But no one's eyes could stand up to that intensity of light – not even a Vulcan's. It would totally destroy the optic nerve…'

He reached out tentatively to touch her arm, guessing at her position by the sound of her voice. The solidity of her arm under her sleeve made him want to clutch at it, to hang on to something real and human, to someone who could see in this dark place. He was struggling hard to hold on to his equilibrium – all he wanted to do was sit very still and mourn what he had lost. 'I know, Christine. Hence my request for your assistance.'

There was a long, hard silence again, and when Chapel spoke it sounded as if she was fighting as hard as Spock to cling on to professional detachment.

'Mr Spock, do you know where Dr McCoy went?'

'I believe he followed the captain,' Spock said. He had a strong sense that McCoy was near – perhaps just outside the lab – but he was also picking up just as strong an impression of reluctance and guilt. Like the Captain, he obviously had no wish to face Spock's condition either. The last thing Spock felt he needed right now was the trouble of dealing with McCoy's guilt as well as his own shock.

'Okay,' Chapel said slowly, moving away from him. He heard her depress the button on the intercom, and say crisply, 'Chapel to Dr McCoy.'

After a moment the reply came, 'McCoy here. Are you with Spock, Christine?'

'Yes, he's here,' she said, managing to insert a wealth of accusation into those few words.

'Is – er – is he okay?' There was a weight of repressed guilt in his tone.

'I am well, Doctor,' Spock cut in, raising his voice. 'You need not worry about me.'

'Doctor, would you like me to - ' Chapel hesitated, searching for the right words, but there didn't seem to be any tactful ones. 'Would you like me to take care of Mr Spock?'

As McCoy hesitated, Spock cut in again, 'There is little you can do here, Doctor. You must have other duties that require your attention.'

Another pause, and McCoy finally said, 'Okay. Okay, Spock. I got a lot of work with casualties from the planet. I'm going to treat young Peter Kirk first, then we're going to beam the weakest people into the cargo hold and treat them immediately with basic ultraviolet, so I need to organise eye shields and triage teams and… Well, you know. McCoy out.'

The channel cut out, and Spock stood in the silence that seemed to fill the air. Finally Chapel broke it, coming back to his side and asking, 'Did the doctor examine your eyes, Mr Spock?'

Spock shook his head. 'I believe there is very little need.' He had to force himself to keep his hands at his sides and not reach out for her again.

'How much can you see at the moment? Can you see anything at all?'

Spock moved his eyes about, trying to assess the indistinct field before him. 'I would say I have been left with nothing but a very weak light perception. It is as if I am looking through closed eyelids. I *believe* I can identify the direction of light, albeit imprecisely.' He held his palm out towards a point above and in front of him. 'If the light is there, as it seems to be.'

'It's in that area,' Chapel nodded. 'It's as if there's something occluding your vision, Mr Spock.'

Spock sighed. 'I would say that is obvious, Nurse Chapel,' he said, his voice tinged with irony.

'No, it's not at all obvious,' she argued. 'If your optic nerves had been destroyed by the light you wouldn't have any light perception at all.' He heard the warble of a medical scanner. 'There's very little light reaching the optic centres of your brain, but I can't discern major damage to the optic nerve. You should come to sickbay for a full examination.'

Spock nodded automatically. It was logical to submit to an examination, however little he relished walking through the corridors like this, subjected to the scrutiny of the ship's crew. He could not stay in the lab forever. But to leave the lab was to acknowledge that this was a completed action – that he had been blinded and there was nothing he could do about it but accept it and move on. Move on to where?

'I will – I - ' He stammered to a stop. He had never felt like this before – so overwhelmed with unnamed emotion that he didn't know what to do, how to speak. He was blind. What would he do now? Where would he go? How could he live like this? Suddenly he felt as if walls were closing in on him, as if his lungs were being compressed by an iron band. Was this was a panic attack felt like? How illogical to react in such a way…

Chapel's hand closed over his, holding it firmly. She was speaking loudly and clearly, as if she had been speaking before and he had not heard.

'Mr Spock, come over here. There's a chair here.'

