Watered In Fears

by Canon-Fire

Captain Kirk is missing, Spock is in command. It would be a lot easier to ignore McCoy's temper if he was not trying to stave off a migraine.

Watered In Fears

It was not an unusual state of affairs. In fact, if he were human, he might have been tempted to say it happened with depressing regularity. He sat in the command chair, knowing the captain's life hung in the balance, while he was hamstrung by precarious diplomatic circumstance. He knew his duty, knew the ship's priorities. Knew he couldn't leave his captain to his fate.

"What are you doing just sitting here? Jim could be dying down there!"

And of course, there was that. Reliable as the tide.

"We are waiting on a response from the Darla. If it is favourable, we will search the planet." His voice sounded calm as he replied, as though McCoy didn't already know this. As though he hadn't been there when the security chief had called and said the captain had not made the rendezvous.

He had been there, hovering at Spock's shoulder for every decision he'd made since. It was not that he did not want the doctor's support or particularly desired him to vacate he bridge. He simply found his inevitable attacks an unnecessary distraction.

"If the Darla's response is favourable? What are you going to do if it's not favourable? And how long are you planning to wait either way?!" McCoy's voice rose with each new question.

"Doctor." Spock kept his tone as even as possible. He was not certain there was a way to avoid McCoy's ire, but he was willing to try. "This is not a Federation aligned planet. We have no jurisdiction here whatsoever. If we take action without the Darla's permission, they have legal cause to open fire on us."

McCoy did not so much as pause for breath.

"So raise the shields."

"Planetary defences would break through our shields very quickly."

"We do have our own defences."

Spock stared at McCoy, waiting for his demands and questions to start making sense.

"Are you suggesting I fire on a populated planet, Doctor?"

McCoy stopped, unwilling to go that far. He knew all the same rules dictating their movements as Spock did, along with every moral question relating to rulers and innocent bystanders. Kirk was lost on this planet, they did not yet know whether the planetary officials would permit them to search, but McCoy knew that none of that made the citizens responsible, or justified aggression on their part.

Spock was privately grateful he did not respond. He felt a deep seated tension throughout his body, a dull pulse behind his eyes which promised to remain throughout their current stand off. It had been twelve point seven-two hours since Captain Kirk had missed the rendezvous and Spock had begun attempting contact. They had contacted the Darla immediately; planetary officials who represented the will of the people. They'd been told to stand by and the Darla had been debating ever since.

The quiet from McCoy lasted somewhat under ten minutes.

"This is ridiculous. You're seriously not going to do anything? Not even going to try to find him?"

Spock fought a sigh.

"I am scanning the planet from his last known position. I welcome other suggestions, Doctor." He replied wearily.

"Go down there and look for him!" McCoy demanded, for the ninth time since they'd first started scanning the planet.

"I intend to do so, as soon as we have leave from the Darla."

"And if he's hurt? You're just going to wait for permission and hope he doesn't bleed to death meanwhile?"

"Alternatively I could go without permission and hope I do not cause a war. Is that what you recommend?"

McCoy made a noise Spock could only describe as a snarl. It resonated oddly in his skull, the throb in the back of his head seeming to want to cringe away from the noise.

"What's wrong with you?" McCoy asked in a mildly less angry tone.

Clearly, he had not entirely kept his discomfort from his expression.

"Nothing of importance, Doctor." He replied, distracted by a bleep from the sensor panel. He tensed slightly, feeling McCoy do the same. As Chekov did not turn or speak, they were left to assume it too, was nothing of significance.

"Headache." McCoy deduced, raising an eyebrow of his own.

Being unable to deny the fact and unwilling to discuss it further, Spock ignored him.

By the time the Darla's representative contacted him, Spock had a bright white squiggle obscuring his vision, numbness in his left arm and found he was having to concentrate to respond appropriately to their discussion. Not, that they were getting anywhere fast.

"I'm sure you understand." The Azuran male on the screen spoke with a tone Spock was tempted to call pitying.

He knew what he meant. He was sure Spock understood why they would not give their permission to search the planet.

"I understand that the situation is sensitive. We do not mean to intrude on your hospitality, but we must find Captain Kirk."

"I'm very much afraid that we cannot authorise a Starfleet search party, you are here as guests and our own law enforcement must suffice. I have reported your captain's disappearance and I am willing to overlook unauthorised use of sensors."

Spock cringed inwardly. He had not truly imagined it would go unnoticed, but he had gambled on it not being seen as independent from the survey they had been authorised to perform.

"I apologise, Venn Turla, I had not realised they were unauthorised." He replied, which was true in technicality only. He had not been entirely certain. Venn Turla was the current head representative of the Darla, his title of equal level with the representatives of every section of society and his for a period of no more than one Azure year. They had no leaders. No class structures. No decisions made without absolute consensus and while culturally fascinating, the egalitarian nature of Azure was proving somewhat inconvenient to the Enterprise crew.

"It is of no consequence." Venn Turla responded. "You may continue to scan and our law enforcement will investigate your captain's disappearance as we would any citizen of our own, but action taken without leave beyond your survey, will be seen as aggression."

Which was reasonable, Spock supposed, as to set foot on a planet against the expressed wishes of it's citizens was, rather objectively aggressive.

He barely heard the protests of the bridge crew as he cut the communication. He was struggling not to wince at discordant sounds. He hit the intercom and spoke over questions from all sides.

"This is Commander Spock. Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant-Commander Scott, Lieutenant-Commander Giotto, Lieutenants Uhura, Chekov and Sulu, report to briefing room one, immediately. Spock out."

Problematically, Spock didn't have much to say to the gathered heads of section. He needed suggestions, possibilities he had overlooked. Preferably, he needed them to be given in low register tones and without unnecessary movement.

"Headache getting worse, Spock?" McCoy groused at him as he entered the briefing room, loudly.

Spock wasn't rightly sure how he was doing it loudly, but he was. He did understand that he meant his question figuratively. The headache of the mission. Still, he found it rather coarse even by McCoy's standards.

"The Darla have refused their permission to search the planet." Spock announced when all heads of section had arrived.

"There's a surprise." McCoy commented before Spock could fully contextualise the Darla's decision.

A number of the other heads of sections gave appreciative smirks at this which left Spock suspecting they were not as open to understanding of the native people as was ideal.

"The situation-" Spock continued, ignoring the doctor's comment. "Is somewhat difficult. Azure is not a Federation aligned planet. Starfleet opened discussions with the planet some time ago. They are an open, curious people, they have never refused Federation visits or exchange of ideas but they have shown no interest in joining. The reason for this is that they have a comprehensively democratic system, whereby the populace vote on all major decisions, including the election of an executive body; the Darla, whose purpose is to carry out the will of the people. The people at this time believe their decision making rights would be diluted by Federation membership."

"That's not true-" Chekov started, sounding offended.

"Perhaps not." Spock countered immediately. "But they have every right to make that decision for themselves. The Azuran people decide on law and policy, the Darla and the executive body oversee the implementation of policy and, more relevantly to our current circumstance, the law is upheld by a rotated selection of citizens in each area, not unlike Earth jury duty. Starfleet asked permission to survey this planet and it has been granted. Enterprise conducted the sixth survey, our focus as you know being on certain medical advances made by the Azure people. These were laid open to us. In six surveys there has been no trouble of any kind. Captain Kirk's disappearance is therefore being treated as either an accident or a breaking of local law, rather than a targeted attack on Starfleet or the captain himself. The Darla has consulted with the executive body and the current law mediators and they are agreed, it must be up to them to find Captain Kirk, not an outside agency."

Giotto cursed under his breath. In this instance, Spock was inclined to agree with the sentiment. It was frustrating, but it was not, in fact, unreasonable.

"The Darla have asked us to withdraw all personnel for their own protection while they investigate this disappearance. They have agreed to 'overlook' our continued use of sensors on the planet and have given us permission to use the transporter without prior agreement should we find a human signature."

"Oh how nice of them." McCoy growled. His face was white in anger. Worry lines etched beside his eyes.

Spock did understand, but McCoy was not listening, which concerned the Vulcan. The effort required to have explained in such detail - as though his tongue was not heavy and semi-numb, his mind and vocal chords feeling somewhat divorced from each other - was draining Spock fast. He gazed at McCoy, hoping it was not apparent that in fact he could only see one side of him, the other obscured by mist and squiggles of light.

He almost sagged in relief as Uhura broke in before he could.

"It is 'nice' of them Doctor. They are clearly showing both trust in us and honesty in their own investigation." Uhura observed, glancing at Spock for confirmation she had understood correctly.

