Welcome, one and all, to... this. xD This is my first Star Trek fic (that will see the light of day, so dot be alarmed. I am a professional) as well as my first near porno, which I am better at than I probably should have been. It was supposed to be one long, torturous smut-fest, which, obviously, I copped out on, because it's only rated T, but it's on the edge. You'll like it, ya perv. ;)
Anyway, the time period is non-specific, perhaps set between reboot movies, and extremely Sprik-centric. Any space or future or technological terms used were pulled out of my ass, because I know nothing and am too lazy to research, but I think it's readable all the same. Also, the only reason for the separation into two chapters is because wouldn't let me put all 14k words into one document, there is no actual separation. Now that you are informed, go forth and nourish your minds with this crack. This message will self-destruct.
The empty halls echo with the sound of one solitary set of bootsteps, calm but not without purpose. The ship is quiet and still, stopped for repairs on a small 'Fleet base in a galaxy that Captain James Tiberius Kirk doesn't bother to remember the name of. There are more important things to think about, including but not limited to the location of his entire crew.
It occurrs to him then just how odd that is; that there are no engineering techs or anybody fixing their electrical issues from that last little bump in the road. He looks around the stark hallways, expecting to see a cluster of redshirts at any moment, discussing something intensely or just goofing off or anything, but there is no one. Not a single red shirt to be found.
He is about to page someone, his comm poised and breath taken, when he spots the first sign of life he's run across since leaving his quarters. The blue shirt and tall frame stick out like an incredibly sleek sore thumb. Jim isn't sure how he missed the presence of his First Officer, but he sure as hell sees him now, examining a PADD with his back to his Captain.
"Hey," Jim calls his attention just as the lights flicker off. When they come back on a moment later, Spock is looking at him, inquisitive eyebrow raised. Jim gives a second's pause in case the lights decide to blink out again before continuing with a sweeping gesture, "Where is everyone?"
Spock frowns, intense Vulcan eyes narrowing slightly. "I was going to ask you the same," he says mildly. "I am not sure of the crew's whereabouts." He does a quick little glance down and to the left as if to indicate he has looked for them, turning his eyes back to Kirk afterwards with the barest hint of confusion visible on his face. "They are aware we are merely repairing the ship's deficiencies and returning to our mission within the day?" Spock questions.
"Not like there's anywhere they could go on this puddle of a planet," Jim says with a somewhat derogatory shrug. He is fairly certain they all knew, particularly those of higher rank within the ship, that they wouldn't be stopped there for long, but he could be wrong. It isn't likely, but it is still possible that nobody else, not even Bones and Uhura, thought to remain on the ship during their very brief repair... No, when he thinks about it, it's really not possible at all. "Did they find something really wrong with the ship while I was in my room?"
The Vulcan shakes his head minutely. "Not that I heard of, Captain." He steps over to a computer panel on the wall and types something in quickly, frowning when the screen changes. Spock types another command and the screen blips and comes back to the same, an unreadable error message from Jim's vantage point some six feet away. "The computer reads no lifesigns aboard apart from our own," Spock tells him, a small inflection making its way into his emotionless voice. He looks back at Jim, eyebrow raised further. "Is there a special event taking place on this planet today?"
The Captain strides forward to get a look at the screen, skims the low personnel message and tries to think if he's heard anything about a special event. He can't remember anything, though he tries his hardest to think. His mind has gone blank, balking at the idea of trying to find a reason that the entire crew of the USS Enterprise would be gone. "I don't know," he answers lamely, turning unfocused eyes in Spock's general direction.
To Jim's surprise, Spock does not suggest they search for the crew; he doesn't even appear to be thinking about it. When Jim focuses his eyes again, Spock is simply staring at him, dark eyes almost betraying a hint of emotion.
"What?"
An uncharacteristic pause separates Jim's question from Spock's acknowledgement. Spock then drops his eyes, shaking his head slightly. He folds his hands together behind his back, PADD held carefully away from his body, then straightens slightly. "It is nothing, Captain." When Jim says nothing, Spock adds, "I assure you."
"I don't feel assured," Captain Kirk says slowly, keeping a steady eye on his first officer. He can't place his finger on it, but he knows something is off. The crew is missing and, more importantly, Spock is acting oddly about it. Jim doesn't feel like the situation is urgent, like anyone is hurt, but he doesn't feel entirely at ease either. He shifts on his feet, never breaking eye-contact. "What's going on, Spock?"