He followed her hand, almost stumbling in his preoccupation, and sat down on the chair she guided him to. He could hear her kneeling down in front of him, always touching his hand, linking him to reality. It would be all too easy to slip away into his mind.

'I am all right,' he murmured automatically, trying to keep his face composed despite his panic. 'I am all right.'

'Yes, I know,' she replied softly. 'But humour me. Try to breathe slowly and deeply.' She squeezed his hand firmly, then said, 'I'll be right back, Mr Spock.'

She moved away, fiddled with something, then returned swiftly, coming back to touch his hand again. Spock would normally have recoiled from so much physical contact, but he could not bring himself to draw away from the touch. He was exhausted, and he barely knew which way to turn except to the comfort of another person.

'I know it's a cliché, but this may help,' she said, putting a hot cup into his hand. He brought it to his lips and tasted hot, fragrant black tea, sweetened with sugar. Just the action of sipping slowly, tasting the liquid, and letting the hot tea slip down his throat, helped to calm him, focussing his mind on control. He let the hot water burn his mouth just to be able to concentrate on managing the pain, drawing his thoughts away from his uncertain future. It was futile to ponder on what may happen a month, a day, even an hour from now.

'Thank you, Miss Chapel,' he said finally, passing the cup back to her. He hesitated a moment, then said, 'Is it fully necessary for me to go to the sickbay? I believe I would be better off in my quarters. I do not require medical attention, and I am – *tired*.'

'I would be happier if I could observe you, just for a little while,' Chapel told him firmly. No amount of personal feeling would override her medical diligence. 'Besides, you need a proper examination, remember?'

'Of course,' Spock nodded. Perhaps he could pull rank and refuse to accompany her, but he acknowledged that he was in an unfortunate position. He doubted he could make it all the way back to his rooms without help, if he could not make it through the lab without running into obstacles. He stood, noticing as he did that his legs felt oddly weak. For a moment he concentrated on restoring his biological rhythms, asserting his mind over his body's panicked reaction to his disability. He felt almost too tired to walk to sickbay, but he refused to be pushed in a chair. He had to control his exhaustion for just a little longer. He reached out his hand awkwardly. 'As I requested before, would you assist me, Miss Chapel?'

'Of course,' she murmured, moving closer to him. 'Take my arm – like this,' she said, positioning his outstretched hand on her upper arm. 'Try to relax,' she urged him, as he gripped at her arm awkwardly. 'Just let me guide your movements. You'll feel through my arm which way I'm turning or – well – stairs won't be a problem here – but if the floor rises or falls, or if we need to stop.'

'You have done this before,' Spock said as she began moving, narrowing his focus down so that he was intensely aware of the nurse's movements and the noises around them.

'Oh, only a long while ago, Mr Spock,' Chapel replied, interrupting herself briefly to warn him, 'Going through the door now,' as she pulled him in a little closer. 'If it was a hinged door I'd tell you which side it was opening on, but it doesn't matter for a sliding one.'

Spock nodded silently, realising she was teaching him things as if she assumed the blindness would be permanent, or at least prolonged.

'I was stationed on Oriva 3 for a while during my training,' she continued as they turned into the corridor. 'I spent some time helping the survivors of the Dekalan disaster. There were a few cases of visual impairment due to the nature of the chemicals released.'

'Ah,' Spock nodded, thinking, *Is this what I have become – a case of visual impairment?* He had acquainted himself with the Dekalan disaster in the past, and knew the fates of most of those Starfleet officers who had suffered 'visual impairment'. Few of them were still in the fleet now.

'I suppose it was a bit of a crash course,' Chapel continued, guiding him deftly about something. 'I took an official course later.'

'I see,' Spock murmured, realising that the *something* he had been moved around was a crewmember, and that the ship rumour-mill was already beginning. How long before everyone on the ship knew, before people began to arrange reasons to come to sickbay to see if it was really true? He did not relish being seen in this state by anyone. 'Nurse…' he began cautiously.

'Yes, Mr Spock?'