He only knew she had done this because he saw movement indicating she'd turned her head. Anything outside of his direct eye line at that moment in time was little more than a painful blur of light.

"How'd you figure that?" McCoy asked, sarcasm replaced by genuine interest which in other circumstances would have exasperated Spock.

"By giving us permission to beam up at will, they're trusting we will do only that. That we won't use the cover of trying to beam up a human signal to beam someone down." Uhura elucidated. "They could also very legitimately ask that if we do find a signal, we let them know and they will investigate. That would ask us to trust that they would act promptly and in Captain Kirk's interests. They haven't asked us to make that leap of faith. It suggests they do want him found and are not interested in credit."

Spock would have offered his approval to her, had he not suspected it might prompt McCoy to disagree with him on principle. He stayed quiet, until McCoy had spoken first.

"...Okay, so let's imagine they are trying to show good faith, that doesn't change the fact they won't let us search and we can't just leave the captain down there!"

Muttered agreement swept through the room.

"Any alternative suggestions would be welcome." Spock had to concentrate not to slur. Or to groan aloud. The thudding in his head was growing sharp.

"Are you alright, Mr Spock?" Engineer Scott asked out of nowhere. "If you don't mind me saying so, you're mighty pale."

"I am fine, Mr Scott." He answered immediately. "In summary, we are currently scanning the planet, as far as we can tell our sensors work equally well from orbit as from the ground, no interference. Are there any further suggestions at this point?"

McCoy hadn't spoken in a minute or so and Spock had been trying not to prompt a change in this by looking at him, but a soft warbling noise suddenly explained the silence. Scanner.

"Yes, two." The doctor spoke up, the earlier combination of anger and sarcasm returning to his voice. "One, I suggest we not let our captain's life hang on the sensibilities of some powerless diplomat. They're okay with us using the transporters, let's use them, let's talk to the people Jim mentioned in his log updates."

"To do so would almost certainly result in a confrontation, potentially with a cut off of communications and our sensors being jammed. Not to mention constituting aggression against a fully cooperative planet." Spock argued quietly.

He couldn't turn his head fast enough to keep up with the exchange to follow, without causing the kind of pain that made him want to grind his teeth together - an illogical instinct he thought best ignored. Instead, he cast his gaze slightly upwards, hoping it conveyed he was listening.

"They're not fully cooperative! They're not letting us search."

"Aye, they're being friendly enough but they're still flexing their muscles. The problem is we can't stop them. If they do jam our sensors we won't be able to search from here or transport."

"I don't think it counts as flexing muscles to not give us jurisdiction on their planet, Scotty." Uhura's calmer voice was a welcome moment of reason. "They're doing the best they can by their people."

Spock winced inwardly. It was, as he had sometimes heard Mr Scott put it, something of an open goal.

"Exactly lass, we have to do the same."

"What if we send a security team in a shuttle to a less populated area and search from there? They might not be monitoring us that closely." Giotto suggested.

"If they are, we might never find the captain." Sulu put in. "What if we told them we thought we had found the captain but couldn't beam him up, would they let us join the search then?"

"Why would they do that but not let us down now?" Chekov questioned.

And on it went. The discussion was valuable, in that it pitted more than one mind against the problem and established that in all likelihood, Spock had not missed anything - they really did have no choice but to keep scanning from the ship and trust that the natives were trying to find their captain. When all avenues had been raised and dismissed, talk gradually petered out and Spock tried hard not to be too obviously relieved.

"In that case, you may return to your posts. We will work on a way to boost the sensors."

Spock got to his feet, a sudden crunch in his skull making him want to drop back down immediately.

"Just hold on there, Spock." McCoy spoke with relentless insistence.

"I didn't get to my second suggestion."

The same thought had in fact occurred to Spock, his memory being somewhat more advanced than humans', but he had assumed the doctor had forgotten. He stood still through sheer force of will.

"Turn the conn over to Scotty." McCoy said.

Spock tried hard to bring both of his eyes into focus. While McCoy remained far too bright and blurry for comfort, Spock could at least see he wasn't joking. He waited for the doctor to explain himself.

"You have a migraine. You may be able to suppress the pain but unless I miss my mark-" He clicked his fingers somewhere to his left and Spock flinched. He couldn't see the hand while looking at McCoy's face.

"You can't quite see straight." The doctor smirked.

"So before you give any more orders Captain, you better let me shoot you up or you're going to be in no fit state to boost anything."

For the time it took him to give his orders and follow McCoy to sickbay, Spock genuinely thought the doctor might just be doing his job. He had ignored the jibe about his acting captaincy and requested Sulu take the conn, to enable Scott to get started on the sensors. He also told Sulu he would be on the bridge in ten minutes.

McCoy had only scoffed at that, but did not argue, much to Spock's relief. McCoy was wrong. He was not able to suppress the pain. The chemical imbalance which was causing the migraine was also interfering with his controls.

He had just sat down on the exam table, when he understood what the doctor really wanted with him.

His eyes were on the biomonitors as he spoke.

"I really don't understand you, Spock." He breathed. "You aren't going to tell me it's logical not to let us search for our missing man?"

Spock could feel his left eyelid getting heavy. Exactly as McCoy had stated, he couldn't see straight. He had been viewing all around him through a blotchy blinding mist for thirty nine point two minutes and it was becoming harder to prevent the muscles around his eyes from responding. The grinding, burning pain behind them was not helping in this regard either. Spock was somewhat irritated he'd been so slow to realise McCoy's real motivation for bringing him to sickbay.

"Doctor, even Vulcans are not immune to the discomfort of migraines. If you have a way to alleviate the symptoms, I would be grateful. If not, I will return to my duty."

"Your duty." McCoy growled at him, turning to the table beside Spock. Spock very nearly winced at the reverberation in his skull.

He sat still while McCoy released a hypospray into his neck. He was aware the action was performed with some degree of impatience, but he felt nothing. His entire left side was tingling, skin numb to the touch.

The relief was instant. As indeed was the nausea, but as his stomach had already been churning it made no appreciable difference. The muting of his headache to a distant thud and the clearing of his eyesight to just mildly blurry, was enormously welcome.

"I have not claimed to think it is logical not to search." He spoke quietly, patience with McCoy increasing with his lessened discomfort.

"I merely think that in terms of our presence on the planet, it is not our decision to make. There is nothing illogical about the Azuran's right to police their own world. We are searching, Doctor."

He meant it to be reassuring. To remind McCoy of what he already knew. They were doing everything they could to find the captain, without risking being cut off from any form of search whatsoever. He knew immediately that his efforts had not been taken as such. A familiar scowl crossed the doctor's face.

"There's more than one kind of duty, Spock." He snarled, closing the space between them to an uncomfortably close distance.

"You have a duty to Starfleet and don't we all know about it, but you have other duties. To this crew, to it's captain. To your friend. He would never have left you down there without a fight."

He backed off, giving Spock room to leave, never once breaking eye contact.

Other days, other times, other near-identical scenes played over in his mind. As reliable as the tide. Spock absorbed the hammering weight of McCoy's anger alongside his own anxiety, every time.

He knew what it meant, he knew he was just scared and his and Spock's tumultuous friendship lived on this kind of interaction. McCoy's invasion of his personal space had made him throw his shields up instinctively, which had returned some of the intensity to his headache.

He took a slow, careful step towards the entrance to sickbay, eyes on the ground. He knew he should return to the bridge without delay.

"I know what duty means, Doctor McCoy." He found himself saying instead. He looked up, forcing himself to focus through the blur.

"My duty to the crew comes before anything else. My duty to not lead them into avoidable danger. My duty not to gamble four hundred lives on one. As for my duty to Captain Kirk, it is to do all in my power to find him. We currently have one avenue of search available to us. I will not risk closing it to satisfy a personal need for action. If we go down without permission, our sensors will be cut off and for what exactly, Doctor? A few hours, a few crewmen on foot, at best. Is that a gain worth losing a star ship sensors' search capabilities across the planet?"

McCoy looked a little chastened, but no less displeased.

"As for my duty to my friends, Doctor... I am finding the search for one, equally arduous as the presence of the other."

Blue eyes widened in surprise, maybe offence.

"I do not desire command. If I must have command, I would strongly prefer to do so without the distraction of any form of ailment. You are fully aware that neither of those preferences are currently the case. Which part of your duties, as a doctor, or as a friend, are you fulfilling at this time?"

Surprise gave way to shock. McCoy must indeed have been taken aback, as he said nothing at all as Spock left sickbay to return to the bridge.

