Chapter Text
The Abyss
Bones was focusing all his senses on the darkness ahead. But it was incredibly difficult to focus on something you couldn't see. He decided that it would make more sense to concentrate on his body, his legs and arms, to prepare himself for the jump. He had about two large strides to make, a rather short run up, but it would have to do. Then, at the threshold of the cavity, Spock and Chekov would give him a strong push. The space in the cavity was extremely limited and confined, however, there was just enough room to allow for such an 'operation' as Spock had put it. Bones wished he would have had more opportunity to prepare for the jump, but the space, or rather the lack of it, just didn't allow it. He would literally have to jump the gun.
The doctor had to smile as Spock started to count backwards from ten like they were engaging in some sporting competition. Nine, eight, seven... he would have to catch the edge of the threshold with his right foot, that would give him the leverage to push himself into the air; six, five, four ... and stretch his arms forward in case he wouldn't jump far enough and would have to catch the edge of the platform opposite...
Three, two, one.
"Jump!"
Chekov and Spock shouted out simultaneously and McCoy took two large strides. He hit the edge of the cavity with his right foot just as Spock had advised him. He jumped forward, with all his strength, feeling Chekov to his left and Spock to his right as they pushed his torso forward. His strength combined with theirs, catapulted the doctor into the freezing air. Moving his arms like a long-jumper, Bones was surprised that he had the time to notice that it was even colder outside, compared to the cavity he had just left behind. And then he felt a solid surface beneath his right foot. McCoy pushed himself forward, dropping on all fours onto the platform.
Everything had happened so quickly that he didn't even have time to think about the abyss he had just crossed. His hurting bones and freezing limps didn't leave him in any doubt that he was still alive.
"Made it!", he shouted out, as much to himself as to Chekov and Spock on the other side. He held up his tricoder that was shining dimly in the darkness to give the young Russian some orientation.
"Come on, Chekov, what you're waiting for?"
The ensign turned towards Spock who nodded at him, his stony face being lit by his tricoder. If his superior officer was indeed worried, Pavel privately noted, he wouldn't get such an impression from his face. Like usual, the Vulcan's features were rigid and emotionless.
"You will do the jump just like Dr McCoy has demonstrated, Ensign!", Spock sounded uncharacteristically sharp. It was an order. An order Chekov was more than eager to fulfil.
McCoy positioned himself impatiently at the edge of the platform, his tricoder around his neck so that the navigator could see him, his arms stretched towards him.
Chekov decided that he would be scared later. He took two large strides and pushed himself off the edge, assisted by a powerful push from Spock. While flying through the air Pavel saw that McCoy and the platform were moving away too rapidly and slightly upwards as well. He wouldn't make it.
BANG. Chekov crashed against the side of the platform with full force. Thankfully, McCoy was already lying on the floor, leaning over the edge, as he had seen that the youngster would probably not make it. The CMO had hoped he would catch Chekov's arms. Then, with the ensign's assistance, he could easily pull him up onto the platform. But unfortunately fate had different plans.
The doctor had managed to catch the Russian’s left hand, but the boy wasn't reacting. He dangled above the abyss lifelessly, prevented from falling to his death only by McCoy's strong grip around his left wrist.
Bones knew instantaneously that Chekov had crashed his head against the side of the platform and was now unconscious.
As there was nothing to hold on to or to get a grip on, McCoy had to use all his strength - not only to hold on to Chekov but also to somehow keep himself on the smooth surface of the platform. Due to the ensign’s dead weight, the doctor was slowly but steadily being dragged over the edge.
"Spock!"
Bones shouted as loud as he could. He wouldn't make it without Spock's help. And neither would Chekov. Just a second later, he felt a rush of air next to him as the Vulcan dropped onto the platform with an elegant shoulder roll. The FO had watched Chekov's unlucky collision and knew instantly that McCoy would have only seconds to hold on to the young man.
Spock got hold of the navigator’s other arm and with combined strength they pulled him up and to safety a few meters from the edge. McCoy immediately started assessing Chekov's injuries, his scanner running over his head and body. Spock was checking the readings on his tricoder. It was still pitch black, but as all of their instruments were in use, the dim light they were emitting enabled them to see one another's faces.
McCoy's scanner was flickering due to another interference and he cursed the instrument with a flow of obscenities. The scanner seemed to have taken note and was suddenly stabilising itself again. The doctor continued his assessment. Spock watched on with concern. The CMO shook his head impatiently as he had to wait for a moment until his scanner and tricoder would present him with the result of their readings.