The Vulcan glances down in a way that seems deliberate, but when Jim follows his gaze he sees nothing. "I do not know," Spock responds, entirely too casual, too accepting. Jim doesn't know what to do about this.
"Aren't you worried about them?" Jim asks tightly, stepping closer and narrowing his eyes slightly at Spock who seems to have forgotten he is still there.
He blinks, dark eyes connecting with Jim's. "No," Spock says, minute inflections of confusion, surprise and annoyance coloring his voice. He seems to stop short at his own words, blinking again. "I am not sure what is going on, Jim," he says, placing his PADD gently on a conveniently located workstation the captain had not noticed before, "but I am afraid I may have been affected."
Lots of things try to cross Jim's mind; thoughts really put in an effort to get their say in what alters his approach, but none of them quite make it far enough to stop his blind, unthinking curiosity, which is suddenly all he can feel. "What do you mean?" He scans for phsyical damage briefly with no results and, when he looks back at Spock's face, the alien is staring right back at him, intense as ever and very visibly confused.
"I... do not know." Spock looks down at his recently freed hands, frowning mightily. "There is a strange sensation in my fingers and torso. I had not been paying attention previously, Captain, which is also odd, but I believe it is spreading."
Concern blossoms dangerously bright in Jim's chest as he takes another half-step forward, arm extended but not quite reaching for Spock. "Are you alright?" He brings his palm up to hover by Spock's elbow, not touching, but near enough if it became necessary. "Does it hurt?"
With a quirk of his brow, Spock shakes his head. "No," he says, analytical confusion altering his tone, "no, I do not feel pain. It is, I believe you would say, like pins and needles. The sensation is not entirely pleasant."
Jim doesn't think before he seizes one of Spock's hands and examines it. Questions pop up in his mind vaguely, things like "have you touched anything weird?" or "have you eaten anything different?" but Spock knows better. He wouldn't do that stuff. So, all he's left with is the empty feeling that he needs to say something.
Carefully, Spock tries to pull his hand away, but he is not allowed, not when Jim knows so little. Surely Spock has the answers, if not in his hand, then somewhere. Looking at him now, growing noticeably more uncomfortable and turning a bit green at the ears as Jim continues to hold his hand, the captain forgot for an extended moment what he wanted the answers to.
"You," Spock begins suddenly, causing Kirk to start, "are quite possibly the most intelligent man I have ever met. You know what is happening. You know the answers."
He thinks that he might understand, feels a fuzzy little inkling of recognition playing at the corners of his mind. And yet, he cannot stop himself from wondering what is going on. "I don't understand," he says, practically to himself, a heavy frown forming between his brows.
Spock takes a very bold step forward. He looms over Jim, though he is only an inch or two taller, and lifts the hand that Jim has been holding for the past couple of minutes until it cannot be ignored. The Vulcan glances at their hands, curling his fingers around Jim's carefully, subtly, and things start clicking into place. "The pins and needles in this hand have ceased," he says in his deep, smooth voice, and if Jim hadn't already figured it out, he knew now.
He looks at their hands, clutches a little tighter. "So, this is a...?" He leaves his question open, unable to finish it and sure that Spock would know what he meant anyway. Jim turns his eyes back to Spock's face with considerable effort to see the Vulcan nod once. He could not decide at first if it was good or bad. Jim supposed it should be easy to say it was a good thing; that he ought to be glad that the entire crew wasn't actually missing. But he felt a very keen disappointment that everything else-being alone with Spock, holding hands, standing so close-was just a dream.
In his conscious mind, Jim never knew that he wanted this. But here, in this dream, touching and feeling and experiencing what it could be like, he is sure he has always wanted this.
"Do not be disappointed, Jim," Spock says, touching their foreheads together gently. "We have this."
He tries to let it be, to accept that for what it is and all it promises, but Jim still feels the sting of bitterness. "I know," he says, for no reason at all, "I know." He breathes in Spock's air, closes his eyes against the all-too-real sensation. He can feel Spock's alien warmth where their hands and foreheads meet and he knows it isn't real, he can comprehend that much, but the lines are blurred just enough that he doesn't want to. And he can convince himself for the moment that he is indulging in a dream, but he has never felt so aware of his mind's sleeping creations before. It's disconcerting, but then all he can think of is how close he is to Spock's lips.
"It is all right, Jim," the vulcan tells him gently, shifting just a little. "I will be here."