---

Illogical. He knew it as surely as he was failing to ignore it, but there was a hollow sensation growing in his chest for every moment he spent in the captain's chair. The crew growing silent and subdued the longer their passive search for the captain went on.

He did not wish to admit it, to himself or certainly not to anyone else, but he wanted McCoy on the bridge.

On every one of the many occasions, with the captain missing and in peril, the doctor's presence was constant, predictable and... necessary. There were gaps in Spock's abilities which McCoy was only too willing to point out. Spock could not claim to enjoy McCoy's particular brand of vicious attack in the face of fear or disagreement with his orders, but he did appreciate that he was there to make his voice heard, every time.

And Spock did listen to his advice, though McCoy would certainly claim otherwise. His compassion and understanding helped offset Spock's devotion to logic, an attribute he was aware could appear cold to humans. His ability to push Spock to petty squabbles and competition in a way he would otherwise never dream of, had long baffled the Vulcan, but it seemed to help focus his most efficient work. He had noticed the same was true in reverse.

He did not enjoy having everything from his heritage to his physical appearance attacked, especially when he was trying to get the captain back where he should be. But he would admit that in general, he found the loud, brash and relentless presence of the doctor strangely reassuring.

He regretted suggesting otherwise.

It had been the absolute truth at the time he had said it. Having McCoy shout at him while nauseating pain throbbed behind his eyes, was unpleasant. And at the moment when he was being distracted from his work by being dragged to sickbay on false pretences, it was equally as problematic as the Azuran's refusal to let them conduct a ground search.

He intensely disliked the knowledge that his ill health had dictated his responses. But he disliked the result more.

He remained in contact with the Darla, who explained their search patterns and updated him on progress, of which there was none. Spock talked briefly with Starfleet Command, trying his best to avoid mentioning that the survey had been suspended in the search, to avoid being called away from the planet. He helped Mr Scott modify the sensors and he watched the scan results for signs of a human signal with almost feverish intensity.

He had been on active duty for three days without pause. On the bridge for twenty two hours straight. A yeoman had just brought him a drink, ignoring his dismissal completely and depositing the a cup into his hands.

He slipped into the captain's ready room, activating the soundproofing system and hoping his exit seemed natural. If he was forced to pause his work to drink his unwanted beverage, it was a reasonable moment to take the opportunity for a much needed break. Sulu looked relieved when he handed him the conn, which raised his hope to a realistic possibility.

The timing proved curiously fortunate, as Spock's head spiked in white hot pain.

He leaned over the sink in the rest room, breath heavy, saliva turning sour in his mouth. The white of the bowl hurt his eyes, but closing them made him dizzy. He gave a painful retch, knowing there was nothing in his stomach to bring up and ending up spitting strands of bright yellow stomach acid into the sink. He had to consciously resist the urge to pant like a dog.

He could keep working, he was not concerned that his condition might cause him to lose consciousness or otherwise be unable to function, but continuing to function was deeply unpleasant.

He bit his lip to stop himself from snapping at whoever was interrupting him, as he heard the ready room door open.

He turned and caught the blotchy silhouette of Doctor McCoy, which made his stomach tighten oddly. He kept hold of the sink with one hand, pushing himself upright.

"I'll be out shortly, Doctor. I just..." He closed his eyes, mentally stumbling over words which thankfully emerged in the right order, but his energy ran out mid-sentence and his words faded into nothingness. He felt horribly disorientated.

He heard movement, followed by a hand on his upper arm and a voice in his ear.

"Sit down."

He yielded to the hand and allowed himself to be guided a few steps to a chair. He heard a hiss and felt a tickle on his neck. The roaring pain in his head started to recede. The acid bile in his gut churned, but made no further attempts to reappear. He opened his eyes slowly. McCoy sat opposite him, fully in view, if a little over bright.

McCoy studied him for a moment, checking he was able to focus.

"I understand you need to be on duty, but you don't need to be in pain, Sir."

The faint, barely noticeable hesitation before the title, let Spock know the doctor had not found his statement easy to express. At his best, Spock would have struggled to identify the emotion behind the clanging formality and even he would admit he was a rather far cry from his best at that moment. He was too tired and feeling far too sick, to make an attempt.

The doctor was right. His potions were helping, Spock would not deny it. He did not need to be in pain, it did not help Kirk and any indication of infirmity he gave could be to the detriment of the crew. He needed to permit the doctor's formal duty, however the other man might be feeling about him at that moment in time. He was also right, that Spock needed to be on duty.

He let out a slow breath. His vision had returned to acceptable parameters, the throbbing in his skull was immeasurably dulled.

"Thank you, Doctor." He stated quietly. With more force of will than he wished to acknowledge, Spock planted his hands on the arms of his chair, preparing himself to return to the light and the noise and the worry of the bridge. "I will-"

McCoy leaned forward, not quite touching him, waving him down.

"Spock, just take a minute." He spoke with audible impatience. He pushed the discarded cup towards Spock.

"Drink your tea, see if it helps."

When Spock hesitated, glancing between the doctor and the door, McCoy let out a breath of his own, before offering a tired smile.

"It's a five minute break in twenty two hours. No one is begrudging it, I promise. Sit still for five minutes, drink that and I'll leave you alone."

In spite of himself, Spock recognised the attempt at a peace offering. Interesting, that McCoy was so far off the mark in what he thought Spock wanted. Still, Spock was glad he was there and he could hardly deny that either the pain relief or the thought of a break was welcome.

He picked up his tea and barely held back a moan of relief, when against all odds, without asking, his yeoman had chosen a mint based tea which soothed his raw throat and calmed his churning stomach.

The half smirk on McCoy's face indicated he had not hidden his pleasure as well as he had hoped.

It was logical, he told himself with some fervour. Remaining on duty held value in and of itself, as it reassured the crew and offered even his slightly distracted expertise to a most frustrating search. But trying to function without pause had severely diminished his concentration. If a short break and the doctor's timely appearance improved his condition as it was doing, he was of more value to his missing captain.

He drank his tea as ordered and remained seated for four point six minutes. McCoy got to his feet as Spock did, studying him for signs of unsteadiness.

"I am much improved Doctor, thank you. " Spock commented, not bothering to claim he was fine or any similar untruth. The gamma shift lights were still too bright. His eyes ached, his head ached, his skin prickled and it still took more concentration than it should have done to speak without the words crashing to each other ... an unscientific metaphor which suggested his mental functions were not unaffected either.

But he was much improved. His headache had been growing difficult to bear and his visual disturbance made work and basic balance quite a challenge, not to mention churning his stomach without mercy.

His energy levels were gradually depleting. Sooner or later he was going to have to rest, which while he insisted the rest of the crew did at intervals standard for human function, he was loathed to do while the captain was still missing and no sign of progress had yet been made.

Still, fatigue was beginning to prickle in the back of Spock's mind and it was not without effect on his body. He shivered as he stood, the chill of the Enterprise's average temperature needling at him where he usually barely noticed.

McCoy walked behind him to the store cupboard where Captain Kirk kept anything he might need during an emergency, including a change of uniform. He returned with a long sleeved black undershirt and handed it to Spock, who gave him a quizzical look.

"Put this on before you go." McCoy told him without bothering to elaborate. He could have told him he could see he was suffering with the cold. He could have mocked his inability to control his physical reaction to this, gloated over his human reactions. But he did not.

Spock felt it would have been churlish of him to argue.

When he had replaced his blue uniform shirt on top of two layers of black, feeling noticeably warmer, McCoy gave a brisk nod of approval.

"Right, I'll get out of your hair then. Call me when the painkillers start to wear off."

"Doctor-" Spock said as he went to leave. "If you are not needed in sickbay, I would be grateful if you would stay."

Blue eyes widened in surprise. Spock caught a fleeting light in his eyes and a slight crinkle at the corners of his mouth, before the doctor gave a grumpy harrumph.

"I suppose I'd better. You might look okay, but you wear the mask better than an oil painting."

Something sparked in Spock's mind and a sudden realisation settled on him.

"Mask..." He muttered, glancing at the doctor in wonder.

"That is entirely possible."

He stepped through the doors to the bridge in a hurry, McCoy at his heels. He ignored the faces of the bridge crew, turning to him in concern as he returned to the captain's chair. Even as his mind mapped out new possibilities, a small part was able to question the verisimilitude of McCoy's claim he had masked his difficulties with any success whatsoever.

"Mr Chekov, run the full atmospheric scan again, complete range, maximum sensitivity." Spock ordered.

Chekov blinked at him.

"Aye Sir, but what are we looking for?"

"Small but significant concentrations of gases, particularly those found in the human body, or which interfere with life form readings."