'You must have spent a good deal of time with the victims of Dekalan. How – Would you mind explaining how they adapted to their visual disabilities - emotionally?'

'There's generally a four part process,' Chapel began carefully, aware that Spock was asking her as much how he would adapt as how those other people had. 'Fear, anger, grief and acceptance – not necessarily in that order. I – saw a lot of fear and anger, but as they began to regain their independence those emotions began to fade. By the time I'd finished my rotation there some of them were attending a rehabilitation school, and were learning how to manage day to day without any aid.'

'But they were planet-based – a very different environment to a starship,' Spock mused, betraying the centre of his concern.

'I think learning to adapt on a starship would be easier than in the unpredictable environment of a planet,' Chapel offered. 'Especially if – the patient concerned – had senses of touch and hearing that were superior to human ones. And there are science posts on the Enterprise that blindness would make very little difference to.'

'There is little place for a blind man on an active starship,' Spock said faintly, almost to himself.

'Don't write yourself off yet, Mr Spock,' she told him firmly, pausing for a moment in the corridor. 'I haven't even checked your eyes yet. There might be treatment possibilities. Even if there aren't, you'll adapt, I promise.'

'It is preferential to assume permanence than to naively await a miracle that never happens,' Spock said in a level voice.

'Well, then – supposing we assume permanence – that are a lot of things I can teach you that will make life easier,' she said firmly. 'And we'll work on the miracle.'

Spock stood for a moment considering her words, wishing briefly that he could succumb to the unconditional love and support of the woman next to him. Then he nodded, carefully pushing away both that thought and the insecurities that were needling away at his control.

'Shall we continue?' he said, aware that they were standing in the middle of the corridor.

'Of course. Right, into the turbolift,' Chapel told him, and he followed her arm, always lagging a little uncertainly behind her certain movements. He realised he was faintly aware of the air currents and echoes changing as the space narrowed, giving him at least a shadowy impression of the space he was in. But no matter how firmly he told himself to trust the nurse he could not wholeheartedly walk at normal pace into the featureless blur that surrounded him.

'Deck seven,' she commanded, and the lift began to move.

Usually this turbolift would be taking him to the bridge. Spock was suddenly reminded of the ongoing battle to save the Denevan people, and the part he should be playing in it.

'You have studied the experiment report, Nurse,' he said abruptly. 'Will you relay the findings to me?'

'The creature was killed by a fifteen second one million candlepower per square inch burst white light, of which ultraviolet radiation was the effective part,' she recited smoothly. 'But – I'm worried that an ultraviolet burst of such intensity would be at least as dangerous as white light to a planet of people unprotected by anti-radiation treatments.'

'Of course,' Spock nodded. All ship's crew took treatments to counteract any stray radiation resulting from space travel, but a planet-bound population would have no such need. 'Further research is needed to filter out all but the pertinent effects.'

'Yes,' Chapel said, somewhat reluctantly.

Spock could hear her unspoken thought – how would he carry out such research without sight? Or perhaps he was overreacting. Probably she merely wondered if he was capable at the present time of carrying out the research – and she was probably right.

'You will assist me?' he said, half as a question, half a command.

'Of course – when you've had your eyes checked.'

The lift halted, and Spock followed Chapel's moving arm out into the corridor. He considered demurring, and insisting on returning to the lab – but he was in a poor bargaining position, especially since the relevant research could easily be carried out in sickbay. It was only a few yards to sickbay from the lift, and as they entered Spock smelt the distinctive scents of medicines and antiseptics. Chapel took him into the ward and over to a bed.

'Just wait here for a moment, Mr Spock, and I'll go set up the equipment in the examination room.'

Spock nodded, sitting down on the bed he found behind him and trying hard not to dwell on his sightlessness in the silence he was left in. Much better to think on the Denevan problem than to focus on his own troubles. His loss was trifling compared to the ongoing death and devastation wreaked by the parasites below. Jim had lost his brother and his sister-in-law. His nephew was lying sedated, fighting for survival. But – Spock's blindness was *his* loss, and he couldn't deny its impact on his emotional control. If this sightlessness were to continue for a day, for a week, for the rest of his two hundred year lifespan… Spock clenched his hands unconsciously on the bedspread, fighting another wave of fear in a flood that was becoming harder to suppress.

