Hello again!

First Star Trek fic, though I am getting rather pro at H/C and sickfics by now, so now it's just nailing the dialogue that gets tricky for me. Feedback greatly appreciated- hope you all enjoy.

It takes Jim all of about twenty seconds after stepping onto the Bridge to realize something is wrong with his first officer. And though Vulcans are not the most expressive of beings, Jim himself is highly tuned to the particular behaviors of his second-in-command, so while it is difficult to explain quite why Spock looked off this morning, there was still no denying that something, something, was wrong.

"Are you alright?"

Spock turns to regard him, eyebrow cocked and mouth wary. "I am quite well, Captain."

Unconvinced, Jim plows on. "Sleep good?"

This is met with a frown.

"I am afraid I do not understand the question, Captain. As sleep is a mandatory biological need to which all living species much succumb to, it is inevitable that I did, in fact sleep, and as Vulcans operate at a maximum efficiency level, it would be illogical to assume I had rested in a manner that was anything but positive."

Jim wrinkles his nose, half irritated, half amused, taking in the logically arranged heap of word vomit that has been presented to him. He's not entirely convinced by Spock's explanation, but a call from across the deck rouses him back to the more immediate problems at hand. He's already standing from his chair as he gives Spock one last look-over.

"You sure you're fine?"

Spock's mouth twitches. "Fine is far too vague an adjective, and hence an unacceptable one, Captain. I am, however, fit for duty and in no way incapable of preforming at top quality." There's no smile, per say, but Kirk knows enough to comprehend the significance of the glitter in the Vulcan's eyes as something rather close to teasing.

"Right. Forgot who I was talking to." Cracking a grin, Jim gives a friendly little punch to Spock's left arm (Spock has grown to expect these unusual human displays of camaraderie) and pushes past the console to plop down into the much coveted Captain's seat.

"Alright everybody, let's go- paces to go, aliens to see. Sulu, we ready to warp?"

"Ready when you are, Captain."

"That's what I like to hear." Jim gives the signal, and in the blink of an eye they are off, leaving only a sprinkling of iridescent debris behind in their wake. Their journey today is rather long- cataloguing a planet on the furthest reaches of space, and the bridge quickly fills with its usual cacophony of whirring machinery and banter between crew members, and Jim nearly forgets whatever concern he had for his first officer until-"

"heTcho!"

The whole bridge goes oddly silent, everyone stopping in action to stare incredulously at the seemingly impossible phenomena that has just occurred. Because there is absolutely no way, whatsoever, that Vulcans- that a Vulcan even could, sneeze.

"Mr. Spock?" Jim tries very hard to keep the incredulous edge out of his words, but it comes through anyway.

Spock sits up stiffly, and Jim has the feeling that if he could, he would be blushing scarlet.

"Yes, Captain."

It is not a question, merely an acknowledgment, and Jim opens and closes his mouth, trying to form an appropriate response that will not come across as condescending or stupid.

"Nothing."

Spock quirks an eyebrow.

Okay, so much for not stupid, but Jim can't really bring himself to humiliate the Vulcan anymore in front of the crew than vitally necessary, and for all he knows it was just a sneeze and nothing to fuss over. He herds the crew back to their stations and mutters a quiet "bless you" to Spock which goes mostly ignored, but Jim doesn't mind, so long as his first officer is alright. Because after all, it was just one little sneeze. It's not as though Vulcans can catch cold. Jim actually smirks a little to himself at the thought.

He's wrong.

The next forty minutes turn into an extremely awkward, terse combination of heavy silence and the forceful expulsion of bodily fluids as Spock's well-being takes a turn for the worst. Whatever pre-conceived ideas Jim may have had regarding the impenetrability of Vulcan immune systems are rapidly circling the drain, because whatever Spock has, sounds dreadful. Jim has labeled it a cold, because, (through all the sneezing and poorly-muffled coughing,) Spock seems alright, and Jim has decided that so long as his first officer isn't gushing blood or dropping to the floor in a dead faint, it isn't really his job to interfere. Spock being Spock, if something were seriously wrong he would just take himself to the med-bay.

Right?

After thirty five minutes of near constant sniffling which he has been trying fervently to ignore, Jim decides its time to intervene. Standing, he moves toward the Science station and perches behind his first officer.

"Mr. Spock?"

A pair of weary brown eyes turn to face him, and Jim is suddenly struck by just how bad Spock looks. For Spock to be anything less than perfect is unusual, and as of the moment Spock is looking positively atrocious by his usually immaculate standards. Jim is touched as he takes in the slightly sweaty brow, the green-tinged hue of fever that plays charmingly up the flawless face, all finished off by the adorable sniffle that punctuates his officer's next sentence as he tries to explain himself out of a sick leave.

Jim doesn't want to hear it.

"Go to your quarters."

Spock opens his mouth but ends up doubled over coughing instead of forming a persuasive counter-argument.

"That's an order." Jim adds, seizing this temporary lapse in ability to force his officer into some sense. "You're obviously sick with... well something, and you aren't any good to me if you're hacking up a lung in here."

Watery eyes stare up at him, lit with a spark of defiance.

"Captain, I assure you that everythahh-" He sneezes twice, deep and chesty and (probably -though Jim shudders to think what kind of crud Vulcans have in their lungs when they're as sick as this one) ripe with some sort of phlegm, if the slight rasp in Spock's voice is anything to go by. "...everything is- fine."

"Funny, I heard 'fine' was unacceptable."

"Captain, I-"

"I said go, Spock, now! You're sick as a dog and have no business being miserable out here when you clearly belong in bed, under a blanket."

Spock stiffens. The faintest tint of resistance edges up his cheeks, but when he responds his voice is steady.

"Of course, Captain. I shall return to my quarters for the remainder of this shift."

"Oh no you don't. You aren't coming back here until Doctor McCoy has cleared you for duty and you're back to mocking all of my stupid human analogies telling me off for being an idiot all the time." He then adds: "That's an order."

Spock's mouth quirks very slightly. "Affirmative, Captain."

Okay, what do you all think? I have yet to decide how slash-y this fic will be, so you will have to wait and be surprised. Have been positively drooling over the whole kirk/spock relationship, and have finally produced a chapter fit to share with the public. Reviews very much appreciated! Please note that I have little knowledge of the Star Trek universe, so if there is anything horribly wrong with my plot lines feel free to drop me a line and let me know what needs fixing. Will update soon!

XX