"Scanning now Sir, completion time estimated three point one hours."

Three point one-one-four. Spock corrected silently. Now that the thought had occurred to him, he was frustrated by his failure to think of it earlier. They had no idea why Captain Kirk had not made contact, but injury was a more than passing possibility. Time may not have been a commodity he held in excess.

"Bridge to security. Have a security detail ready at fifteen hundred hours, for beam down on my word."

Five minutes before the scan was due to complete. It was his hope they would not be needed.

"What is it, Spock?" McCoy asked, equal parts concerned and intrigued.

Spock kept his eyes on the view screen.

"You may recall me mentioning that the ship's sensors worked as well as our ground surveys."

"Yes?"

"They should not. There are planets where atmospheric conditions make orbit sensors highly unreliable, Azure is not one of those, but even planets with no interference in their atmosphere should still take sharper readings on the ground. We have assumed there is minimal difference because we are reading individual life form readings as clearly from the ship as the ground. We have so far found only Azuran life forms and a small concentration of multi-species tourists. We have been working on the hypothesis that if we can read those life forms, if we are not reading one human then Captain Kirk is not in that area, at which point we widen the radius. We're currently scanning three thousand kilometres away from the Captain's last known location. It is possible, but less probable, he has travelled that far and not made contact, or yet appeared in our scans."

McCoy had gone a little pale.

"So...our sensors haven't been working all this time?"

"They have been working, but they have not yet found Captain Kirk. As the sensors appear to be finding life forms without difficulty, this means one of two things, if the captain lives. He is not on the planet, or he is further outside our radar. These are both possible, but if we take our knowledge of the planet natives at face value, there is no reason to think either likely."

"So?" McCoy pressed, with an audible battle against rising temper.

"So, there are two options remaining. Option one, we should not take our knowledge of the planet natives at face value, or option two, we are somehow missing the captain within the current radius."

The doctor kept his eyes on Spock as he tried to draw meaning from his reasoning. Option one. That they'd been wrong to trust the natives when they said they had no information on their missing captain. It was not possible Kirk had left the planet or travelled more than three thousand kilometres without the natives knowing. It was possible he had done so, the natives knew he had and were quite simply, lying.

"We have no real reason to trust these people." He pointed out. The problem with this option, was that it was difficult to imagine a reason for the natives to lie to them which bade well for the captain.

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement of McCoy's point, but he did not look convinced.

"No, but we have some evidence of trustworthiness. None of violent or negative intent." He countered. "If the second option is the case, however, why are the sensors picking up life forms with ease, yet missing the captain?"

"I give up, tell me." McCoy requested, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"It is a hypothesis, no more." Spock almost shrugged, eyeline lowering to his scanner. "This planet is M-type: oxygen/nitrogen make up, traces of helium, neon, argon, carbon dioxide and methane. Those traces are variable, but within a range of zero point zero-two-three and zero point zero-five-six percent combined. This is measured planet wide and should therefore make no appreciable difference to the sensors. However if any one of those gasses was concentrated in a single area, rather than evenly spread, it might cover life forms in that area - particularly a life form which shares similar gasses. If an atmospheric scan finds areas of high concentration within our current search radius-"

"It could be masking Jim's life signs! Spock you're a genius."

"Do not get ahead of yourself, Doctor. It is an idea, nothing more. And one which raises questions in itself."

McCoy's expression had already sobered.

"If he's there and just not visible to our sensors, why haven't we heard from him?"

"We'll know more when the scan is complete." Spock replied quietly.

Two point two-four-seven hours into the scan, Spock was resisting the urge to rub his eyes. McCoy's painkillers were wearing off too quickly. He could not risk impairing his function by taking too high doses, so he endured the steadily increasing thrum without response. Sitting straight backed and sharp eyed, he felt a most disconcerting longing for a way to cover his face and massage his temples without being observed.

It would not help, in truth, but it would help him focus on something else.

McCoy was watching the atmospheric scan over Chekov's shoulder as though a scan in progress would tell him something. Spock had been staring unblinking at the screen for several minutes, when he noticed the doctor staring at him.

It would have taken energy he did not possess at that moment, to invent a distraction for the doctor. He suspected it would be energy wasted, had he made the attempt.

He was cycling options over and over in his mind. Contact Venn Turla now. Tell him of their theory, ask him to prepare to redirect their search. If the scan found what he was looking for, prior warning would make the search to follow faster. If, the Darla had been honest with him. If the native police were genuinely searching.

If they were not, he had to theorise reasons for them to lie to representatives of the Federation. Because they didn't want them on their planet and were simply not interested in a missing alien on their soil? Or, because they were in some way responsible?

The odds were impossible to calculate. Too many variables. Too much white noise in his mind... but he returned at each turn to the same point. Captain Kirk had not been in contact. This meant he could not contact them. Because he was incapacitated. Because he was dead. Because he was being prevented from contacting them.

One of these options, was the reality.

Spock's very being rejected the second. He believed the captain was alive. It was unscientific and unprovable, but he had enough personal experience with the very same question, to see no logic in denying the facts. Though he could not prove his reasoning, Spock was certain he would know if Jim Kirk was dead.

And yet, the third option would not sit comfortably as a working hypothesis. To this point, he also returned over and over. They had no reason, evidence, motive, anything at all, to mistrust the Azuran people.

To trust them involved a leap of faith, something Spock could not offer them, but to distrust them, that involved cynicism and xenophobia he simply did not possess.

If Jim Kirk was alive and hidden from their sensors, but the planetary officials were being honest - they had searched widely from his last known position and questioned those with whom he was known to have spoken most recently - how had he not been found? It was highly improbable, but for Spock, improbability did not translate as suspicion. Even when worried.

"Something on your mind, Spock?"

Doctor McCoy interrupted his train of thought just as he was attempting to suppress the combination of shame and irritation that accompanied admitting to himself he was worried. Spock glanced up at him, eyebrow quirked, to find a mirroring expression looking back at him.

"Apart from the obvious."

Spock nodded slowly.

"I could contact Venn Turla now and let him know we have narrowed our search. If he was prepared to move his ground forces into any obscured areas we find, it would save time. If Captain Kirk is injured, time may be of the essence."

"But?" McCoy pressed, in a highly uncharacteristic display of reserve and patience.

The answer formed without struggle, framed by such direct questioning.

"If we have been misled, we would alert the Darla to our progress."

McCoy nodded grimly.

"If they've got Kirk and move him now, we're back to square one."

Spock nodded silently. There were no angles from which he had not examined the problem. Impatience had begun to needle at him. They could be wasting time Jim did not have, but they had no way of knowing for certain. There were no tactical moves to make. They had no choice but to roll the dice.

Spock severely disliked games of chance.

He became aware McCoy was watching him again, glancing up and finding blue eyes fixed on his.

"What's your instinct say, Spock?" The doctor asked, with a somewhat forced smirk.

Spock blinked at him. It could have been intended as mockery, Spock not believing in instinct as a valid alternative to logic as such, but he did not think so. As a scientist, he could not dismiss the evolutionary necessity of instinct as a warning of danger.

He considered for barely a second longer.

"Lieutenant Uhura, please connect me to Venn Turla."

McCoy's face paled, the risk made real and his own doubts returning as Spock made a call perhaps against his own mistrust, but he did not protest. He remained standing at Spock's shoulder as the call connected.

Venn Turla was, as Spock had sensed from the beginning, a frank and shrewd man, whether or not he was a good one. He listened to Spock's theory with patience, remaining quiet as his explanation flowed into request without pause.

"Fascinating." The Darla representative spoke as Spock concluded.

McCoy snorted somewhere behind Spock.

"We had no information as to the strength of your sensors, except of course that we were aware they were in use from the satellites. We were not relying on them in our own search. If you are correct, we must also have missed indication of Captain Kirk's presence."

Spock shifted in his seat, forcing himself to lean backwards to disguise the gesture of impatience. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the resulting pose was reminiscent of their missing captain.

"While there are considerable advantages to ground searches, places they may overlook are unlimited. Sensors are merely more predictable. If we are correct, we will narrow search areas considerably."

Venn Turla gave a hand gesture which Spock recalled was an affirmation of some kind. Agreement with his statement, or his request?

"I will inform the mediators' representative. They will decide on whether to narrow their search when your results come through. How long will it be?"

"Thirty two point six-four minutes, Sir." He made a rapid mental calculation to translate the number to local time and was rather startled to realise the answer he had produced could not possibly be correct. "...Our translator should render your own time period measurement for you."

