Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Simulated evening falls gently aboard the Enterprise. The hum of the engines and life support systems only interrupted by the occasional soft chatter or distant shuffling. Spock makes his way along the well-worn maze of corridors. Some stickling piece of his mind whispers that it’s inefficient, pointless, a waste of energy and time, he brushes it away and continues on. He hadn’t been able to sleep, there were too many thoughts and too many worries crawling through his skull. He’d tried meditation, laying in silence, even a mild sedative that had only managed to make his mouth dry and his coordination worse. It didn’t work, and he wasn’t surprised.
The captain had been behaving strangely lately, and not in a way that coordinated with his usual mood cycles and attitude changes. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Throughout the last couple of months, the captain has become increasingly quiet. He often spent hours staring into nothingness with a look of what at first seemed to be contentment, but the longer Spock looked, the harder it became for him to separate it from that of resignation. He spoke softly in conversations with the crew, where before he would have loudly jested with the rest of them. His presence on the bridge had even become different. He no longer held himself square at the shoulders, instead, curling into himself, shoulders dropped. His voice still commanded, still demanded respect, but the energy was gone from it. He seemed weary, drained.
Spock had tried to figure it out. He’d spent hours after his shifts staring at Jim from across a chessboard, but he had yet to puzzle it out. He’d even become so distracted that he’d made a mistake, an obvious one. Normally Jim would have seen it. He would have laughed, taken the advantage, and scored one of his rare victories with a gleaming smile and a week-long insufferable ego boost. Instead, he stared down at his hands, looking up only to offer a small smile and move a pawn with no effect. Spock had nearly frowned then, but he only raised an eyebrow and moved his bishop, wishing that Jim would look up again, would say something, anything. He didn’t, and the game was over in nearly a quarter of the time.
Spock sighed as he reached the lower decks, It was quieter down here, with only a few active stations during the beta shift. He let his posture relax and winced at the tight bunch of muscles that had formed between his neck and shoulder. He’d been tenser than he’d thought. The tap of his shoes against steel was the only sound in the hall, the echo mocking his distress. He continued around the outer hall. There were no quarters here in order to protect the crew in the event of a breach, so he was alone.
Or so he thought.
He stops when he hears a quiet, nearly imperceptible shuffle coming from the open observation deck door, only a few meters ahead of him. He continues, quieter this time. It’s likely just a young ensign that’s unaware of how late it is. Still, he means to check discreetly. If there’s anything he’s learned in the past four- almost five- years, it’s that one must account for every possibility.
He comes to the door and peers around the frame, squinting to see into the darkness. As his eyes adjust, a familiar silhouette forms against the backdrop of stars.
“Captain?”
Jim jumps a bit, it’s so quick that most wouldn’t have caught it. Most. Spock frowns at that, but he’s quickly distracted as Jim turns, a warm smile illuminated by hall light that leaks into the room.
“Mr. Spock, fancy seeing you here. Are you doing alright? It’s late.”
“Yes, I’m fine, though I’m wondering the same of you.” Spock takes a step into the room, his shadow guarding Jim’s expression from the light.
“I’m-” Jim turns, looking back to the windows, “I suppose I’m tired, Spock.”
“Captain, it is quite late, perhaps you should return to your quarters, rest.”
Jim’s shoulders shake with a soft chuckle, he flashes Spock another smile before turning again to the stars, “No, I’m right where I need to be for this kind.”
“This kind?” Spock asks, coming further into the room to stand beside his captain, watching him from the corner of his eye as he pretends to stare out the window.
“It’s hard to explain. One of those strange human things.” Jim pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin atop them. He keeps his gaze carefully glued to the specks of light that drift past them.
“Well, I’d be happy to learn, if you care to explain.”
“Ever the curious Science Officer Spock. Take a seat, no use standing with so much perfectly good floor available.” Jim pats the space next to him, smiling to himself about his little jest. His gaze drifts out again and Spock wishes that it had lingered a little longer. He takes a seat, settling into something akin to his meditation pose.
Silence falls as he waits for the captain to continue, Jim only leans a bit toward him, attention still fixed somewhere in the great expanse. Spock lets it sit a moment, but he soon grows uneasy.
“Captain?” He asks.
“I know, I’m trying to find the best way to put it.”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to reach some understanding, no matter the state of your explanation.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jim huffs, amused. He turns back to the window.
“It’s strange to think that we’re almost done now. When we first set out five years felt like an eternity.”
Spock frowns at the meandering start but doesn’t interrupt. He gets the feeling that the captain needs to talk himself through it just as much as Spock needs the explanation.
“Around the four and a half year mark, I realized that I’ve nearly managed to survive the whole ordeal. I realized I would have to decide what to do next. I don’t think I want this to end, but I can’t hold onto it. Sure, I could keep going, get another five-year assignment, a new crew, new officers, maybe even a different ship, but it’s not going to be the same. I wish I could keep exploring the stars as we have been. I wish that nothing had to change. I wish that five years could become ten years, and ten more after that. Until I die or something finally gets me.” He pauses to look down at his hands, “I know what you’re thinking. It’s illogical. Impossible. Perhaps selfish, even. You’re right.”
Jim looks at him, no smile hiding the pain that now draws his face. He looks older. Spock doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent.
The captain sighs, looking down again.
“In two months we’re all going to be somewhere else. You’ll be returning to the academy. I’ll likely take a new assignment. Maybe some of the officers will move with me, or stay here if I’m lucky. Bones will probably come along if he can, though he may decide to return to solid ground. Be closer to his daughter. There’s a whole world of possibility, as infinite as this sea of stars.”
Spock doesn’t correct him. The universe is finite at any given moment, it is, however, expanding constantly. They would never, in a thousand lifetimes, be able to travel far enough or fast enough to see this edge though, and so the universe would seem infinite, and in all practicality, it is to them.
“I started thinking about what I want for this life. I’m not getting any younger and my prime years will soon be over. I thought for a while, and it didn’t take long at all to figure it out.”
He trails off, giving Spock a pained look.
“It also didn’t take long to figure out that it would never be.”
Spock looks up at that. Jim sounded helpless, resigned, tired. He looked and sounded exactly how Spock had suspected he felt. It tore at something inside him, but he shut it off quickly. He needed to focus.
“Why?” Spock asks, voice a bit croaky from the sitting silent so long.
“Well, we humans like to find someone to grow old with, someone to share our lives with. Vulcans are much the same in this respect I suppose. But no one ever tells you what you’re supposed to do if you find them, and they don’t want you. How are you supposed to move on from that? Do you just keep living with the aftertaste of something wasted following you the whole time? I thought I could try to find someone else, but it’s not the same, and I don’t want it. I don’t really want this secondary life, but I feel obligated to live it. I never want to lose them, to lose what we have, but I will, and I know some part of me will always want it, and it will remain unsatisfied until I die. I find myself watching my life unfold now as though it’s already a memory. I miss a moment before it passes.”
“Captain…” Spock trails, unsure what to say. Jim had found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with? Who? Why didn’t they reciprocate? Surely Jim was more than adequate for a life partner.
“Jim.” Jim corrects with a smile that seems watery, though it’s hard to tell in the low light.
“Jim.” Spock concedes, “I don’t- I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t worry about it, Spock. Every man is entitled to their impossible dream. I guess.”
Spock turned to look at him, noting the way his entire countenance seemed to deflate a little further under his gaze. He reaches out tentatively with his mind, hoping to understand a bit better what exactly his captain had fallen victim to. He brushes up against Jim, Their bond allowing for Spock to feel strong emotions with only a minimal connection, one so light that Jim wouldn’t even know he was there. A wave of desolation enters his mind with more force than he thought possible, his breath hitching a little as he fights to deter a physical response. It feels heavy, unbearably heavy, and… cold. Beneath it, there is something warmer, more substantial, but before he can puzzle it out Spock pulls back from the connection, intent on ensuring that he doesn’t allow himself to become too physically affected.
“Captain, if you would rather be left alone, I understand. I am often inadequate in situations such as these.”
“You’re fine, Spock. Just, stay a while, if you don’t mind?”
Spock nods, unable to refuse his captain at a time like this, and rather unwilling to leave him to brave the silence alone. He shifts his legs, coming a few inches closer, his arm brushing with the Captain’s. Neither of them moves away. Spock thinks he may have even felt Jim move just the smallest bit closer.

