Chapter 13: The Savage Curtain

Disclaimer, ratings, and pairings as before.

Author's Note: Hey, guys, I know it's been a while. I had to pick up another job and lots of family stuff has been going on... Basically life got in the way. Things are settling down, and I'm back. Sorry about the delay. While I have your attention: Feel free to let me know if I have mistranslated the two Spanish lines in the chapter. If I have, please let me know the correct translations. Thanks!

That night was very still. The ship sailed so smoothly that it seemed not even to rock against the waves. Every step on deck seemed quieter, more distant than it had ever before. Leonard had been bottled up below decks all afternoon tending to the occasional soul whose scurvy still pained him and nursing poor Rand and the few others whom the disease had left nearly dead in its wake. Not willing to face Kirk or Spock, he chose not to join the crew for mess in the galley, claiming to whoever asked that he'd gotten his fill from the oranges.

His hammock didn't even squeak on its hooks that night. In all the quiet, Leonard had hoped he'd be able to sleep. He wasn't so lucky. He couldn't stomach the thought of sitting back and letting all those sailors die. Every time he closed his eyes he saw blood and smelled gunpowder and death. He considered getting his half-empty bottle of rum out of the cabinet to wash away the thoughts, but a part of him wanted to dwell on the thoughts. The pirates slept too easily with no doubt thousands of men's blood on their hands. Leonard refused to be like them.

It was late into the evening when Scotty lurked in. He heard cloth shuffling as the Scotsman undressed and tied up his hammock.

"Scotty?" Leonard asked quietly.

He heard Scotty startle. "Scared me there, Len. I thought ye were asleep."

"I can't sleep."

Scotty swung his legs up into his hammock, the hooks protesting against the weight. "I've been told that ye're to stay below during the raid tomorrow until someone comes down to get ye."

"And just who told you that?"

"Cap'n's orders, lad. There'll be cannon fire most of the mornin' and ye'll be safest below decks. Besides, you'll be keepin' an eye on the women folk and the sick lads."

McCoy crossed his arms, the wool of his hammock hissing as he moved. "When you go on duty, you tell the captain that Nurse Chapel and I will be coming on deck the minute the battle is over to tend to the wounded, both on our ship and the Rosa."

Scotty didn't say anything at first, then after a long moment he sighed. "Ye're daft, lad."

"I've made up my mind. I won't stand idly by while innocent men are slaughtered."

"Aye. Cap'n Kirk's well aware o' yer moral center. Dr. Piper had the same stipulation while he was aboard." The Scotsman paused and furrowed his brow, "Are all doctors like that?" He asked.

"Only the good ones," Leonard joked halfheartedly.

Scotty laughed. "Get some rest, lad. Not even the purest moral center'll help if ye canna see the lads on the deck 'casue ye're so exhausted. I'll tell the cap'n what ye told me."

Leonard felt like a weight had been pulled off his chest. "Thank you, Scotty. Sleep well."

"Aye. G'night."

Leonard woke up the next morning to the sound of very loud feet tromping above him. He dressed hastily, noting briefly that Scotty had already gone above. As he pulled on his waistcoat and stepped into the hall a man he recognized as Mr. Stiles brushed past him.

"Has the Rosa been spotted?" McCoy asked.

"Yes, sir. I suggest you grab your sword and get to Sickbay. Once there, keep low."

McCoy opened his mouth to reply but Stiles was already leaving, a pistol in one hand and an axe in the other. The physician shuddered.

Christine had already helped the patients out of their hammocks and onto the floor. Rand was looking much healthier and despite being somewhat ashen, the tall Negro was sitting upright and talking quietly with Uhura in Dutch. A few other lads were fidgeting and looking up at McCoy like they expected him to tell them to do something. His only guess was that they wanted to be on deck helping their crewmates, but still being too ill to help, they were trapped down here.

Trapped. He understood that very well.

The first clue that the fighting had started was a blast and a loud whistle. Once he heard wood explode against a six pound shot, battle had begun. Leonard could not tell exactly what happened. Sickbay had no windows and he could not hear anything but pounding feet, cries of pain, gunshots and screaming cannon fire. The ship rocked dangerously with every blast and almost every explosion, earning gasps from them all and even the occasional sob from the women. No tears were shed, but he could see concern all over their faces in the dim and shaking light of the kerosene lamps on the walls. Then, almost too soon, the noises stopped.