It doesn't make sense and he knows he's not getting the answers to any and all questions floating around in his head and it's frustrating, but he can feel Spock's breath on his lips, can smell his peculiar clean scent so, so close and it doesn't matter. Not right now. All that matters is this.
Kirk lifts his chin up, brushes gently against Spock's lips, but he's never had a single sex dream that was gentle. He takes a moment, a very brief, very disturbing moment to consider what's happening, consider the waking ramifications of having a dream about his First Officer, but then their tongues meet in a way that's just too life-like to sweat the small stuff.
Every inch of sculpted Vulcan skin he can reach, he does, and it feels damn good. It may all be guesswork, but Kirk can just imagine all the solid definition pressed against his body and he shivers when he is lifted by his hips and backed into the wall. When he thinks about it too hard, the feeling fades a little, so he dives right back in, bites a lip not his own and indulges himself.
A groan fills the minimal space between feverish kisses and Jim didn't know whose it was but it was hot. "Didn't know you had this in you, Mr. Spock," Jim chuckles, wrapping his legs around Spock's hips and making himself comfortable.
"I would say the same, but it is against my nature to bend-" Jim rolls his hips and Spock's speech stutters. "Bend... the truth."
"That better be the only thing against your nature to bend, because if it isn't this is going to be awkward," Kirk mutters out in one breath and doesn't have a chance to get any air before Spock is pressing him harder into the wall.
The Vulcan's lips hover annoyingly far away from his own and Jim is about to complain when Spock quirks the tiniest smile. "Do not worry about that," he whispers in the most teasing tone Jim has ever heard him use and it is so damn sexy. For a fleeting moment, as uniforms are being ripped away, Jim finds a bitter kind of amusement in dream-Spock's behavior.
And then Kirk is looking only at the plain white of the pillows in his quarters aboard the Enterprise, and the only sexual sensation he has going on is a lonely morning situation between him and the mattress.
oOo
His first sign that something was wrong came in the middle of a meeting on the bridge. The meeting was insignificant and could have been avoided on the whole except that Jim never seems to want to listen to him, but it did not matter. In every meeting Jim would eventually interject with some manner of order that was not entirely sarcastic and reveal that he understood Spock's point of view all along. But in that particular meeting, Jim did not even look at him.
As soon as the meeting ends, Spock tracks down Captain Kirk, hands clasped behind his back. He notices that Jim glances at him and looks away again, his posture uneasy. "Are you well?" Spock inquires, inclining his head as he has seen communicates a more human sense of interest, gently urges most humans to confide in him.
Quite unreasonably, Jim laughs. "Spectacular," he mutters, in what Spock believes is sarcasm, and slips away as a redshirt comes to ask Spock's opinion about something that he is sure any other officer on deck would have equal knowledge on. As he watches Jim walk away, he resolves to ask him again later.
oOo
The next time he has a dream about Spock, he knows immediately that it isn't real. He would like to say that his first clue is that they are in an earthbound motel room, but that isn't it. His real first clue is that Spock is wearing an old-timey nurse outfit.
"Are you well?" Spocks asks, twirling the end of a stethoscope that Kirk didn't notice until then. The Vulcan's outfit consists of a short-sleeved, baby pink, too-tight button-up top and, though the thought is hard for him to fathom even in his dreams, even tighter pale pink pants.
Jim swallows. "Better now that I have this," he says mildly, licks his lips, and gestures vaguely towards Spock.
An impressive eyebrow raise. "Whatever do you mean?" Spock sounds so serious, even as he takes a seat on the strangely neat bed and folds his legs to the side.
He wants to say something snarky about the outfit, or anything, really, but Kirk's dream self just walks over to stand in front of Spock at the foot of the bed. He hooks his finger in the pocket over Spock's heart and pulls until the top button pops.
The Vulcan watches as the second button comes undone and his eyebrow hitches up even further. "Am I to assume that fictional medical professionals are for sexual purposes?" he asks, his intense eyes looking up through inhuman eyelashes, directly into Jim's eyes.
"Why else would you be a vintage nurse?" he asks with a smirk, and it isn't what he wants to say, but it will do.
"Perhaps your subconscious is alerting you to an illness you are beginning to suffer from?" Spock suggests and he sounds serious, but Jim feels like he's joking. Spock takes the stethoscope from around his neck and reaches up slowly to place it across Kirk's shoulders. "But why, then," he continues, "would I be here? Why not Doctor McCoy?"