Chapter Text

It’s nearly 0400 by the time the captain finally falls asleep. He leans against Spock’s shoulder, breath coming in small, even huffs. Spock watches him, noting how the low light makes Jim look older. He knows he should probably move him. His neck is at an odd angle and he would definitely wake up stiff if it continued much longer. Still, Spock lets the moment linger, relishing the warmth that their closeness provides.
He’s run the captain’s words through his mind on a loop, looking for answers, clues, anything that could help even in the slightest. He can’t help the sinking feeling of dread that settles in his stomach as he realizes the captain is right. Their mission is nearly over. They’ll have to make their decisions soon.
Spock had always thought he would return to the academy at the conclusion of their mission. It would be useful to be able to apply his field knowledge to his lectures and labs, which would better equip him to prepare his students. It was the logical path. But now that it was here, no longer a distant concept, it felt- off. Logic felt, hollow somehow. He had greatly enjoyed his time on the enterprise, his time with the crew and their captain, and all the fascinating people they had met along their journey. He understood why Jim didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want it to end either.
He sighs heavily, his mind now a sea of confusion, a tangled knot of a thousand possibilities. He’d found early on that logic was essentially subjective. That nearly every stance could be defended with the logic of some kind. Anything could be reasoned out if one had the time and determination. Logic was much less of a philosophy, or solid, definite thing, and much more of a word used to put space between oneself and their actions. He’d come to the conclusion long ago, but he still used it as a crutch, an excuse to not feel things that demanded to be felt. Perhaps it wasn’t ideal, but for a Vulcan, a creature of poise and pride, it was safe.
He glances at the captain again, noting the lines that had formed during their time together. There were plenty of worry lines near his mouth, lines from hours of concentration above his brows, but also a set of well-worn smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Spock lets a soft smile of his own form in response. They’d made a good team.
Begrudgingly, Spock decides that it’s too late to keep the captain out any longer. He gently shakes his shoulder watching as Jim’s eyes flutter open and he gives a confused glare to the unfamiliar room.
“Oh, Spock. Sorry,” He removes himself from Spock’s shoulder with an apologetic smile, “What time is it?”
“0452, Captain,” Spock replies, watching as Jim uncurls himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with little success.
“Oh good lord, That late?” He looks around as though the room would reassure him it wasn’t so, “Or, early?”
“Yes Captain, I assumed you would like to retire to your quarters for the remaining time before Alpha shift.”
“Correct as always Mr. Spock,” He stands a bit unsteadily, swaying his weight from one foot to the other and stumbling back just the slightest amount. Spock wonders for a moment whether the Captain’s inner ear pressure might be off, effecting his balance, but brushes the thought aside for the much more likely conclusion that its the result of exhaustion.
“I’ll head that way now, and Spock?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Thank you.”
Jim leaves the room, his shadow dancing across the observation deck glass for only a moment before it’s gone, leaving Spock alone with the stars and his thoughts. He feels far more alone without the captain’s breathing to fill the silence and allows a moment for his thoughts to linger there before forcing them back to the safety of objectivity.
It would be time for Alpha shift soon, he should go get some rest. Objectively, it was true, but Spock could feel that his mind was churning too rapidly to allow for sleep. Thankfully, Vulcans don’t need as much sleep as their human companions, so he wouldn’t struggle to perform his duties on the bridge today. He could just stay here, meditate until it was time for Alpha shift, but he felt restless, almost concerningly so.
With a shuffle and sigh Spock rises to his feet, frowning at the faint ache left by his less-than-ideal posture while the captain leaned against him. It’s comforting in a way. Proof that he had been able to help Jim when he was most vulnerable. Proof that he was a good friend. A friend. Spock shoves his thoughts away from the small, yet insistent, part of him that craved, demanded he admit to himself that ‘friend’ wasn’t the word that belonged there. For too long Spock had allowed this piece of himself to creep into his thoughts, claiming just a bit more space each time, like waves approaching high tide.
There was no longer room for that. It cannot be allowed to continue. Jim has found somebody that he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Spock will not be the one to keep him from that. He remembers the soul-crushing pain he had brushed against in their bond and feels sick at the thought that he could potentially cause more of it.
Yes, it will be better for both of them if this piece of him is cut off. Surely, it would hurt for a while, perhaps even years, but it would hurt infinitely worse if Spock should allow it to grow any more. Hw cannot allow any more of himself to be swallowed by impossibility, lest he risk losing himself completely in the attempt to destroy it.
Slowly, it retreats back into that innermost part of himself from whence it came. The time would come that it would need to be dealt with, but it needn’t be now. Not while his captain, his friend, needs his help.
Spock carefully schools his expression back to his usual politely disinterested mask. No one can be allowed to see the sorrow that lies behind his eyes, Jim especially. He begins his aimless journey again, walking in a spiral down the levels of the ship, avoiding the engineering and maintenance sectors that still hummed with activity despite the late hour. Having reached the cargo areas, he turns and begins to work his way back up. His thoughts swirl in a sea of confusion as he ponders what he can do to help his captain. He comes back to the same conclusion every time. He needs to know who it is that the captain holds so dearly.
He almost feels hurt for a moment when he realizes that he hasn’t noticed any behavior toward anyone that would indicate such sentiments. Does he really know Jim as well as he believes? Why has Jim not told him about this person? Does Jim not feel he can trust him? He shakes himself from that train of thought. It doesn’t matter whether Jim felt comfortable enough to share who it was, regardless of how Jim feels about him, Spock will do everything in his power to help.
There’s only one person he can think of that Jim may be more willing to talk to, Dr. Leonard H. McCoy. Spock fights the frown that tries to form when he thinks of going to the Doctor for help. It will surely be an uncomfortable conversation. Whatever fondness he may hold for the man is shadowed by the fact that he is one of the most inefficient and contentious conversationalists that Spock has ever come across. A dear friend, yes, but also a gleeful irritant.