Then he became distracted from his emotional condition by an odd insistence in his bowels. He refused to press the emergency button merely to be taken to the toilet when he was perfectly capable of walking, so he rose from the bed and made his way cautiously across the room to where he knew the door to the bathroom to be. A moment of careful feeling along the wall as he reached the side of the room, and the bathroom door slid open. As he stepped inside, however, the feeling in his bowels transferred to an overwhelming queasiness in his stomach and throat, and before he could orient himself to a toilet or washbasin he found himself on his knees and vomiting profusely onto the floor.

He knelt there miserably for a moment as the feeling settled, all strength having fled from his legs and arms. There was a bitter taste in his mouth that gave him the urge to vomit again, but he forced himself to ignore it. He put a hand tiredly to the floor to lean on, and put his palm straight into the mess before him. He considered standing to leave the room, but as he moved an incapacitating dizziness flooded his mind. It would be impossible for him to balance right now, especially without sight.

Spock settled back on his haunches, clutching his arms about his legs and resting his head on his knees. He would have pulled the emergency cord, but in this unfocussed fog he didn't know where to find it. The only other alternative was crawling on his hands and knees out of the room, and he would not risk being seen in such a position by miscellaneous sickbay staff or patients. He would just have to wait until the dizziness subsided, and make his way back to the ward then.

At that moment the door opened and he was aware of Nurse Chapel rushing to his side, her Feinburger whirring before she even spoke to him.

'I wondered where you were, Mr Spock. Are you all right?'

Her hand was on his shoulder, not attempting to raise his head from his knees but just imparting gentle reassurance to him.

'I believe so,' he whispered harshly, his voice roughened by his recent effort. 'But I am dizzy.'

'Okay,' she murmured, keeping her hand on him as she scanned him again. Spock couldn't help but relax under the mental emanations of reassurance and concern that he sensed through her touch. 'I forgot that even though the creature's dead it's still inside your system. Its remains are being broken down by your body, but there's a non-lethal toxin present in it that's being filtered into your stomach.'

'I am well aware of the Vulcan method of ridding oneself of toxins,' Spock reminded her, somewhat faintly.

'Then you also know that vomiting is the best method, and I shouldn't give you an anti-emetic.'

Spock nodded assent, finally able to raise his head a few inches. 'I – must apologise for the mess I have made.'

'It's fine – part of the job,' Chapel said brightly. 'Have you had any diarrhoea?'

Spock shook his head. 'I believed I may, but the feeling has subsided.'

'Okay, that's good. Can you stand, Mr Spock?'

'I believe so,' Spock nodded, clambering slowly to his feet with Chapel's hand under his elbow.

'Come over to the basin,' she told him, gently helping him across the small space to where he could lean on the counter. 'You must want to wash your face.'

'Thank you,' Spock nodded gratefully, leaning to the noise of the faucet she had turned on. He washed his hands and splashed the water over his face, swilling some into his mouth to wash away the bitter, nausea-inducing taste.

'Okay,' she murmured, passing him a towel. 'If you come back to your bed I'll get you a change of clothes. You're a bit – spattered – for want of a better term,' she told him.

'Uniform,' Spock insisted, leaning heavily on her arm as he followed her from the room. 'I do not need to be in patient's clothing.'

'All right,' she nodded, letting him sink down onto the bed. 'A change of uniform. Just lie down for a few minutes until you feel better. Here's a bowl, in case you get the urge again,' she said, pressing a container into Spock's hands, 'and I'll be back in a moment with your fresh uniform. Oh, and I'll page a doctor to check your eyes.'

'Christine – ' Spock said swiftly, catching her before she could leave with the rare use of her forename. 'Must you call a doctor? I understand you are fully capable of most medical practices.'

'Well,' she said slowly.