Venn Turla looked a little puzzled, not unlike the entire bridge crew, but Turla at least followed Spock's instruction, focusing on his screen for a moment before repeating the hand gesture.

"Very little time." He concluded without ceremony. "In that case, I will speak to the mediators immediately. I will contact you with their response if I have one, but if not, please contact me with your results when you have them. The specifics may sway a decision if it has not yet been made."

The link disconnected and the bridge fell oddly quiet.

"My God." McCoy drawled into the strange pause, eyes fixed on the view screen.

"How do they ever get anything done?"

Chekov laughed from the navigation panel, breaking a bewildered stare at Spock which seemed to have afflicted most of the bridge crew. McCoy's timely intervention seemed to snap most of them out of it.

"It is so impractical! You cannot rule by committee." The young navigator scoffed.

"That's the point, Chekov. They don't rule. They carry out the will of the people." Uhura commented dryly.

"Is the will of the people to obstruct diplomatic visitors in the recovery of their captain?" Chekov challenged.

Though barely listening, sharp yet circular pain beginning to settle like an iron bolt through his right temple, Spock could not help but think Chekov sounded unconvinced by his own argument. The thought was utterly illogical. So too was his feeling that McCoy had deliberately provoked this repetition of an argument the department heads had been over in great detail.

"Or possibly to run their own police investigations when a problem occurs on their planet."

Spock opened his mouth and was relieved to find his words emerged without slurring or other infirmity.

"In fact, they have increased their consideration of us as guests to this world. Venn Turla skipped a stage of discussion."

"I noticed that." McCoy grinned, one hand gripping the back of Spock's chair. "He didn't ask the Darla, he went straight to the mediators himself."

"He should have asked the Darla whether they felt they should ask the mediators to narrow the search?" Sulu asked, both intrigued and amazed. These emotions Spock understood without difficulty. It was a fascinating culture. In other circumstances, most of the crew would have enjoyed the study.

"By proper form, yes." Spock responded calmly. "Clearly, they do make concessions to practicality. Just not to their essential democracy."

Chekov scoffed, but did not pursue the matter. Spock wondered what his response would be, were an alien ship to visit Earth, then request to be permitted a security force on the planet instead of obeying the laws and methods of Earth.

The discussion went on without heat, of how far democratic decision making could be practically applied. Spock closed his eyes and tuned it out to a low buzz. It never ceased to amaze him, how changeable humans could be on the subject of justice.

"Alright?" Spock was perilously close to startled, as a voice murmured in his ear.

He was just about alert enough to realise McCoy was taking advantage of the continued exchanges of the crew to check on him. He briefly wondered how long he'd been sitting with his eyes closed, but dismissed the thought as unhelpful.

"I am not in difficulty at this moment, Doctor." He spoke quietly in return. It was acceptably honest.

"Are you sure? Because yesterday you translated their time difference in your head without any problem."

Spock grimaced. That was why McCoy had felt the need to distract the crew then. Had they all noticed?

"It is an unnecessary use of energy to perform mathematical calculations which the computer can do with more precision."

"Certainly is, but that's never stopped you in the past." McCoy returned without pause. "Is your head bad? It really hasn't been long enough for more painkillers."

Spock closed his eyes again and shook his head minutely. He was well aware of this fact. McCoy's concoctions often did not work on Spock the way they worked on humans, or indeed the way they would work on other Vulcans. Most did their job to some extent but also made him nauseous. Some, including most conventional analgesics, simply did not take long for his body to metabolise. This did not mean that Doctor McCoy was comfortable giving him higher or more regular doses than would be safe for a human. The side effects were the same after all, often worse.

"I assure you Doctor, it is manageable."

"Commander." Uhura interjected before McCoy could offer scepticism or acceptance. "Venn Turla has sent a recorded message. 'Mediators are in agreement, please send information when you have it.'"

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Spock exchanged a glance with McCoy. From the Enterprise's perspective, the Darla and their representative were cooperating far more than they had done so thus far. McCoy was working hard to remain neutral, to voice nothing more than inquiries as to Spock's plan should the scan bear out his theory, but his unease was apparent.

Spock felt a certain sense of concurrence with this. Not unease, as such, but an intellectual awareness that a change in behaviour from the natives could be an indicator of subterfuge. It could be. It could also be an indicator that Spock had made a request which did not violate their autonomy and which, as their will to help had been genuine all along, they were willing to oblige. It was with some degree of mental effort, Spock reminded himself that they had more evidence to support this theory than any other. Captain Kirk had been missing for thirty nine point two-nine hours.

"Mr Spock, scan is completed, Sir."

McCoy leaned around Spock's side as Spock bent over Chekov's panel. Scotty had moved from the engineering station to look and Sulu was leaning as far over the arm of his chair as possible. Uhura watched from her station. Together, they waited to know whether the Azuran haystack had been made any smaller.

A few deft swipes from Spock and the images resolved on the main view screen.

Spock experienced a surge of satisfaction and urgency at once, while beside him, McCoy smiled.

"Well I'll be damned."

"Illogical, Doctor." Spock replied as he turned from the screen, all key information memorised. "If the mythological concept of hell exists, there is no reason this information influences your chances of going there."

McCoy gaped at him, appearing slightly concerned, but Spock ignored this, tapping numbers into the com unit on the captain's chair.

"Lieutenant Uhura, please relay the following coordinates to Venn Turla. Ask that we are informed immediately of any findings and request permission to beam down our physician if Captain Kirk is found."

"Now that is more like it." McCoy grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Spock had often observed him do when he was experiencing excitement or feelings of professional pride.

Though he showed no such signs of course, Spock did not disagree with the sentiment. There were four hundred and twenty eight men and women aboard the Enterprise, all trained in emergency situations. It was wholly frustrating to be prevented from using a single one of them.

He gazed at the view screen, taking in the results which were more useful than he could have anticipated. He had been right; the distribution of the lesser gasses in the atmosphere was uneven across the planet. He had predicted areas of higher concentration and had been right. Nothing dangerous, no areas in which the air was not still almost entirely nitrogen and oxygen and entirely breathable, just areas in which the trace gasses became measurable as more than a trace. Just enough, to obscure a sensor reading of living beings.

He had not predicted that right within their original search radius, there would be one, small single area of higher concentration. One area, in which the sensors were detecting no life forms. A highly unlikely occurrence, as there were life forms surrounding it on all sides.

The Enterprise's sensors had missed it, the Azuran law mediators had not found reason to focus a search there, but Spock had no doubt, this anomalous area held their answers.

It was only the first question, but the odds that the captain would be found had risen to a highly favourable percentage. His condition was the second question, which meant that while satisfied with the results of the scan, Spock felt no lessening of tension. Why no information had been forthcoming from the natives regarding sightings of Kirk, when someone must have seen him last in this highly populated area, was another question, but that and all similar enquiries would have to wait. If he'd been wrong to trust Venn Turla, he would soon find out.

As with so many of their missions, once the central puzzle had been solved, matters progressed with pleasing smoothness. Spock was not a man to relax vigilance until all danger had certainly passed, but it was not long before he was standing in the transport room, waiting for Kyle to beam the captain and Doctor McCoy aboard.

The security team were still standing by, though highly unlikely to be needed. Their presence had caused an eleventh hour argument between Spock and McCoy which, despite the physical difficulty, Spock had found oddly reassuring.

"You wouldn't be planning on going with the security detail, would you, Spock?"

As ordered, a team of five security guards had stood grim faced and prepared beside him, eyes forward, backs straight and anticipation flowing off them in waves. Spock was having some difficulty shielding through his headache, which made their high strung tension rather dizzying to experience.

McCoy, for his part, had been pacing the room like a caged animal. The thought had drifted through Spock's mind unbidden, that if he had been there and McCoy had been the one missing, Captain Kirk would have been doing exactly the same thing.

He had been relieved when the doctor stopped and questioned him, despite the slightly accusing tone of voice. Watching him pace, or indeed trying not to watch him, had set his stomach churning at an alarming rate. He could feel sweat on his brow, a sensation rare enough to him to be distinctly novel… Illogical. Control. Concentrate.

"…If they are needed, I must." He replied carefully. Slow, controlled speech. It was harder than it should have been. "If we are to beam down without permission, it is an act of aggression. Those involved may well be arrested. It must be clear they act on my orders."

McCoy fixed him with an icy glare, marching up to the controls.

"Then we'll be down two commanding officers. How is that supposed to help?"

"Mr Scott can command the Enterprise. Those on the surface also need a commanding officer in case they are caught." Spock's hands shook behind his back with the effort of forming rational arguments. Of his point, he was clear, but the connection between his brain and vocal chords had slowed again. All tone had gone from his voice, each word emerging as though it stood alone.

