#and i was like i swear to god if i have to reset my cmos battery and do some manual bios change shit!!!!

[beepbeepkazoo]

am5 and ddr5 is not user friendly not going to lieeeeee

[garnetmantle]

Title: After Omega, Star Trek TOS

by: green rose

@sicktember

Prompt #4 Headache

Notes: The TOS episode "Omega Glory" is literally one long recipe for a headache for Kirk. Spock was caught in the nimbus of a phaser set to kill in this episode.

>

Numbly, Jim tried to orient himself among the crush and chaos that was the excited Yangs. Spock. He was trying to keep an eye on Spock, who had admitted to being weak, which probably meant he was barely keeping his feet under him through some feat of Vulcan endurance. Jim’s vision was swimming a bit in the torch-flashing darkness, and he was so damn tired, but he eventually homed in on the red-shirted security guards, and found McCoy, very unhappy, at Spock’s side.

The doctor was not supporting Spock, but he clearly wanted to be. Spock stood at-ease, clearly rebuffing any such attempt. So McCoy was scanning the crowd, and when his eyes hit Jim he lunged forward and grabbed his arm, dragging him forward to stand the appropriate distance from Spock for a beam up. The sudden jerk brought the taste of bile up behind Jim’s teeth. Bones was glaring hard enough that it made Jim a little more dizzy to try to meet his eyes, so he stopped trying to and looked at Spock. Whose at-ease was wavering in its own wind.

“I suppose we can beam up now?” McCoy demanded.

Unperturbed, Spock spoke into his communicator in a steady but very quiet voice, “Three to beam up, Mr. Scott.”

Jim was moving the second the transporter let go, and caught Spock, who went at the knees the moment the transporter beam released him. Kirk had him before his body could hit the ground -- he’d known the usually-inconsequential disorientation of the transporter was going to get Spock, he’d just been able to tell. McCoy was swearing, and his scanner was humming.

So Jim had him under the elbows, crushed against his side, and he only had a moment to dislike how limp Spock had gone before the awful realization hit him that his own balance and coordination was not sufficient to maintain the two of them until the waiting medical team swimming into focus in the too-bright lights of the room could climb on the platform.

Kirk clenched his teeth and swallowed. He had been up for two straight days and nights, but he was not going to drop Spock, and he was not going to throw up in the middle of the transporter room. He was trying to get the nausea forced back enough to tell the corpsmen to hurry up and get Spock when McCoy took Spock’s other side and more than half his weight, and gestured his subordinates forward.

They relieved Jim of the Vulcan’s weight, which he needed, and of the contact, which left a gnawing worry behind it, and put Spock on the anti-grav stretcher they had waiting. One of them handed McCoy a small med-kit which he instantly opened. He read off the hypos, and administered them directly to his patient.

Clearly McCoy had called ahead. Why had Spock waited that long for him to beam up?

It was a little worrying that Spock had let himself be handled by strange corpsmen -- these were new crew, on board less than a month -- and put on the stretcher without complaint, silent and pale and submitting to McCoy’s attentions with none of their usual argument. Jim blew out a slow breath and closed his eyes, then breathed in a deep one as he raised his head and eventually reopened them. Reset. He trusted Bones, and Bones had said authoritatively that Spock would live. There was a lot left to do with—

“Doctor,” Spock had rallied enough to come up on his elbows and look at Kirk, his gaze assessing. He interrupted the doctor in a quiet but very firm voice. Definitely coherent. “You are aware that the Captain has had several trauma-induced periods of unconsciousness during this mission, but you are unaware of the most severe. To my certain knowledge, he has been unconscious due to two severe traumatic blows for a cumulative nine hours and eighteen minutes since our beam down.”

Spock wasn’t announcing it to the room, just to McCoy, but it was bad enough because Bones stopped dead and raised his head. “Captain, you are required in Sickbay in twenty minutes.”

A biting reply wanted to come out – he was too tired to be bossed about by his CMO exercising his prerogatives – but Jim made himself stop. The truth was, his head was a pulsing raw pain he’d been able to manage only by lifting above it – literally dissociating from his own body a bit to cope. He had blood coming out of one ear, his vision was getting worse, and as his adrenaline dropped he was starting to get his own crosswind himself. He was stubborn, and he had a thousand things to do, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Yes, Doctor.”

McCoy, following the stretcher out, stopped to double-blink at him, then looked him over again. “Do you need transport?”