'I – do not wish to be seen,' Spock admitted reluctantly. 'Not just yet.' McCoy was occupied with the crisis on Deneva., and he was not anxious to deal with the Enterprise's current second doctor, a man with little experience of Vulcan medicine or Vulcan behaviour.

'All right,' she finally agreed. 'As long as you allow Dr McCoy to repeat the checks later, just for regulations. I can't sign off the report.'

'Regulations, of course,' Spock nodded.

He sat still while Chapel disappeared into another room and returned with fresh clothes. He was impressed with her careful solicitude in helping him change without overwhelming or embarrassing him with too much assistance, intervening only to tend to the bruise that was evidently developing on his right thigh. Once changed she led him into the examination room and showed him to a chair.

'I'll just put the lights out… If you can just hold still with your eyes open,' she said, sitting down opposite. 'I'm bringing the optical scope close to your face now. You've seen it before, haven't you, Mr Spock?'

'Indeed,' Spock replied, keeping his head carefully still as he replied.

'I'm just adjusting the height,' she continued smoothly, 'and bringing it up to your eyes now. Hold your eyes as if you were looking straight forward.'

Spock complied as he felt the cold edges of the eye-piece pressing against his skin. He imagined Chapel must be leaning very close now. He could feel the slight warmth of her breath on his face. Then the darkness lightened very slightly into a dim green.

'You have a faint response to light,' she told him.

'Yes, I can perceive a slight lightening,' Spock said, taking care to keep his head still.

'Look up,' she murmured. 'Down… Right… Left… Odd,' she muttered, swinging the device away from Spock's face. 'Can you hold still again? I'm just going to shine a light in your eyes again, but I'll be checking visually this time, not with the scope.'

The nurse leant in very close again, and Spock felt her fingertip lightly lifting his eyelid. She was so close that he could feel her hair touching his face. He held his breath, aware that the sweet scent of her breath and skin were not the first things he should be thinking of, but unable to ignore them.

'Mr Spock, is there any anatomy of the Vulcan eye that I might not be familiar with?' Chapel asked finally. 'Any difference to the human eye? I thought they were the same.'

'They do have basically the same construction,' Spock nodded. 'But the Vulcan eye has an inner nictitating membrane which served to help block out the intensity of the Vulcan sun when necessary.'

'There is *very little* damage to your optic nerves,' Chapel explained. 'Only enough to cause slight visual disturbances, that could be healed with time. But there is some kind of membrane behind your pupil stopping me from visually inspecting your retina.'

'The nictitating membrane is only supposed to flicker across the eye briefly to protect it from sudden exposure to bright sunlight – an evolutionary feature from millennia past, when the sun was brighter. It is quite anachronistic now. We barely acknowledge its existence. I doubt it has ever functioned in me before this.'

'Well, I don't know how to retract it without damaging your eyes, Mr Spock.
I don't even know if it can be retracted, or removed. I imagine Dr McCoy would want to consult with doctors on Vulcan.'

'But there is a chance?' Spock asked tentatively, unwilling to cling too tightly to a promise that might not be true.

'There may be,' Chapel nodded, touching his arm to help him up from the chair. 'There *may* be,' she repeated, stressing the uncertainty of the situation.

Spock stood very still for a moment, clenching his hands at his sides. Then he reached out awkwardly towards Chapel's voice, stopping just short of touching her for fear of hitting an inappropriate area. 'Thank you, Christine.'

Suddenly he found himself being pulled into a hug, and after a moment he reciprocated, bringing his hands up to lightly touch her back before stepping away.

'Thank you,' he said again.

'You do understand how slim the chance is, don't you, Mr Spock?' she reiterated anxiously. 'I don't want you to get your hopes up.'

'There is little logic in hope,' Spock said flatly, pushing himself back into a more Vulcan stoicism. 'Either I will regain my sight, or I will not. At present, it seems best to proceed as if I will not. But you should let Dr McCoy know of your findings. Are you aware of his whereabouts?'

'I – er – I spoke to him again earlier, before I set up the optical scanner,' Chapel replied awkwardly. 'He was back in the lab. I think he's been running between there and the casualties in the cargo hold. He's – been working to make the ultraviolet satellites safe to the Denevan population,' she said reluctantly.