"And what is Giotto exactly, chopped liver?" McCoy demanded, unmoved.

Giotto had let out a snort of amusement. Eyes still fixed forward, standing almost at attention, he voiced his agreement with McCoy. While he appreciated Spock's intentions, it was his job to handle the security of the ship's captain and crew. All of this he said as though Spock's command decisions were a favour he were doing the security chief.

Spock had thought about saying this. He had been known on occasion to make blithely sarcastic remarks, though he would never admit to being anything less than sincere. The affect on the crew was generally positive, which might mean it could placate McCoy. He also considered explaining that it was not Giotto's job to face court martial for Spock's decisions, which would be the best possible outcome for being arrested for hostile intrusion onto a Federation member planet.

He had thought about many possible answers, all of which struck a bizarre sense of dread into him. A sense of an insurmountable task in putting the required number of words together.

"If needed, I will go."

"Dammit Spock-" McCoy's first hit the controls and sent a reverberation through Spock's protesting skull. His eyes screwed shut and he fought the urge to recoil.

"Bridge to Mr Spock."

And that had signalled the end. The mediators had found Kirk, alive and mostly unharmed. They had contacted the Enterprise immediately, putting an end to any remaining question marks over their cooperation or friendly intent. McCoy had been dispatched to escort him back and Spock was waiting with model Vulcan patience to confirm his status.

Blue eyes wide, jaw tight with worry, McCoy had not needed asking twice to transport down, despite his distaste for the procedure. As Spock had watched the beam dissolve, he had found the urge to follow was unexpectedly strong. It was precisely as he had attempted to explain to McCoy from the beginning. He had never suggested he did not want to search for the captain himself. He simply recognised that to do so against the wishes of the locals was counterproductive.

"Sir…Commander Spock."

Spock blinked and looked around, finding Giotto staring at him in a way which suggested he'd been trying to get his attention for some time. He was struggling to focus.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Recommend we wait no longer than five minutes, Sir. If the doctor doesn't report back, it could be a trap."

In fact, if McCoy had been following protocol, he should have reported safe transportation, but Spock rather expected this oversight from the doctor at work. He should, however, report back or have someone else report for him, in a short time, a fact so imprecise it made Spock's headache worse. He wondered how Giotto had arrived at five minutes as his recommended number. Spock was trying to track the moment of dematerialisation, to the beam releasing McCoy on the surface, to any distance he might possibly have to travel if the coordinates were not directly beside the captain…

It was simply impossible to calculate.

He considered telling Giotto this. That if Kirk needed medical attention and McCoy reached him but did not have the luxury of freeing a hand for his communicator, but also overlooked the necessity of having someone contact the ship, then the arrival of a security team could result in both they and the doctor being arrested while the captain was still in need of medical help. That in fact, if they were to decide on an arbitrary time when they were going to take action, the first might be to contact McCoy themselves. The pulse of pain between his temples stilled his tongue.

"Noted." He murmured instead, hand moving to the comm switches.

"Enterprise to McCoy, come in."

"God dammit, hold still- Spock, wait your turn would you man. I'll be needing a beam up in a minute. He's fine by the way."

The comm connection cut out and Spock was left staring in absolute confusion at the speaker. His hands tightened on the controls, knees weakening without warning as relief flooded through him. Fortunately, his heavy exhale was drowned out by cheers and laughter from the security team.

Despite his apparent anger, McCoy was smiling broadly when he and the captain returned. Captain Kirk was limping slightly, but standing without help. Tired, somewhat dishevelled, but the original, highly vague report of 'mostly unharmed' held true. There were stress lines around his eyes which were beginning to smooth under a bright and weary smile.

"Spock." He greeted warmly.

"Captain. Welcome back. I am relieved to see you." Spock returned his greeting, stepping forward, hands clasped behind his back.

Kirk's eyes shone with familiar amusement. The knowing smile that Spock always took to mean he was being teased in some way.

"Relieved, Spock? You? I'm honoured." He smiled. "I don't think I've gotten past 'most gratified' before."

McCoy laughed, while Kirk smiled at Spock's quirked eyebrow.

"I'm relieved to be back." He admitted. "And I have quite a story to tell you. We better debrief."

"You are injured?" Spock questioned as Kirk stepped down off the transporter, favouring his left leg.

"I was. Sprained ankle, but Bones worked his magic." He winked at the doctor, who rolled his eyes. He was entirely unable to pretend to be annoyed, expression lit with relief and pleasure in the captain's return which even Spock had no trouble deciphering.

Ignoring Kirk's strange metaphor, he thought of the injury that McCoy had so recently healed. A picture began to form in Spock's mind. A hypothesis, nothing more, but an intriguing one. Of how a Star Ship Captain could remain hidden from both natives and his ship, in a highly populated area of an unshielded planet.

"I must agree, Captain. Debriefing should prove most illuminating." He commented quietly. His interest was absorbed enough, that he missed the faint slur of his words until he had finished speaking.

McCoy was in front of him, glaring, before Kirk had a chance to respond.

"Oh no you don't, Spock." He growled. "You, are going to do one of two things. You're going to your quarters under your own steam or you can go to sickbay under mine. Either way, you are indeed, relieved, Sir."

Spock felt the captain's eyes on him, making the same rapid calculations he had as Kirk had first appeared in the transport. He knew he would appear paler than usual, posture slightly less rigid. Perhaps Kirk would also notice his highly atypical perspiration. He tried to shake his head without actually moving his head, which probably did not help his standing in Kirk's eyes.

"Problem, Doctor?" Kirk asked, eyes narrowing in concern.

McCoy gave a gruff laugh.

"Yes, you gave him a migraine and he stayed on duty with it for thirty six hours." He explained, much to Spock's confusion. He was at a loss as to how Captain Kirk could be considered responsible for his migraine, having not been on board.

"Doctor, I am fully functional." He spoke, choosing to ignore his confusion. He was not lying. He was able to function in all ways, if not with any degree of comfort. "I need to report-"

Spock felt a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes, followed by a sudden sense of total disorientation. His balance faltered, his hands dropped their position behind his back and tried to compensate, but not before he felt his knees buckle.

Strong hands caught his elbows and kept him standing.

"Whoa, steady there." Kirk murmured, holding him upright as he found his feet, struggling to force his vision into focus.

"Looks like Bones is right Spock, you need a break."

Need, was a typically inaccurate word for a human. He did not need a break, he would function at greater capacity after a period of rest. Kirk did however, need to know of the steps that had been taken while he had been gone, in order to take back his command. Spock needed to know how Kirk had remained hidden from them for two days. All information both possessed on the captain's absence, needed to be shared and reported, in order to ensure continued good relations with the Azuran people, whom they now knew had stayed true to their word.

Spock made an attempt to say this, but it was unexpectedly difficult.

"Debrief…"

Kirk's dancing hazel eyes met his, smiling in sympathy.

"Alright Commander, how about we do that in your quarters, huh?"

---

Spock lay back against his pillows, on top of his bedcovers, but consenting at least to being on the bed. He knew when he was being humoured. McCoy would not hear of allowing he and Kirk to exchange reports before he was resting, while Kirk was happy enough to wait until McCoy was satisfied, even if it meant sitting at Spock's desk while the doctor fussed.

Spock endured this fussing and Kirk's condescension, because he suspected the alternative was a hypo in the neck and considerable delay to his quest for answers.

He would admit the warmth of his cabin was more than welcome. He had divested himself of his uniform shirt and the thermal shirt he'd been wearing underneath, leaving his black t-shirt and star fleet issue sleepwear, but for the first time in days, he didn't feel chilled.

In the warm, dim light of his quarters, relieved of all duties beyond his report, he found he was much more able to direct his waning energy into speaking without slurring or stammering. For this reason also, he allowed McCoy his way.

"I'm impressed, Spock. You're quite the detective." Kirk smiled as Spock finished his tale. He hesitated for a short pause.

"I wish my own story involved quite such an admirable performance."

Spock quirked an eyebrow as he noticed a new emotion in Kirk's expression. The captain rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at McCoy, then down at his lap. Embarrassment. Spock concluded. Fascinating.

"Let me start by saying my communicator was damaged and I spent most of the time trying to fix it. In fact-" He pulled the communicator in question off of his belt and tossed it to McCoy. "I think I was pretty close to succeeding…"

Six minutes and twenty four seconds later, Kirk had explained his disappearance in detail. Spock's hypothesis had been confirmed. Perhaps as a result of concluding all necessary reports, Spock was starting to feel exceedingly tired.