"What's going on up there?" McCoy breathed, gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Either we've won or we're dead men," a lad named Mr. Kyle commented.

As they waited, footsteps slowly thumped out in the hallway. McCoy felt his hand ache, he held his sword so tightly. The door to Sickbay swung open and Leonard drew his sword.

Spock stood in the doorway, unimpressed by McCoy's sword. "You are required on deck."

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

"Put the sword away, Doctor, and gather your bandages and your knives," Spock added as he left.

McCoy blinked, and then turned to the others. "I guess y'all can stay here if you want. Miss Chapel, if you could join me," he grabbed a box he'd already set up as a field med-kit and heaved it down the corridor to the weather deck. Christine gathered her skirts and stood, following hastily behind him.

The thick smell of smoke was the first thing to greet McCoy when he stepped on deck, quite unlike the usual sharpness of salt air. It hung even where there wasn't a haze of grey or white. A few men were by the main mast clutching wounds and breathing shallow breaths to try and ward off the pain. Other men leaned against the port side deckrail aiming rifles and cannons at the men on the other ship. Most of the crew, however, seemed to be on the other ship with Captain Kirk. He had no idea where Spock went, and he didn't much care to find out.

McCoy made quick work of the slash wounds and minor lacerations, but two men had taken bullets- one of whom had been shot in the stomach. He tried to calm him down to try and see the wound, but the bleeding was too much and the man was too scared to let go. Blood was seeping between his lips and he was dangerously pale. Leonard had been a surgeon for nearly twenty-five years; he knew that a man with a bullet in his gut was a dead man. He ordered one of the lads to keep him company until he passed. The other man had the bullet in his shoulder. The bone had stopped the bullet and all Leonard needed to do to treat him was give him a belt to bite into while he dug the shot out. The man screamed through the leather and had to be held down by two other men, but the bullet came out intact. He probably wouldn't be able to use the arm for months due to the damage to the bone, but he'd live- if infection didn't claim him. He had Christine clean and dress the wound and he walked over to the gangplank, trying to ignore the dying man's screams of pain.

He could see most of the Spanish crew had been disarmed and was standing surrounded by members of the Enterprise's crew. Their captain, a shriveled old man who looked too stubborn to be caught standing all the way upright, was glaring angrily at the pistol Captain Kirk was aiming at his head. Dead and wounded Spaniards lay haplessly on the deck, baking in the sun.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" McCoy asked mockingly. Kirk smirked at him.

"Granted, Bones. It seems your services are needed here."

Every time Leonard looked at one of the Rosa's crewmen, he could see the face of the young man Sulu had killed back in Cuba. Still, the physician walked from man to man, assessing and treating wounds as quickly and thoroughly as he could, always with Sulu's shadow looming over him. Periodically, McCoy would glare at the pirate for getting in the way of the sunlight.

"Just making sure no one decides to try and use you as a hostage - or worse," he would say in response. It didn't make McCoy feel any better.

McCoy had inspected all the men by the time the sun hung just over the horizon. "I'm done here," he told Kirk as he wiped his hands off on an old rag. The Spanish captain raised an eyebrow at Kirk, still in a defensive position before Kirk's pistol. "¿Por qué? ¿Por qué usted hizo esto? ¿Por qué usted ayudó a mis tripulantes?" He was genuinely confused. McCoy figured that he also did not know why anyone would help the crew of a ship they had just raided.

Kirk smiled at the captain knowingly. "No hablo español, Capitán. Buenas noches." He nodded at McCoy to tell him to cross the gangplank. Following after the physician, Kirk tipped his hat to the Spaniard and sheathed his sword. "Ready the mainsail! Draw in the planks!" He barked. McCoy sighed, more than a little tired. "You had a long day there, Bones."

"I'd work into next week to save lives," McCoy said, looking out of the corner of his eye at Kirk, "any life. No matter the cost."