Regardless, judging by the stirring crew, McCoy would likely be up within the hour. Spock begins the slow walk in that direction, knowing that the doctor will likely be more irritable than usual due to the early hour. Unfortunately, it would be the only time he could go see the doctor without either leaving the bridge, or being late to chess with Jim. It would likely be best, at this point, not to concern the captain any further.
As expected, Spock can hear the doctor’s loud grumbling as he approaches the med bay. Judging by the volume and content of said grumbling an ensign had managed to contract something rather uncommon.
“Where did you find this rock?” McCoy is nearly shouting as Spock enters the med bay.
“I told you, it wasn’t a rock, it had to have been a life form of some kind.” the ensign answers, flushed, shivering, and shifting uncomfortably on the examination table.
“Oh my apologies,” McCoy answers in his all-too-familiar sarcastic smile, “Where did you find the life-form-rock?”
“Just outside of the research outpost. There wasn’t supposed to be anything like it in the area.”
“Well did anyone tell the rock that? Apparently it hadn’t heard.” McCoy begins examining what looks like some sort of burn or rash on the ensign’s hand.
“Ouch! It’s not my fault doc. This was supposed to be a routine check-in.” The ensign looks almost close to tears. McCoy’s posture softens just slightly.
“I know, but you need to be more cautious. Out here even the most routine things can turn ugly fast. We don’t know enough yet to be sure of anything.”
Spock can’t help but think of what a shame it is that McCoy doesn’t get to spend more time with his daughter. He had a unique fatherly presence.
“I’ll get you something to deal with the fever, but it will be a while before we know exactly what’s going on. From what I can tell, it doesn’t seem deadly, it just needs time to get out of your system.”
“Thanks,” The ensign croaks, coughing into their elbow rather inefficiently.
McCoy frowns at them but makes no comment about the contamination potential. It’s likely not something that can be spread without direct contact with the source anyway.
“I’ll get something for the cough too. Head back and pick a bed, you’re off duty until whatever this is has run its course. You’ll need to stay under observation until we know you’re out of the woods.” McCoy finally turns toward the shelves, starting when he sees Spock standing silently beside them.
“Jesus! How long have you been in here?” He clutches at his chest dramatically.
“Almost four minutes now,” Spock responds evenly, not knowing what kind of answer the doctor wants in this situation.
McCoy just blinks at him, seemingly waiting for him to explain himself.
“When you have a minute I was wondering if we could talk?” Spock hesitantly asks, thoroughly regretting having come while the doctor was in a bad mood.
“Yeah, we can- just- uh- give me a minute.” The doctor stumbles over his words, seemingly surprised enough that he forgot to be irritable.
He grabs three vials and a hypo and disappears back behind the maze of curtains that makes up the sick beds.
Spock lets out an almost imperceptible sigh as the doctor turns away. He isn’t sure how to bring up the issue in a way that won’t seem as though he’s trying to go behind Jim’s back. In a way though, he is. He remembers the pain he had felt the captain carrying and assures himself that it’s a worthy reason to do so. Anything to lessen that burden.
“Okay, that’s dealt with, for now. What’s your issue?” McCoy asks bluntly, looking Spock up and down for any sign of illness or injury.
“My health is fine, I came to speak with you about a personal matter.”
“The great Mr. Spock, coming to ME for advice? Have the pigs finally figured it out?”
“Figured what out, doctor?”
“Don’t worry about it.” McCoy chuckles to himself, seemingly very amused by the fact that yet another one of his references have gone over Spock’s head.
“Anyway, come in here, more suitable for ‘personal matters.’” He leads the way into his office, letting the door slide shut after Spock has passed through. He settles at his desk, gesturing for Spock to take a seat in the other chair, which he does.
“Alright Mr. Spock, what seems to be the matter?”
“Have you noticed anything strange about the captain lately?” It seems an innocent enough question to start with.
“Maybe, but if you two are in an argument or something I want no part of it.”
“I assure you, doctor, we aren’t. I’m concerned for him, he’s seemed… distant of late.”
“You mean all that moping around he’s been up to? Yeah, I’ve seen it too. He looks like somebody killed his dog.”
Spock ignores that last statement, but he’s glad he’s not the only one that has been subject to Jim’s ‘moping’ as the doctor put it.
“We spoke a few hours ago and I was hoping you could help me understand some of what he said.”
“A few hours ago? Has Jim somehow become an early bird?”
Again, Spock ignores the strange animal references, “No, we both happened to be awake and I came across him in one of the lower observation decks.”
“Hmm, sounds like his insomnia is back. I’ll see if I can convince him to pick up some pills for it later. Anyway, what was it he said that confused you?”
“Well, first he explained that he’s upset that our mission is nearly at it’
s end, but then he started to talk about what he thought would happen when it ended, what he wanted to happen. He said he had found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.”
Spock looks up to the doctor for a moment. McCoy’s expression is unreadable, he seems almost as though he is holding his breath.
“He said he didn’t believe they returned his affection.” Spock continues, now carefully studying the doctor’s response, “He was… despondent, doctor. Do you know who he’s referring to? Is he correct?”
McCoy leans his elbows against the desk, blowing out a breath slowly.
“That man will be the death of me, Spock,” before Spock can question what he means by that, the doctor continues, “As for your questions: yes, I know who he’s talking about. But I’m not sure you should hear it from me.”
“Understandable, doctor. I know I wouldn’t ask you to betray the captain’s trust. However, if you don’t mind me asking, is he right?”
McCoy sighs again, eyes darting over Spock’s face, coming to rest at his eyes, “Honestly, I don’t know for certain. But I have a hunch he’s wrong. Besides, they’d be a damn fool not to return his affection.”
“Thank you, doctor, I can’t help but agree.” McCoy huffs a silent laugh at that, though Spock isn’t sure why, “Is there anything I should do to help, then?”
“Just be there for him, Spock. He’ll come around in his own time, just be patient.” The doctor smiles again, though the intricacies of the expression are lost on Spock.
“Thank you, McCoy. I’m glad he has a friend such as yourself.” He stands to leave, “I’ll leave you to your duties.”
“Anytime. And Spock?”
Spock turns away from the door to face him.
“He’s damn lucky to have you too.”
Spock is confused, but he nods in appreciation and exits, letting the door slide shut with a hiss behind him.
He turns for the bridge, ignoring the mild headache that has started behind his eyes.