"You fell down a hole." He summarised, watching Kirk through heavily lidded eyes.

McCoy's spluttered laughter confused him. He was simply stating a fact. Kirk blinked at him for a moment, looking chagrined, before letting out a heavy breath.

"That's it in a nutshell, yes Spock." He sighed. "A very kind but very old and very mute Azuran gentleman was good enough to help me out, but he didn't know about Starfleet or that he might need to tell anyone else where I was. I couldn't walk on my leg and this guy lives alone in the woods."

"Why were you on your own?" McCoy asked. He was extremely strict on this point. The only element of landing parties he did interfere with.

Kirk held his hands up quickly, smiling at the doctor.

"I wasn't, I was with a group of four, but they must have assumed I'd already gone back to the rendezvous."

Spock nodded slowly. That was the point of having rendezvous points as well as teams. Knowing where to go if you did find yourself separated. If calls to the captain had not been answered, because he'd fallen down a hole and knocked himself out, the others would have known to regroup.

The ridiculous truth was, that Kirk could only possibly have been unconscious for a few minutes. When McCoy had beamed to his position, he had been in perfect health, except for his sprained ankle. The Azuran's had some impressive medical advancements, but had Kirk's concussion been any worse, the elderly gentleman who had found him would have been unlikely to know how to treat it. Which meant that by the time he had missed the rendezvous, he would have been awake and trying to get someone's attention.

If a single crewmember had simply gone back to Kirk's group's last survey point before announcing he was missing, they would most likely have found him within a few minutes. Instead, the ground teams had done exactly as protocol demanded. They'd informed the Enterprise that Captain Kirk had not made the rendezvous. Enterprise had informed the Darla. As per their own protocol, the Darla had immediately requested all Enterprise personnel return to their ship, while they investigated. By the time the Azuran law mediators were searching the area the crew had been surveying, a well meaning elderly Azuran had found Kirk and taken him to his home to treat.

The Enterprise crew, Spock included, had seriously considered going against the Darla's requests, after returning to the Enterprise. They had come perilously close to causing a diplomatic disaster, for want of a few minutes of searching.

Spock heard, rather than felt a hiss, as a hypo compressed against his neck.

"That one isn't a painkiller if I'm honest." McCoy grinned at him. His vision swam as the doctor patted the bed beside him. He caught sight of Kirk standing at the foot of his bed, smiling.

"Night night, Spock."

---

He dreamt more than he ever cared to admit. More than a Vulcan should, though it was a myth perpetrated by many humans, that Vulcans did not dream at all. This dream, was being infiltrated by a relentless needling pain behind his right eye, reaching into his subconscious and being automatically subdued. His autonomic systems or the pulsing headache would win out, in the end.

He opened his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. On his own, he could allow this small concession to his human side. McCoy's decision to sedate him had almost certainly come from a place of compassion and some form of vague human reasoning. Awakening two hours after this decision to a still trying headache, stomach churning without mercy and no energy with which to do anything to prevent either feeling, Spock could not claim to be grateful.

He rolled onto his front, raising himself to a half kneeling position, forehead still grazing the mattress, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. He was tired. McCoy had been right about that at least. Also right, to assume that he would not have slept of his own accord quite as immediately as McCoy had made unavoidable. But sedatives did not last long in his unique internal systems and they did leave behind a strong urge to vomit. This he could control. He could also suppress the pain in his head, but not when his entire body was crying out for sleep.

He let himself sink onto his side, face buried in his knees, willing the warmth and lack of oxygen to somehow ease the hammer blow in his skull.

There is no pain. Control. Clear mind. Sleep…

"Why Doctor, you wouldn't happen to be worried about him would you?"

A voice interrupted his mantra. Confusion assailed him immediately. He had the distinct sensation of lost time, rare for him but not unheard of if injured or drugged. Dreaming, possibly…

"I cannot imagine why I missed you." Another voice spoke in answer to the first. His head pulsed in protest to the noise, the disruption of either his sleep or his concentration, he was not sure. He let out a low moan and raised his hands to his head.

"Spock?"

Movement. Voices. Hands. Concern… Spock fought to focus his attention as he felt unguarded emotion assault him, hands gently pull his arms away from his head and pull him to a half sitting position against his pillows. He cracked an eye open and saw a shadowy form standing over him.

"Easy. You're alright." It spoke softly, one hand on his wrist, the other reaching out and laying against his forehead.

The lights were raised just enough for Spock to make out McCoy's face, frowning at Spock's wrist. He could feel his concern and sympathy rushing his shields, neither painful nor unpleasant, but invasive nonetheless. Behind him, he could just make out the captain's silhouette, standing just far enough back to give the doctor room to work.

"Doctor…" He almost whispered. His own voice was too loud, too many vibrations. He meant to warn the doctor he was not able to shield against his emotions and as such, for as long as he continued to make physical contact, Spock would be able to sense his thoughts. He managed only a single word before screwing his eyes shut, tensing against a sharp stab of pain.

"Thought as much." McCoy nodded, removing the hand from his forehead as though Spock had actually managed to get his message across.

"How long does a Vulcan migraine last exactly?" He asked. Spock realised his previous statement had not related to touch telepathy.

"Days." He spoke, voice steadier than he could reasonably have hoped for. He was concentrating on slowing his breathing. His pulse was elevated, which McCoy could undoubtedly feel.

"Is it improving at all?" The doctor asked, releasing his wrist to prep a hypo. Behind him, Kirk had moved forward and was hovering just at the end of Spock's bed, eyes roving from Spock's face to McCoy's.

"Not…so far…" Spock ground out through clenched teeth. It was getting worse. The pain, his pulse, his churning stomach, all felt as though they were speeding up.

Illogical.

The hypo hissed gently against his upper arm.

"Any better?" McCoy asked.

Spock cracked an eye open and found the doctor looking down at him, expression somewhat anxious. Spock realised the relief from the hypo should have come within seconds.

"No." He replied carefully. While he felt a twinge of regret himself, that the pain relief had not worked, he did not wish to alarm either of his visitors.

McCoy raised his scanner and aimed it at Spock.

"Uh oh. Painkillers aren't working anymore." He concluded unnecessarily. "Honestly, why do you always have to have a weird hybrid upgrade for me?" He groused, though the sharpness of his voice gave away his concern.

"Defence mechanism." Spock breathed, forcibly relaxing his body. If the doctor could not help him, there was no sense in adding to his distress by showing pain externally. McCoy could not stand to see his patients in pain.

"Oh yeah, how is that working out for you?" The doctor asked waspishly, though his tone held no real heat.

The bed raised as McCoy stood up, moving out of Spock's line of sight. Kirk moved forward, sitting down where the doctor had been and placing a hand on Spock's forearm. As usual, the captain's surface thoughts did not mount an assault on his shields as all other humans' did. The buzz of concern and warmth was in fact, shamefully soothing. Spock let his eyes slide shut.

He might have started to drift to sleep, as the next thing he knew, McCoy was standing over him again, though Kirk had not relinquished his place. Spock swallowed hard against a wave of nausea, suddenly rising with every pulse of pain. He was absolutely certain he was going to be sick, but he was equally certain he could not move with any ease.

"Doctor-" He half-gasped, hoping the panic in his voice wasn't as audible to his guests as it seemed to him.

Kirk's hand tightened on his arm, while McCoy leant over him and released another hypo against his neck. At the same time he placed something hot across Spock's forehead.

"Here you go. Deep breaths." He instructed gently.

In the churning, swirling haze of pain and nausea, a simple and clear instruction felt like a lifeline in a storm. He could follow an instruction. He could obey the simple order to breathe deeply, even if it was rather underwhelming as the best human medicine had to offer.

It was very shortly after having this somewhat ungenerous thought, that Spock began to realise his stomach had calmed considerably. The heat pack on his forehead distracting from his headache, which while very much present, no longer caused his entire body to tense, which undoubtedly made it worse. He lay relaxed against his pillow, deep breaths slowly returning his outer control.

The soothing heat could have sent him to sleep without any difficulty, but Spock's awareness he was not alone, prevented him from allowing this. He opened his eyes languidly.

McCoy smiled at him, hand on Kirk's shoulder.

"Muscle relaxant, Spock. Should hold you till the migraine goes away. A lot of the pain is tension. Should help your stomach too. The heat is just an old wives tale, but it does seem to ease the muscle tension almost as well as the drugs. Besides, I know how you Vulcans like your heat."