"Where the hell are we, Spock?", he took the moment of inaction to enquire about the platform. Despite the adrenalin rush, Bones felt incredibly tired, annoyed – and angry. Why did landing party duty always have to be such a pain in the ...?
"The platform is approximately 160 square meters in dimension. About ten meters to our left is a larger construct that is hollow inside. This structure is of similar size to some of the cubes above ground, but it contains separate spaces within it, which, I recommend we consider as a place to shelter in", Spock explained with a composed voice.
Bones nodded, never failing to be amazed at the Vulcan’s impressive ability to make quick assessments within seconds. His own readings were coming through now and he frowned at his tricoder. This wasn't good. Not good at all.
"Spock, Chekov's got a severe concussion. I need to administer the brain-stabiliser to reduce the haemorrhage. Can you give me some light?"
Spock knelt down at the ensign’s right side and used his own and Chekov’s tricoder to assist. McCoy's eyes were fixed on the navigator’s head and he conducted the task with total concentration. Spock knew it was a delicate undertaking that demanded exact precision from the CMO.
"I need to adjust the stabiliser exactly above the haemorrhage, otherwise I could cause more damage than good", Bones explained as Spock held the lights even closer. The FO noted how the doctor was successfully stopping his hands from shaking in the cold, while performing the difficult task. Although Spock would often decry his methods and skills during their regular arguments, privately he trusted him to successfully perform demanding tasks in tough circumstances. His father Sarek owned his life to McCoy’s ability to operate under severe pressure.
The doctor carefully put the scanner on Chekov's forehead, just above the left eye, while reading the measurement on his medi-tricoder at the same time.
"Done!", McCoy looked up at Spock, "He should be waking up in about 12 hours or so. But he will be extremely dizzy for a while and not able to walk for at least another 12 hours."
Spock nodded. It hadn't escaped Bones that the FO had put his hand around Chekov's wrist the moment the lights of his tricoder weren’t needed anymore. His index and middle finger rested on the ensign's wrist and Bones wondered if this was one of his Vulcan voodoo healing techniques. But he refrained from inquiring about it. Whatever it was, he was sure it couldn’t cause Chekov any harm.
"Spock...", McCoy wasn't quite sure how he could put this, "What worries me most is the temperature."
Bones was making an effort not to chatter with his teeth too loudly. Now that he had treated his patient, he could allow himself to shake freely again and to put his arms around his own torso. It was incredible cold. 10 degrees minus now. Instinctively, he knelt as close to Chekov as possible to give him some protection from the freezing cold around them.
"Chekov's head will be just fine, but as his body functions are working on reserve so to speak while he's wearing the scanner, he could, and very likely will, develop hypothermia", McCoy elaborated on his previous statement.
"Can the ensign be moved?", Spock asked calmly, but Bones felt that he could detect genuine concern in the Vulcan's voice.
"Yes."
"I suggest we move over to this ‘building’ of sorts. My measurements state that the temperature is two degrees warmer inside it.”
McCoy agreed and they carefully moved Chekov to the nearby construct. They sheltered behind the wall of the first entrance they could find. Bones couldn’t feel the temperature difference, it was still freezing, but he took Spock’s word for it.
“I suggest you hold the ensign close, Doctor. Your own body temperature will function as a source of warmth."
Spock didn’t need to tell McCoy that, he had already thought as much and was pulling Chekov into his arms. The navigator was still warm, but his body temperature was dropping to 36 degrees as the doctor noted to his dismay. He looked towards the stoic Vulcan with open concern, "You better sit next to us too, Spock. Your temperature is down to 31 degrees."
While he kept an eye on Chekov's readings on his medi-tricoder, Bones was also keeping a close eye on his superior’s body functions. If they wouldn't be careful, he would soon be surrounded by two unconscious officers.
Spock just raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He sat down next to the others and drew his long legs towards his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around them.
He just needed a moment to think. There must be a logical way of action. He had faced similar perilous and complex situations before. Why was this situation different and why was it so difficult to think straight all of a sudden? As Spock focused his energy to control his bodily functions, he knew the answer, but he wasn't allowing himself to admit it.
A distant but piercing scream, coming from the depth of the abyss, made Spock and McCoy lift their heads simultaneously. Unmistakably, it had been a human scream and it had send chills down both their backs, only adding to the harsh cold they were already feeling.
There was no doubt about it. They both knew this voice. It was unique amongst the 430 crew aboard the Enterprise: A Scottish voice.