“No, Doctor.” The guards and Scotty and the transporter chief were all listening to them, now, so Jim walked to the door. Oh, yeah. He was getting his own wind and McCoy noticed, of course, caught Jim’s arm to balance the wavering, and started to demand Kirk come with him right then.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, on one condition,” Jim said quietly as he followed McCoy out into the hall. “I know you have some kind of anti-emetic in there, you always do when you’re treating Spock for anything serious. Give me.”

“Yeah?” McCoy asked, trying to catch his eyes, no doubt to evaluate his pupils, but Kirk wasn’t having it. Not quite yet. The doctor's voice was on the gentle side, though, which was immediately soothing, and he opened his med-kit. ”Migraine?”

Jim wished he could say yes, but it wasn’t a good day for blatant lies. “No. Spock’s right. I got my bell rung twice, hard-“

“As opposed to the half-dozen times it was lightly rung?” the doctor asked sharply. “I’m not blind, you know-“

Speaking slowly, Jim continued, “But I’ll be all right for a few more minutes, and then you can do whatever you want.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll get sick all over the Bridge? I’d bet on the turbolift, that upward and lateral motion at once—“

Kirk felt sweat on his upper lip, and he swallowed, hard. McCoy looked a bit abashed and gave him the shot in the arm, and within a few seconds Jim’s stomach had returned to the normal position. He coughed a little and swallowed, then tried out a smile. “You’d be amazed how much that helps. I –“

“Will be in Sickbay in twenty minutes, Captain,” McCoy growled, snapped his med-kit closed and took off after his patient. Instinct urged Kirk to go after them, but duty sent him in the other direction.

>

It was like water dripping away. Onto him. Away from him. A little more impairment. A little less adrenaline. Jim Kirk put one foot in front of the other, and he smiled when he needed to, and he was able to think well enough to handle what had to be handled and know when something had to be put off for a more coherent day. The lights got brighter, though. Drip. And blurrier. Drip. And god it hurt to focus his eyes. Drip. He prepared a bare bones report for the Admiralty, because that couldn’t wait, and every sound got louder. Drip, drip. The world got foggier, and his energy to navigate through it was lessened.

He finally turned, then waited as the Bridge kept turning for a moment before settling down before his eyes. “Mr. Sulu. You have the conn,” he said, and headed for the turbolift. His crosswind was getting more stormfront than gentle breeze – he knew he was swaying on his feet, didn’t that count for something? “If I’m needed you can reach me in Sickbay. Mr. Spock is also in Sickbay. Unless he is needed to keep the galaxy or the ship from blowing up, please forget you can reach him there.”

“Aye, Captain,” came from several people, but then quietly, from Uhura alone, “Could one of us escort you to Sickbay, sir?”

Kirk forced himself to stop swaying, forced a smile to his lips. “No, but thank you, Lieutenant.”

The drop of the turbolift had him laying back against the wall, and his hands over his eyes were trying to push the pain back away. Water dripping everywhere, he was in a rainstorm and it was washing away the world and his energy and his ability to control himself. His head had reached the white-out level, the pain hitting places his consciousness wasn't willing to go with it. One last thing, though.

He walked into Sickbay to see Dr. M’Benga arguing with Dr. McCoy, gentle to his irritation. “You’ve been up for two days, Leonard. Either go to your quarters or go sleep in your office, but you are not fit for regular duty right now.” They’d both worked under worse conditions for crisis duty.

“Just give me a few more minutes, Geoff. I’m not being stubborn. I want a shower and my bed, but—there he is!” He turned from his fellow doctor to glare at Kirk.

“Twenty minutes does not mean forty-five, Captain, sir.”

Kirk made one of his ‘yeah, yeah, whatever’ dismissive gestures and closed his eyes in a brief headshake. “How is Spock?”

McCoy frowned at him as he moved toward him with a scanner in one hand and a tricorder in the other. “In a healing trance. He’ll be fine in a few days, Jim. We were able to treat the radiation poisoning and the rest he can handle himself.”

Jim’s head went down with a huff of a sigh, but he batted at McCoy’s arm when the doctor raised it with the scanner, and McCoy started to growl at him, but Jim made his little dismissive-gesture-closed-eyes-headshake thing he did again. He spoke very evenly. “No. Bones. I think I... could use that… transport now.”

He didn’t go at the knees, he just dropped, and it was all McCoy and a lunging M’Benga could do to keep his limp body from bouncing off the floor.

He got a bed beside Spock's for three days. McCoy's blood pressure was not very appreciative of their stay.