"I know," Kirk replied with a shade of a smile. He narrowed his eyes at a cluster of men who were trying to peer into the cargo-stores. "I told you gentlemen to make ready the sail! The next man I see gawking at the haul will be catching bilge rats for his supper!" The men at the fringes scattered. The others seemed to be making sure the cargo made it below decks intact. Spock and Scotty were shouting orders and gesturing to men above and below to make sure everything got put in its proper place. "Mr. Spock!" Kirk called. Spock nodded at Scotty and strode over, looking as stoic as ever.

"Aye, Captain?"

Kirk stood at military rest, earning a scoff from McCoy. "That was good haul, Mr. Spock. Excellent suggestion."

"Based on Mr. Chekov's assessment of the winds and currents, it was a logical recommendation, Captain." McCoy looked between them, not sure why Kirk felt compelled to commend something McCoy was sure Spock did every time they set sail.

"I am well aware of that Spock. Just," he hesitated, "put that logical mind of yours to work and find us another haul."

"Aye, Captain," Spock stated, walking away.

"That's all you have to say to him?" McCoy muttered. Kirk glanced at McCoy. "It just seems a little cold. Far as I could tell, that was a smooth raid, all things considered. It could've gone a lot worse."

Kirk looked at McCoy for a moment. "It's his job to find good hauls like that."

McCoy nodded. "And it's my job to treat patients, yet you treat him like he's the captive one doing what he ought and me like the friend doing you a service."

Kirk looked upward and lifted the brim of his hat, surveying the horizon. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply taking in the feel of the winds and the rocking of the ship. It almost seemed like he was communing with the Enterprise. He stepped forward, and looked over at Spock, who had returned to the grate to the cargo hold. "Spock, a moment." Spock cocked his head to the side, perplexed, but walked over. "Lately, I have been short with you," Kirk said before Spock could ask what was going on.

Spock raised his eyebrow. "Short?"

"Lashing out," Kirk explained. "Verbally attacking you."

McCoy crossed his arms, surprised his words had affected Kirk in any way. Spock merely blinked. McCoy saw confusion in that blink. "I assumed it was due to the strain of being back in Vulcan waters after--" Spock trailed off, not wanting to rehash the issue.

"It was. However," Kirk hesitated, looking somewhat less confident than before, "I know that you aren't to blame... And whatever your people may have done, I know you are separate from them."

Spock glanced aside, not sure how to respond. "If you are referring to my rejection of T'Pring," he began cautiously.

Kirk shook his head. "You were a member of my crew before I knew you were a Vulcan. You served the crew well, and I was right to pick you as my first mate."

Spock looked up at Kirk, both eyebrows raised.

Kirk chuckled. "As you were, Mr. Spock," he said, turning to the quarterdeck. Spock looked contemplative for a moment, then with a nod to himself returned to his duties. McCoy shook his head and started toward the lower deck.

"Oh, Bones, by the way," Kirk called over suddenly. McCoy grunted, his exhaustion beginning to catch up with him. "I wanted to ask what you'd like out of the haul? Any preferences, I mean. Books, clothes, drink, weapons?"

"I beg your pardon?" McCoy said, shaking his head and looking over at Kirk.

"Well, I'm cutting you in for a share and a half and, of course, any medical stores we come upon, but I wanted to know if you wanted anything in particular in your share?"

"My share? What, of the raid?"

"It doesn't seem right asking you to do all that work for nothing. You've earned it."

McCoy narrowed his eyes and shook his head mutely.

"You don't have a preference, then?"

"I don't want any of it," McCoy snapped. "I won't take stolen goods."

"Well, you didn't take anything," Kirk said with a shrug, "You were below decks. Call it your pay, for treating the sick and wounded."

"I never asked for pay. I won't take a farthing of it."

Kirk frowned, but nodded. "Suit yourself. Sleep well, Bones."

McCoy bit his lip and tromped down to his cabin. Stringing up the hammock had become almost a reflex. Before he crawled onto the hammock, he shrugged out of his waistcoat and vest, kicked off his shoes and untied his cravat. With a sigh, he felt sleep take him.

Spanish Translations:

Rosa - Rose

¿Por qué? ¿Por qué usted hizo esto? ¿Por qué usted ayudó a mis tripulantes? - Why? Why did you do this? Why did you help my crew?

No hablo español, Capitán. Buenas noches. - I don't speak Spanish, Captain. Good evening.