Chapter Text

The captain is late to the bridge by nearly a half hour. Thankfully, they were in a rather uneventful part of their journey, so there was really no need for him to be strictly attending. Still, Spock feels himself relax just the slightest at the sight of a rumpled, sleep-deprived captain. He watches from the corner of his eye as Jim flashes a stunning smile to the yeoman that offers him a warm mug of coffee.
Spock resists the urge to wrinkle his nose at the smell. It wasn’t particularly unpleasant, but it was strong, and reminded him of the time he had drunk an entire glass of espresso while at the academy and spent the next hour vomiting it up and shaking aggressively. It turns out coffee doesn’t exactly agree with his system, or anyone’s when taken in such amounts. Admittedly, it had been illogical, but having studied for nearly a week with no sleep in order to prepare for back-to-back exams he was willing to take drastic, even illogical, measures.
He’s surprised at the wave of nausea that spikes in response to the smell, and takes a few deep breaths through his mouth until it subsides. Spock rarely had such physical reactions to things, but perhaps it was the result of his combined stress and pavlovian response. Yes, that would account for it.
Turning back to the viewer, Spock tries to dedicate his focus to examining a microbe sample that had been collected on the planet they were now orbiting. They had originally planned to have left by now, but had been forced to stay for some vague reason that likely has something to do with the ensign that had been in the sickbay that morning. A sharp, pulsing pain forms behind his eyes as he tries to focus them on the magnified subject. He squints, but it’s to no avail.
“Mr. Spock?” Sulu asks, an eyebrow raised in concern.
“Yes Mr. Sulu, what’s the issue?” Spock turns away from the viewer, blinking at the room as he waits for it to come into focus. The pain behind his eyes doesn’t fade.
“Oh, we were just discussing everyone’s plans for our last shore leave. Are you alright?”
“Yes, fine.” Spock responds more curtly than he had intended to. It takes everything he has not to clench his jaw at the pain throbbing against his skull.
“Captain, if you’ll excuse me?” He turns to the captain to find that he’s been watching him with concern. He pushes down the sea of emotions that rise with that observation. It’s more difficult than it should be.
“Of course Spock, though, are you sure you’re alright?” The captain shifts, getting ready to rise, but Spock gestures for him to relax.
“Fine, captain, just… dehydrated.” He hopes the captain doesn’t pick up on the hesitation. Dehydration would make sense, but he was certain he had hydrated sufficiently.
Spock rises to his feet, noting the strange sluggishness that seems to have pervaded his limbs. Perhaps he should go see Dr. McCoy. Though, should the nausea return he would rather it not be joining forces with an ill-balanced hypo.
He manages to maintain his usual poise as he walks to the lift, though he feels the captain’s eyes on him the whole way. Once the door has shut he allows himself to lean against the wall. He felt tired, drained, heavy, and… cold? This wasn’t normal.
Still, the captain needs him on the bridge. He was under enough stress as is and Spock would not be the one to make it any worse by causing him to worry. He gathers a bottle of water from the replicator, takes a few deep breaths, and steels himself to return to the bridge.
The captain turns as he enters, a question dancing across his features. Spock raises the water bottle a bit as an answer and returns to his post. He feels Jim’s gaze linger on him for a bit longer, but eventually he turns and relaxes back into his chair.
Spock settles in for a long shift, taking sips from the water bottle every five to ten minutes, and praying to whatever may be out there that the pain behind his eyes will subside.