End

[greenroseunderglass]

After Omega : Fanfic - Star Trek TOS (Gen)

@sicktember

Prompt #4 Headache

by: greenroseunderglass (1st post to tumblr, I know I'm messing up every way possible.)

Notes: The TOS episode "Omega Glory" is literally one long recipe for a headache for Kirk. Spock was caught in the nimbus of a phaser set to kill in this episode.

Numbly, Jim tried to orient himself among the crush and chaos that was the excited Yangs. Spock. He was trying to keep an eye on Spock, who had admitted to being weak, which probably meant he was barely keeping his feet under him through some feat of Vulcan endurance. Jim’s vision was swimming a bit in the torch-flashing darkness, and he was so damn tired, but he eventually homed in on the red-shirted security guards, and found McCoy, very unhappy, at Spock’s side.

The doctor was not supporting Spock, but he clearly wanted to be. Spock stood at-ease, clearly rebuffing any such attempt. So McCoy was scanning the crowd, and when his eyes hit Jim he lunged forward and grabbed his arm, dragging him forward to stand the appropriate distance from Spock for a beam up. The sudden jerk brought the taste of bile up behind Jim’s teeth. Bones was glaring hard enough that it made Jim a little more dizzy to try to meet his eyes, so he stopped trying to and looked at Spock. Whose at-ease was wavering in its own wind.

“I suppose we can beam up now?” McCoy demanded.

Unperturbed, Spock spoke into his communicator in a steady but very quiet voice, “Three to beam up, Mr. Scott.”

Jim was moving the second the transporter let go, and caught Spock, who went at the knees the moment the transporter beam released him. Kirk had him before his body could hit the ground -- he’d known the usually-inconsequential disorientation of the transporter was going to get Spock, he’d just been able to tell. McCoy was swearing, and his scanner was humming.

So Jim had him under the elbows, crushed against his side, and he only had a moment to dislike how limp Spock had gone before the awful realization hit him that his own balance and coordination was not sufficient to maintain the two of them until the waiting medical team swimming into focus in the too-bright lights of the room could climb on the platform.

Kirk clenched his teeth and swallowed. He had been up for two straight days and nights, but he was not going to drop Spock, and he was not going to throw up in the middle of the transporter room. He was trying to get the nausea forced back enough to tell the corpsmen to hurry up and get Spock when McCoy took Spock’s other side and more than half his weight, and gestured his subordinates forward.

They relieved Jim of the Vulcan’s weight, which he needed, and of the contact, which left a gnawing worry behind it, and put Spock on the anti-grav stretcher they had waiting. One of them handed McCoy a small med-kit which he instantly opened. He read off the hypos, and administered them directly to his patient.

Clearly McCoy had called ahead. Why had Spock waited that long for him to beam up?

It was a little worrying that Spock had let himself be handled by strange corpsmen -- these were new crew, on board less than a month -- and put on the stretcher without complaint, silent and pale and submitting to McCoy’s attentions with none of their usual argument. Jim blew out a slow breath and closed his eyes, then breathed in a deep one as he raised his head and eventually reopened them. Reset. He trusted Bones, and Bones had said authoritatively that Spock would live. There was a lot left to do with—

“Doctor,” Spock had rallied enough to come up on his elbows and look at Kirk, his gaze assessing. He interrupted the doctor in a quiet but very firm voice. Definitely coherent. “You are aware that the Captain has had several trauma-induced periods of unconsciousness during this mission, but you are unaware of the most severe. To my certain knowledge, he has been unconscious due to two severe traumatic blows for a cumulative nine hours and eighteen minutes since our beam down.”

Spock wasn’t announcing it to the room, just to McCoy, but it was bad enough because Bones stopped dead and raised his head. “Captain, you are required in Sickbay in twenty minutes.”

A biting reply wanted to come out – he was too tired to be bossed about by his CMO exercising his prerogatives – but Jim made himself stop. The truth was, his head was a pulsing raw pain he’d been able to manage only by lifting above it – literally dissociating from his own body a bit to cope. He had blood coming out of one ear, his vision was getting worse, and as his adrenaline dropped he was starting to get his own crosswind himself. He was stubborn, and he had a thousand things to do, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Yes, Doctor.”

McCoy, following the stretcher out, stopped to double-blink at him, then looked him over again. “Do you need transport?”