'I see,' Spock nodded, his expression changing. It was most illogical to feel excluded at McCoy doing the work he should be doing, while also treating injured patients, but he did all the same. 'Would you take me to the intercom?'

'Just here, Mr Spock,' she said, leading him across the room and guiding his hand to the button.

Spock hesitated for a moment, then depressed the button and said, 'Spock to Dr McCoy.'

He heard the channel open, but there was a slight pause before McCoy's voice said rather guiltily, 'Spock. Are you all right?'

'With one exception, I am quite fine, Doctor, as I told you earlier,' Spock said smoothly. He had been misleading McCoy over his medical health for years now – it was no harder to mislead him regarding his emotional condition. 'Nurse Chapel tells me you have been working on the radiation type needed to combat the parasites. I was proposing to do that work myself.'

'Spock, goddammit, you've just been blinded,' McCoy exploded, his guilt manifesting itself as usual as anger. 'How do you propose carrying out scientific research? Take a goddamn break.'

Spock sighed silently. For all of Chapel's encouragement and all of his own efforts at control, he suddenly felt intensely obsolete.

'Anyway, I'm close to an appropriate solution,' McCoy continued with a more conciliatory tone. 'We don't need you now.'

Spock released the intercom button without replying, and began to move towards the door which he knew was on his left.

'Mr Spock – ' Chapel began.

'I am going to my quarters,' Spock said dully. 'I believe I have been put on medical leave.'

'You need to stay in sickbay for now, sir,' Chapel insisted. 'You're still being affected by the alien's remains.'

'I am going to my quarters,' Spock repeated more firmly. 'With or without assistance.'

'Oh, you forgot to tell Dr McCoy about your inner eyelid,' Chapel suddenly realised. 'I'll call back and tell him.'

Spock stiffened minutely, reaching out as if to stay her hand. 'I did not forget, Miss Chapel. I do not wish McCoy to know yet.'

'But he may be able to restore your sight!' Chapel protested in confusion. 'Why - ?'

'Dr McCoy is currently working to save millions of Denevan lives,' Spock said tonelessly. 'He is treating individual casualties. He is also needed to treat the captain's nephew. I will not distract him with another project that he will take on because of a misplaced feeling of guilt.'

'Mr Spock, I don't fully understand the construction of your eyes, but it is likely that the longer you delay the less chance you will have of recovering your sight,' Chapel said, mirroring his flat tone, but trying to push all the serious insistence into it that she could. Perhaps he would listen to that more than emotionalism. 'There's heightened cell healing going on in your eyes right now that could seal that inner eyelid closed permanently - if it isn't already. Now, I may have completed the training for my MD before I signed aboard this ship as a nurse, but I have never practised, and I simply don't know enough about Vulcan physiology to perform the surgery myself. Neither does Dr Phillips. Dr McCoy is the only person who may be able to help you.'

The tension that rippled through Spock's frame betrayed his feelings, although his voice remained absolutely level. 'Nevertheless, you will not tell him, Nurse. I have not been relieved of my commission yet, so you may take that as an order from a superior officer. Now, I am going to my quarters, even if I must feel my way there.'

Chapel sighed, and said softly, 'You don't need to do that, Mr Spock. I'll help you. But do you feel well enough to walk all that way?'

'The nausea has abated somewhat, for now.'

'All right,' she said finally. 'Take my arm. But will you grant me one thing?'

Spock turned towards her, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

'Let me stay with you for a while – just a couple of hours – to monitor your condition and make sure you can manage alone. Blindness aside, you're exhausted, and your body's reacting to a moderate toxin. You shouldn't be alone.'

Spock inclined his head, once, and reached out for her arm. A part of him was grateful that he would not be alone to dwell on his situation, although an equal part of him wanted to be allowed simply to lie alone in silence, trying to make some sense of this new world into which he had been thrust. At least if the nurse came with him, however, he would be sure that she was not breaking his orders to call McCoy. He steeled himself for the long walk through the corridors again, and followed Nurse Chapel through the door.