---

The chime that signifies the changing shifts sounds and the Alpha crew begins to file into the lift or corridors, headed to whatever rest or recreation they see fit. Spock watches them go, hoping he won’t have too much of an audience when he tries to stand. His limbs feel heavy and weak, and he can’t wait to return to the warmth of his quarters to get some much needed sleep.
Finally, it’s just the captain and himself on the bridge. Jim stands with a theatrical stretch and walks over to the railing beside Spock’s post, a strangely soft smile turning his eyes to crescents.
“Are you ready for the chess match of your life?” Jim leans against the railing, a slight hint of mischief in his posture.
Spock tries to hold back the slew of emotions that threaten to consume him. The warmth of the captain’s nearness and smile, the dread of the game, a pang of fear that he may expose his weakness and cause the captain to worry. How had he forgotten about their game?
“Naturally, captain.” Spock responds with his infamous peaked eyebrow, attempting to imitate their usual banter. Something must be off, because a well worn crease forms between Jim’s brows.
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Spock? Did you get any sleep last night? I hope I didn’t keep you up.”
“Don’t worry captain. Vulcans don’t rely as heavily upon sleep as humans do.”
“Hmm, if you say so.” Jim gives him a quick scrutinizing glance, but finding nothing he lets it drop.
“Anyway, we had better get going before Sulu and Chekov take the best table again. They’re getting faster and I’m inclined to believe it’s on purpose.”
Spock allows for the slightest amused tilt to his lips before forcing his expression back to neutral.
“Naturally.” He responds, steeling himself to stand. His joints ache terribly and Spock worries for a moment whether he is likely to spread whatever this is to the captain. He’ll just be careful, limit their contact. He’s not shedding the pathogen in any obvious way, so it should be fine.
His head swims, vision quickly blacking out, balance thrown as his heart tries to correct the issue, thumping loudly in his ears in an attempt to bring his blood pressure back up. His hand shoots out instinctively, steadying him against the railing next to the science station. The railing that Jim is leaning against. Damn.
“Spock?” Jim asks, concern more than evident in his voice.
“Fine, captain.” Spock answers, voice quiet and breathy as he tries to force everything back under control. He blinks the remaining black spots from his vision, wincing at the headache that has come back with a vengeance.
“Spock, what’s wrong?” Jim has come around the railing, now standing just in front of Spock. His arms reached out toward Spock to steady him if he should falter again. For some reason this makes Spock want to cry. Everything hurts right now. It's confusing and difficult and he’s tired and so, so cold. He desperately fights the urge to take advantage of the captains open arms and let him hold him, steady him, warm him. Instead he takes a stumbling step back.
“My apologies, captain, I was momentarily off balance. I’m recovered now.” He assures, praying that Jim will just believe him.
“No you’re not. You almost fainted, Spock. You’re pale as death.”
“Death cannot be pale-”
“-No, none of that. I’m walking you to sick bay, come on.” Jim extends an arm, inviting Spock to lean against him. Spock fights against everything in him to stay put.
“Captain, I’m sure the issue was anomalous, there is no need for further concern.”
Jim snorts at that, ignoring him and snaking a hand behind his back, throwing Spock’s left arm over his own shoulder.
Spock shivers at the contact, unable to stop himself from leaning into Jim’s body heat.
“Jesus, Spock!” Jim turns to him, their faces inches apart, the well worn lines above his forehead deepening once again, Spock fights the urge to reach up and smooth them away, “You’re burning up! Why didn’t you say anything?”
Spock can feel the delirium of the fever wreaking havoc on his reasoning, his mind quickly becoming a mess of color and notion and feelings. He struggles to focus on what he’s supposed to say to maintain his carefully crafted image.
“There’s no reason to worry.” Spock winces as his head starts pounding worse, “Didn’t want you to worry.” He mumbles.
His breath seems to come shorter now, his limbs leaden.
“Are you saying you worked an eight hour shift with a fever because you didn’t want to worry me? You did this for my sake?”
“You’re stressed.” Spock answers, hand trailing to grasp at the arm around his waist, earnesty holding the hand held there, “ Sad.” he mumbles, feeling those same waves of sadness and hopelessness he had felt the night before. He frowns at that, and at the waves of concern that now lay atop them. Because of him.
Jim sucks in a breath at the contact, looking to Spock with considerable confusion.
“Illogical.” He mutters, shaking his head and leaning more of Spocks weight onto himself as he starts maneuvering them toward the door. Spock lets him, choosing to focus on keeping his feet under him rather than trying to figure out what Jim is on about.
The hum of the lift is soothing and Spock has to fight the urge to close his eyes and curl into Jim’s warmth, to just give up. Stop trying. Stop fighting. Let it be. Rest. He sags a bit.
“Just hold on there Mr. Spock,” Jim strengthens his grip, pulling Spock closer to himself in an attempt to keep his friend upright.
“Hmm.” Spock answers, reveling in Jim’s body heat.
---
Dr. McCoy leans over the afflicted ensign brought in that morning. He’s been able to treat all the symptoms sufficiently, but he can’t seem to isolate the root cause. Whatever it is, it seems viral. Nurse Chapel is running tests on a sample now. He frowns and turns back to return to his office, closing the curtain behind him. It had been a strange, but relatively quiet day.
This thought is interrupted by the captain stumbling into sick bay, practically carrying the science officer. He stops and stares for a moment, dumbfounded by the spectacle of it all.
“Hey Bones,” Jim says with a strained smile, “little help here?”
“Jim, what the hell did you do to him now?”
“What?” Jim hoists Spock up again, struggling to keep him on his feet.
“Come on, over here.” McCoy leads them over to an examination table, helping Jim get the weirdly clingy half-vulcan into a horizontal position.
“‘S cold. Jim-” Spock reaches back toward the captain, movements weak and sluggish, eyes glassy.
“Jesus, why didn’t you call me earlier?” McCoy begins taking readings, occasionally moving Spock’s arms back to his sides or pushing him down when he tries to sit up.
“I didn’t know!” Jim answers, fidgeting with his hands as he watches, “He seemed fine for the whole shift but when he tried to get up he almost fainted and then it just went downhill fast.”
“Stupid stoic Vulcans.” McCoy mutters.
“He’s been drinking water all shift, but I think he’s delirious, and-”
“-My God,” McCoy interrupts, “His temperature is 42.2.” (108F for those of you in fahrenheit. I refuse to believe that Starfleet allows the use of the imperial system.)
“Is that bad?”
“Bad? Jim, it's supposed to be 32.8!” (91F)
“That’s almost ten degrees difference.”
“Sure is. Did he give any clues about what it is?”
“No, tried to tell me he was just off-balance.”
“Yeah that sounds about right.” McCoy begins lining up hypos, muttering to himself all the while, “Fever, tranquilizer, pain, yeah that should do for now.”
Jim winces, watching as McCoy hypos Spock repeatedly, checking his vitals after each one.
“Will he be alright?” He asks, taking his place beside the table again as McCoy clears away the extra equipment.
McCoy sighs, looking down at their friend with a frown.
“I don’t know, Jim. He’s stable for now, but it’s hard to treat something when I don’t know what it is. I’ve taken a blood sample and nurse Chapel should have the results back to me within the hour. Sooner if it’s something we’ve already got in the system.”
Jim nods, the worry lines in his forehead creasing further.
“Hey, he’s tough. He’s survived worse.” McCoy tries to comfort him, though he can feel himself starting to become concerned. Spock hasn’t been exposed to anything. He hasn’t left the ship in more than two weeks. This could be something internal. Spock’s systems are potentially unstable. He’s a hybrid, there’s no telling what the problem could be.
“He said he didn’t want me to worry. I think he accidentally projected his thoughts when I first started helping him on the bridge. He’s…” Jim trails off, unsure how to describe what he had felt.
“Yeah, I think we should talk, Jim.” McCoy nods in understanding, placing a comforting hand on Jim’s shoulder as they both watch the now unconscious Spock. He looks tired.