“No, Doctor.” The guards and Scotty and the transporter chief were all listening to them, now, so Jim walked to the door. Oh, yeah. He was getting his own wind and McCoy noticed, of course, caught Jim’s arm to balance the wavering, and started to demand Kirk come with him right then.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, on one condition,” Jim said quietly as he followed McCoy out into the hall. “I know you have some kind of anti-emetic in there, you always do when you’re treating Spock for anything serious. Give me.”

“Yeah?” McCoy asked, trying to catch his eyes, no doubt to evaluate his pupils, but Kirk wasn’t having it. Not quite yet. The doctor's voice was on the gentle side, though, which was immediately soothing, and he opened his med-kit. ”Migraine?”

Jim wished he could say yes, but it wasn’t a good day for blatant lies. “No. Spock’s right. I got my bell rung twice, hard-“

“As opposed to the half-dozen times it was lightly rung?” the doctor asked sharply. “I’m not blind, you know-“

Speaking slowly, Jim continued, “But I’ll be all right for a few more minutes, and then you can do whatever you want.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll get sick all over the Bridge? I’d bet on the turbolift, that upward and lateral motion at once—“

Kirk felt sweat on his upper lip, and he swallowed, hard. McCoy looked a bit abashed and gave him the shot in the arm, and within a few seconds Jim’s stomach had returned to the normal position. He coughed a little and swallowed, then tried out a smile. “You’d be amazed how much that helps. I –“

“Will be in Sickbay in twenty minutes, Captain,” McCoy growled, snapped his med-kit closed and took off after his patient. Instinct urged Kirk to go after them, but duty sent him in the other direction.

>

It was like water dripping away. Onto him. Away from him. A little more impairment. A little less adrenaline. Jim Kirk put one foot in front of the other, and he smiled when he needed to, and he was able to think well enough to handle what had to be handled and know when something had to be put off for a more coherent day. The lights got brighter, though. Drip. And blurrier. Drip. And god it hurt to focus his eyes. Drip. He prepared a bare bones report for the Admiralty, because that couldn’t wait, and every sound got louder. Drip, drip. The world got foggier, and his energy to navigate through it was lessened.

He finally turned, then waited as the Bridge kept turning for a moment before settling down before his eyes. “Mr. Sulu. You have the conn,” he said, and headed for the turbolift. His crosswind was getting more stormfront than gentle breeze – he knew he was swaying on his feet, didn’t that count for something? “If I’m needed you can reach me in Sickbay. Mr. Spock is also in Sickbay. Unless he is needed to keep the galaxy or the ship from blowing up, please forget you can reach him there.”

“Aye, Captain,” came from several people, but then quietly, from Uhura alone, “Could one of us escort you to Sickbay, sir?”

Kirk forced himself to stop swaying, forced a smile to his lips. “No, but thank you, Lieutenant.”

The drop of the turbolift had him laying back against the wall, and his hands over his eyes were trying to push the pain back away. Water dripping everywhere, he was in a rainstorm and it was washing away the world and his energy and his ability to control himself. His head had reached the white-out level, the pain hitting places his consciousness wasn't willing to go with it. One last thing, though.

He walked into Sickbay to see Dr. M’Benga arguing with Dr. McCoy, gentle to his irritation. “You’ve been up for two days, Leonard. Either go to your quarters or go sleep in your office, but you are not fit for regular duty right now.” They’d both worked under worse conditions for crisis duty.

“Just give me a few more minutes, Geoff. I’m not being stubborn. I want a shower and my bed, but—there he is!” He turned from his fellow doctor to glare at Kirk.

“Twenty minutes does not mean forty-five, Captain, sir.”

Kirk made one of his ‘yeah, yeah, whatever’ dismissive gestures and closed his eyes in a brief headshake. “How is Spock?”

McCoy frowned at him as he moved toward him with a scanner in one hand and a tricorder in the other. “In a healing trance. He’ll be fine in a few days, Jim. We were able to treat the radiation poisoning and the rest he can handle himself.”

Jim’s head went down with a huff of a sigh, but he batted at McCoy’s arm when the doctor raised it with the scanner, and McCoy started to growl at him, but Jim made his little dismissive-gesture-closed-eyes-headshake thing he did again. He spoke very evenly. “No. Bones. I think I could use that… transport now.”

He didn’t go at the knees, he just dropped, and it was all McCoy and a lunging M’Benga could do to keep his limp body from bouncing off the floor.

He got a bed beside Spock's for three days. McCoy's blood pressure was not very appreciative of their stay.

End