Spock attempted to raise an eyebrow, but he suspected it had not worked. He could feel his body trembling slightly as the muscle relaxant kept him from controlling the reflex. His body was working hard to dispel both the drugs and the migraine, which used energy and made him feel chilled even in the heat of his cabin. McCoy's claim was unscientific at best, but whether medically useful or not, it was enormously welcome.

Kirk smiled at him, one hand still on his arm.

"Sleep, Spock. You have more than earned a rest."

"See, I was right."

"Right to be worried?"

"Right to think the hobgoblin would have found some new way to make more work for me, stubborn green-blooded mutant."

"You did good, Bones. I'm glad to know you're here for Spock when I'm gone."

A loud and indignant snort, was the last thing Spock registered, as he sunk through the layers of consciousness, into a dreamless sleep.

---

"Captain's Log: Stardate 3785.4 - Having completed our initial survey, Enterprise is preparing to leave Azure. Our mission to build on relations with the Azure Government and peoples has been completed successfully and we are leaving behind a small research team led by Lieutenant Foley, until the Potemkin arrives to take over continuing studies on Azuran's advanced medical programme. The Azure people have proven themselves worthy friends of the Federation, though at this time, it is important for them to remain neutral. Our worlds still have much to share. Kirk Out."

From his station, Spock heard a huff from McCoy which sounded equal parts derision and agreement. He ignored this illogical contrast, in favour of tuning into the sounds and senses across the bridge, savouring the sense of relaxation which only came after a mission's successful denouement. All such moments were by nature, short lived, in the brief spaces between one mission's end and the next beginning.

As he listened to the familiar sounds of each bridge station, the low hum of exchanges between Alpha crew preparing to ship out, Spock was aware his internal ponderings had taken on a rather poetic and purposeless edge, but he did not allow this to disturb him. If there were occasions when his more human elements came to the fore, he considered that enjoyment of the rare moments of calm aboard the Enterprise, was at worst, a minor failing. One of which only he was cognisant.

He turned in his chair to inform the captain all systems were ready for departure. Kirk was smiling, attention fixed on the view screen as he acknowledged. In the three days since his return, all traces of his limp had disappeared and he had not been further troubled by his concussion. For his part, having stubbornly defied his control for a frustrating fifty nine hours, Spock had finally banished his migraine, returning to active duty that morning.

With the Captain in the centre seat, he at his station and the rest of Alpha crew in place, all should, in theory, have returned to routine status. In almost every way, as they prepared to leave the impressive blue orb of Azure behind, all on board was indeed, as it should be.

But there remained something not entirely right. A tension on the bridge that Spock could not pinpoint nor explain with any accuracy.

It was not relating to their mission. This they had completed to high satisfaction, despite the unfortunate temporary disappearance of their captain in the process. It was not lasting infirmity on either his, nor the captain's part. Both had been given clean bills of health.

Spock had been willing to return to duty as soon as he'd taken the admittedly highly necessary rest enforced on him by Doctor McCoy. Unfortunately, the doctor was already affronted by the knowledge that Spock had worked through an emergency with a migraine severe enough to compromise his controls just minutes after Kirk was safely returned to the ship. He refused to sign off on Spock's return to duty until he had no symptoms remaining.

This should have been cause for some tension between the two. Not that they ever really required cause. Quite against their general patterns, however, McCoy was calm, rational and solicitous throughout. He'd even responded to Spock's repeated requests to be cleared for duty with a gentle but firm refusal, invariably followed by scans and more enforced rest.

By the time he had finally subdued his symptoms and fully regained his controls, he and McCoy had spent many hours in each other's company without exchanging a single terse word. Which was, to say the least, unusual.

Spock appreciated the doctor's commitment to his duty, but he couldn't help but notice the growing tension, even as McCoy continued to treat him with perfect courtesy. It occurred to him, that the doctor might not have forgotten their confrontation in sickbay some days earlier. Whatever his reasons, or regardless of the level of provocation involved, Spock had implied that McCoy was not doing his job. It was entirely possible, given all he knew of the doctor, that this had caused serious offence.

Another time, he was certain he would have let this disquieting thought lie. It was rare for an emergency not to involve a confrontation between he and McCoy. There had never been an occasion so far in which their established paradigm did not return to normal in the end and there was no reason to assume it would not do so this time.

Perhaps it was the strain of an emergency followed immediately by a draining illness, or perhaps it was simply that, against his own usual patterns, Spock had returned McCoy's insults in kind. Whatever the reason, on this occasion, Spock had not simply waited for a return to the status quo.

They had been in sickbay once more, Spock back in uniform and patiently enduring a final check up before McCoy certified him fit. When the exam was over and he was cleared for duty, Spock had made an attempt at clearing the air.

"Doctor. I am grateful for your assistance, both with my ill-health and with the captain's disappearance. I apologise, if my comments to you during that time caused offence. I am afraid I spoke without due consideration."

Attempted, because though he was not certain why, he had not been entirely successful. McCoy had looked startled at his thanks, then mortified by his apology. After staring at him for several seconds he had scowled and told him not be ridiculous.

It had only been as Spock had gotten up to leave, that McCoy had said anything further.

"Did you mean what you said? Not about me, I had that coming, I mean about me about Jim?"

Spock frowned, confused. He didn't remember saying anything about Kirk at all, during the discussion in question.

"About 'the search for one friend and the presence of the other'." McCoy clarified. He looked thoughtful. Concerned, possibly. Certainly not offended.

"You don't really think we're your only friends here, do you?"

Spock's eyebrows shot up as the question caught him entirely by surprise. McCoy had remembered their conversation in more detail than humans generally did. Spock realised he had been far more compromised by his migraine at the time than had fully registered. He had spoken unguardedly, something he was rarely so self-indulgent as to allow.

On the other hand, he could not lie.

"Friendship is a concept with different meaning, on Vulcan, Doctor." Spock replied slowly, considering the wording of his answer with great care. "If I did believe that, it would not be considered as a negative, nor a slight to any other."

McCoy had continued to stare at him, that strange, half-concerned expression still in place.

"…Right." He said at last. "Well, you're free to go."

And here they were. Spock had been on the bridge for a short while before the preparations for leaving orbit had been completed. McCoy had arrived for their departure. There was nothing tangible he could describe as problematic. No remaining feelings of aggravation, or any reason at all for Spock to feel ill at ease.

They left Azure behind and headed into space without a fixed course, which Kirk was fond of doing, while Spock felt it was a slightly disorganised approach to deep space exploration.

The chatter on the bridge had begun to build as they settled into warp two, limiting the requirements for active concentration at each panel. Kirk turned his chair from side to side, relaxed and smiling, McCoy at his shoulder.

Spock had attempted to focus on his station, to distract from the strange discomfort which while he could not explain, he equally could not deny. He had not noticed McCoy moving from behind the captain's chair, to lean on the railing behind Spock's station.

"So, aren't you going to congratulate me?" He asked loudly.

Spock turned in his chair and discovered the question had indeed been directed at him.

"On what, Doctor?" He enquired.

McCoy grinned.

"I was right. The captain stayed hidden for so long because of the natives." He clarified, a familiar, mocking drawl in his voice.

Spock frowned at this. It was, in extremely loose interpretation, accurate to state that McCoy had expressed a view that the Azuran people were responsible for the lengthy search for the captain. He had meant that their refusal to let search parties beam down from the Enterprise was deliberately obstructive.

He cocked his head to one side, considering the doctor's statement.

"One native, who was trying to help." He corrected. "The Darla was honest. We were right to take them at their word." He pointed out.

McCoy shook his head.

"Now Spock, I've never known you be a sore loser. I warned you we should have been searching and clearly, I was right."

"That is highly illogical Doctor." Spock replied without thinking. McCoy's argument was preposterous.

"If we had attempted a search we would have caused-"

"You can dress it up any way you like, Spock." McCoy cut across him, still looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "What did they have, maybe a few dozen votes and committees and discussions? And all we needed to do was have a look around-"

"Doctor, this culture-" Spock stopped himself, noticing out of the corner of his eye, Kirk had his head in his hands. He looked back at the doctor, expression smug, but blue eyes shining with amusement.

Spock's eyebrow rose as he continued his perfectly reasoned argument.

"This culture has a perfect model of democracy, through which they were able to negotiate a perfect solution. Had we followed your own suggestions, the Federation might currently be at war."

McCoy's smile morphed into a more familiar scowl and he glared at Spock, blue eyes twinkling.

"What kind of bureaucratic horse-swill is that, you green-blooded…"

Spock sat back in his chair and let the doctor rant, observing the crew, working without pause, smirks appearing on more than a few faces. The captain, smiling broadly as he shook his head.

Reliable as the tide.