Chapter Text

Jim fiddles with the tumbler in his hand. It’s glass infused with lead, it used to be called crystal, must be very old, no one bothers using such a heavy stable element for cosmetic creations anymore. God, he’s tired.

He leans forward, abandoning the glass on McCoy’s desk with a thunk and resting his head in one hand. He sighs and takes a moment to gather himself.

“Sorry, Bones,” He says with a weary smile, finally looking up at the doctor, “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Yeah, Spock told me the two of you had stayed up late.” McCoy answers nonchalantly, taking a sip from his own glass.

“He did? When did he get the time to visit?”

“This morning-”

“-Wait, so you knew that he wasn’t feeling great and you still-”

“-Jim. If you would let me finish a sentence every now and then these conversations might go a bit more smoothly.”

“Sorry.” Jim smiles again in apology, but his shoulders stay tensed in worry.

“As I was saying,” McCoy gives him a look, “Spock visited me here this morning, I believe he said it was to discuss a ‘personal matter.’ Looked about as confounded as a Vulcan can. You’ll never guess what the subject was.”

Jim just raises his eyebrows and waits for the doctor to continue. McCoy sighs in frustration.

“If I didn’t already know your competency scores I would think you were stupid. You, Jim. The subject was you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, glad to know we’re on the same page. He was worried sick Jim.” McCoy resists the urge to smile at the unintended pun, but reminds himself he’s trying to have a serious conversation.

“What about?”

“Apparently you were, I believe he said, ‘despondent.’ He’s not the only one that’s noticed either. Uhara asked after you just last week. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't getting more worried myself. Jim, I know you’re scared, but you’ve got to stop letting this eat at you.”

“What would you suggest I do, doctor?” Jim asks, voice a bit strained.

“Face it head-on. Worst case scenario things are awkward for a few weeks before everyone leaves. Best case scenario you get to have what you’ve wanted for months.”

“Years.” Jim nearly whispers.

“Jim you’ve got to stop letting that fear hold you back. From what I’ve seen, Spock could never hate you. In fact, based on what I’ve seen, there’s a very good chance that he’s been thinking a lot of the same things you have. You both need to stop being so noble and start telling the truth.”

“I can’t lose him, Bones.” Jim looks close to tears.

“Jim, you’re not going to like hearing this, but you already are losing him.” McCoy sits forward, ensuring that Jim hears every word, “ I have a very sick half-vulcan in a bed out there because he couldn’t abandon you, couldn’t make you worry about him because he cares more about you than his own health. Does that sound logical to you? In a few weeks you’ll be going separate ways.  What makes you think that someone willing to do that would be willing to just leave you behind? Jim, you know what that sounds like, you know what’s happening here, but you’re too scared of the slim chance of being wrong to realize the significant chance that you’re right.”

Jim leans back in his chair, brow furrowed and eyes watery. He lets out a shaking sigh, “How do I stop being scared?”

“Stop telling yourself how much you have to lose and start realizing how much you could gain.”

“Will he be okay?”

“I-” the doctor stops short. He’s been wondering the same thing, “I’ll do everything I can.”

Jim nods, looking even more distressed than before. McCoy frowns at himself, but knows that there’s not much else he could have, in good conscience, said. He opts to occupy himself, turning away from the captain to press the medlab conn.

“Chapel, this is McCoy, any updates on Mr. Spock?”

“Nothing definite yet, sir.” Comes the grainy reply, “I’ve found a partial match, but it’s not enough to determine successful treatment.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow at that.

“Chapel, what is the partial match with?”

“A rhinovirus, the common cold.”

“Strange. Thank you Chapel, keep up the good work. McCoy out.”

He leans back in his chair, thoughts whirling with questions. Whatever Spock had seemed worse than the common cold, though he didn’t even know if or how the common cold would affect Spock as a hybrid. Is he even a viable host for the virus? Apparently he’s viable for it’s cousin. Whatever that happened to be.

“Jim, have you or anyone on the bridge had the sniffles lately?”

Jim looks up in confusion, “No, not that I’ve seen. A cold is an easy fix, they would have come to you, same as I would have.”

“Well, it was worth checking. Any one of us could be a carrier, but if we aren’t shedding the virus in some way the chances of intrapersonal transmission are slim.”

“She said it was a partial match, so maybe it’s something else entirely.”

“Yes,” McCoy mumbles, pulling out his padd to check all instances of possible virus shedding in the crew for the last month. There’s almost nothing, and every one of them is accounted for as something other than a rhinovirus. He finally gets to the report for that week, there’s one recorded instance left: Ensign Alex P. Reynolds - Ailment: Unidentified.

“Oh my God,” He mumbles, “He was in here this morning when Ensign Reynolds came in.”

“What does that have to do-”

“-Come on, Jim,” McCoy leads the way out of his office at a brisk pace, “There’s a chance that someone did have a cold, they just didn’t know it. They were a non-shedding carrier.”

“But bones, you said they couldn’t spread it if-”

“-I know, there’s another factor here.”

Bones leads the way back to where Ensign Reynolds is currently resting. He knocks on the wall next to the curtain to announce his presence.

“I’m awake.” The ensign answers hoarsely.

McCoy, pulls back the curtain, already pulling out instruments.

“Hey doctor, what’s the news?” The ensign looks past him to see the captain standing there with a frown, “That bad, huh?”

Jim can’t help but snort at that, “No, Reynolds, you’re in good hands. You’ll be back at your post in a day or two.”

“Glad to hear it. Though, if you don’t mind me asking, Captain, what’s going on?”

“Great question. Bones?” Jim and the ensign turn to look at him expectantly.

“Alright,” The doctor mutters, straightening up and frowning at a reading, “I believe our ensign here may have created a new virus.”

“I’ve what?”

“Not on purpose, of course,” McCoy assures them, “But I believe what happened is that our dear Reynolds here was a benign carrier of a common rhinovirus. Many humans are, and it’s not an issue so long as they aren’t shedding. We can’t transmit our viruses to alien species anyway, so it really isn’t any form of threat. However, that virus is still held in our cells, unable to cause any damage, but it’s there. They then came into contact with an alien pathogen that behaves like a virus. In fact, it's so much like a human virus that when it found itself in the same cell as the rhinovirus, the two were able to combine to create a variant virus. One that your body doesn’t quite know how to fight. It seems that this new virus is using what it learned from the rhinovirus to transmit, but it’s not very good at it. Otherwise myself and nurse Chapel would have gotten it as well. There were a few outstanding circumstances in Spock’s case that allowed him to catch it.”

“Such as?” Jim prompts, growing more worried by the second.

“Well, we both know he was sleep deprived and stressed. This would have impacted his immune system to start with. The alien pathogen seemed to have the ability to affect most organic matter it came into contact with, and assisted by Reynold’s unintentional cold-like shedding, it was able to infect Spock. Judging by Spock’s reaction, he’s never been affected by a rhinovirus, so his hybrid biology was originally incompatible with the common cold. Combine the common cold with an alien pathogen, and you have a dangerous franken-virus that his body has no defense against, having never contracted or encountered either of the parent viruses, and with his immune system weakened it’s unlikely his body will be able to figure it out on it’s own.”

“Well, what can we do?” Jim asks.

“Mr. Spock is sick? Did I kill Mr. Spock?!” The ensign sits up suddenly, causing their blood pressure to drop and spike rapidly.

“Lay back, Reynolds! Nobody is dying!” McCoy pushes them back against the pillows by the shoulder, huffing in exasperation, “Now, I’ll take a blood sample from the both of you. If the virus matches then we know that I was right. From there we can easily manufacture a vaccine. A vaccine won’t help the two of you, but we can fight the virus for you by treating the symptoms. Shouldn’t take more than a few days for it to run it’s course and for your bodies to learn to fight it themselves. We’ll need to do an aerosol release vaccine for the rest of the crew as soon as possible so that everyone gets treated at once. They’ll feel a bit tired for a few hours, but they’ll be fine. Until then,” He looks at the captain hesitantly, “the medbay is on a quarantine lockdown. None of us can leave.” 

Jim nods, it’s beta shift, he won’t be needed for another fifteen or so hours. If there’s any emergencies, though, the ship will be without its captain and first mate. Fantastic.

McCoy gives him a look, but continues, “I’ll send these samples down to Chapel and have her take a look. We’ll know within the hour if it’s a match. In the meantime, I suggest we leave Reynolds to rest.”

“Of course. Get well soon, Reynolds.” Jim flashes a charming smile in an attempt to reassure them. 

“Thanks, Captain.” Reynolds answers, looking rather distracted with the bombshell that was just dropped.

Bones closes the curtain and steers Jim back toward the office, veering suddenly to the right. 

“He’ll be waking up soon.” McCoy states before Jim can ask what they’re doing, “Someone should be there when he does and I need to go talk with Chapel.”

Jim opens his mouth to respond, but Bones just sighs in exasperation, dragging a chair from across the room and pulling back the curtain.

“Sit with him, Jim. I know that you want to, same as he would want to for you.”

Spock is pale. He’s very pale. He looks frail like this and it makes Jim’s stomach drop. Spock has been many things, but he’s never frail.

“He’ll be okay, Bones?” Jim nearly whispers, leaning against the back of the chair.

“If I have anything to say about it, yes.” McCoy gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and turns to walk back to his office.

Jim watches him go, steeling himself to look at Spock again. McCoy’s words from earlier settle like a stone in his chest, ‘I have a very sick half-vulcan in a bed out there because he couldn’t abandon you, couldn’t make you worry about him because he cares more about you than his own health.’ He knows it’s irrational, but he can’t help feeling like it was his fault. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told Spock what he did. Shouldn’t have kept him up all night with his cowardice. Does he even have any right to ask Spock to stay with him after what he’s put him through? 

He settles a hand over Spock’s, careful to avoid connecting their fingers so as to not make his friend uncomfortable. Spock’s skin is still far warmer than it should be. Just like other Vulcans, his normal body temperature was a few degrees below that of a human. It had taken Jim a while and quite a few casual touches before noticing, and even longer to figure out why Spock always seemed to have such cold hands. Since then, he’d been much more adamant about having the basic anatomical knowledge of all the species on board. 

A sudden shift beneath his hand brings Jim sharply back to his surroundings. Spock is awake, but he’s just looking down at their hands with glassy eyes. Jim follows his gaze and watches as Spock forms the ta’al, turning his hand so that it aligns with Jim’s palm-to-palm.

“Spock?” Jim asks, scanning his face, Spock just continues to look down at their hands, now rather intimately entwined by Vulcan standard. Jim swallows his nervousness.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, tearing his gaze away from their hands once again.

“I’m…” Spock trails off, closing his eyes for a moment. Jim is almost convinced he’s falling asleep again, but he opens them again, this time firmly locked on Jim’s face, “I’m not sure, Captain. I feel… strange.”

“Yeah,” Jim smiles at Spock’s confusion, willing himself not to think about what position their hands were in, “Bones gave you quite the cocktail. Might’ve been overkill, knowing him.”

“Captain,” Spock begins, opening his mouth to continue, but shutting it again.

“Yes, Spock?” Jim asks, Spock’s eyes were growing more lucid by the second, but Jim couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or not. If he told him while he was disoriented there was a slim chance he would forget or misunderstand. It could diminish his chances of failure by a bit. 

“Oh,” Spock mumbles, noticing their hands again. He pulls his own away, “I’m sorry, Captain, that was unprofessional of me.”

Jim isn’t sure why, but that’s somehow one of the most irritating things he’s ever heard. Frustration and desperation pound against his ribs, and for some reason, of all things, he laughs. It’s devoid of humor, flat, wrong. But it’s all he can think to do. Laugh. Because Spock is apologizing for being unprofessional. Spock is apologizing for the one thing that had made Jim’s heart feel like it didn’t have to be crushed in weeks. Because Spock is apologizing to him , without knowing that Jim had so much more to be sorry for.

Spock watches, a rare flash of concern coloring his features. Jim stops laughing, instead opting to lean against the railing of the bed, his forehead resting against the cool metal.

“Captain?” Spock asks hesitantly.

“Jim.” Jim mumbles.

“What?”

“I said my name is Jim, Spock. It’s Jim.”

“Yes, but you are also the captain-”

“Not here. Not now.” Jim interrupts, a strange tasting bitterness in his words.

“I’m afraid I do not understand.” 

“I can’t be the captain right now, Spock. Here, with you, in this moment, I need to be Jim.”

Spock nods wordlessly, seeming to understand the meaning behind his words, “Very well, Jim.”

Jim sighs at that, looking up at his best friend. His… love. He feels his chest fill with it, feels it ache like an old wound.

“Spock I need to tell you something. Something that you may not like.”

“Understood, Jim.” Spock sits up a little straighter.

Jim blows out a breath. It’s like tearing off a bandaid, probably. He just has to say it. Just has to take the words out from his chest and drop them in the space between them. It feels like an infinite, imploding expanse. It collapses in on itself, collides with their breath, and explodes. 

“Spock, I-” he hesitates, grasping at the thousands of thoughts that demand to fill that expanse, “I haven’t been totally honest with you.”

“About what, c-Jim?” Spock’s concern is now audible. Jim resists the urge to take his hand, to comfort him. It may be best if he avoids touching him.

“Remember the conversation we had last night? When I told you I had found someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t tell you who it was because- well-” He sighs, heart pounding in his ears, this is it, no going back, “Because it’s you.”

Spock just looks at him. No change in expression, just allowing the words to settle in that space between them, letting them linger and resonate against the forest of curtains around them. Slowly, Spock moves his hand back to where it was, ta'al once again presented to Jim, but this time, he looks at him, waiting for him to return it. Inviting him to join it of his own accord.

Jim places his fingers over Spock’s, searching his face for any clue as to what was going on in that marvelous mind. Spock’s eyes widen slightly as Jim’s hand settles over his own.

“Jim, I believe the doctor may have, as you said, ‘gone overboard.’”

Jim laughs at that, tears of relief clouding his vision, “What makes you say that?”

“I am awake, and yet,” he presses his fingers gently to Jim’s, “I’m dreaming.”

“Not dreaming, Spock. If we were dreaming I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be in medbay and we both wouldn’t be so tired.”

Spock nods, a hint of a smile teasing at his lips, “Jim, I- I return the sentiment. Fully.”

It takes everything Jim has not to kiss him right then and there.