The scene goes a little dark around the edges at the thought of Bones, and Jim tries to shake it off by climbing up on dream Spock's lap. Warm Vulcan hands ghost over his ribcage to steady him, grounding him back in the dream. Jim bites the grin that overcomes him.
"It doesn't matter," he says, bracing his knees on either side of Spock's narrow hips and settling in. "Because in my dreams I don't need a doctor. I need a fictional medical professional to satisfy my sexual needs."
Spock laughs then, and Jim can't imagine the grin, but the sound is amazing. "You are what I believe is called a hopeless romantic," the Vulcan mutters, reaching for the hem of Kirk's uniform top. "Now tell me: where does it hurt?"
Jim wakes up an hour later, mid-enjoyment of his dream, on the edge of a sigh. He turns over, grinds his teeth together and ignores his more persuasive urges.
oOo
Spock is midway through briefing Captain Kirk on their latest assignment—to sample and analyze some unique spores floating in the atmosphere of a planet with which Starfleet had only recently gained an alliance—when he realizes that no one else is around and still Jim is not looking at him.
It is unusual and irksome and, though he had not truly forgotten, it reminds Spock that he has yet to ask Jim why he was acting so strange before. He tries not to think about it much, especially since there have been other incidents of Kirk behaving oddly. One day he'd laughed out loud as he'd passed Spock talking to a nurse in the hall, and looked down with a mysterious grin when Spock sent him a questioning look. Stranger still, Jim barely spoke to him now outside of business matters, even when they had transported a group of female aliens that Spock had to admit, if only to himself, were fairly attractive. If everything were as it should be, Jim would have made any number of comments, all sexual in nature.
As Spock finishes his brief—which is not something that he is required to do, he simply believes that Jim is ignoring the brief—Jim nods and gives him permission to leave. However, he remains standing behind Jim's chair, PADD tucked neatly in the small of his back. He waits for acknowledgement, keeping his eyes strictly away from Jim's computer screen.
A moment later, Jim tilts his head. "Do you have something else for me, Mr. Spock?"
He does want to ask what has been on Captain Kirk's mind, but he pauses to analyze the tone of his voice. It strikes Spock a little peculiar, the emotional intonation, but he cannot immediately identify it. He does not believe it is one he has heard before from Jim. Temporarily, he puts it aside.
Spock straightens his back, despite his perfect posture. "It has come to my attention that you are behaving... unlike yourself," Spock tells him, treading carefully over his phrasing and staring straight ahead.
Jim's chair turns towards Spock slightly and he hears the captain chuckle. He does not understand what is amusing. However, he keeps his opinion and his concerns to himself, expecting Jim to give an answer facetious in nature, as if to prove that Spock is reading too much into his behavioral pattern. That, he decides, is precisely what Jim will do.
On the contrary, he hears Jim murmur something that sounded perplexingly like "I could say the same about you." Before he has the chance to question him, Jim urges Spock out of the room, insisting he has a mountainous pile of work to do and that Spock is distracting him.
As he stands in the hall, unsure what to think, Spock wonders at the un-Vulcan concern taking root in his mind. It could very well be that there is nothing wrong with Jim, but he did not find that option extremely likely. Perhaps he will catch Jim when he is less busy and corner him about his behavior.
Then again, Spock thinks to himself as he embarks down the halls of the ship, Jim's behavior has not been harmful to anyone, and he has not been any less productive. He could simply turn a blind eye to the sudden lack of socializing attempts by Captain Kirk. Spock allows himself a slight furrow in his brow. Acknowledgement of the slight change would neither help nor hinder daily life, he observes mildly. Spock internally lectures himself for getting distracted with pointless things and resolves to ignore the changes.
oOo
After a few weeks and more dirty dreams than he's had in his life up until then, Jim is going crazy. He can barely look at Spock, let alone work with him. It's next to impossible to be in the same room as him now, especially when Spock keeps giving him funny looks like he knows exactly what's going on. Bones has asked him any number of times in a multitude of indelicate ways what the hell is going on, and he's done his level best to dodge or redirect. He's pretty sure, by this point, that someone must have some inkling as to what he thinks about when Spock's back is turned (usually about Spock's back side), but no one has said anything to him yet.
He can't tell how obvious he is every morning after a special dream, or when he starts to feel like they are actually torturing him. Both issues eat at him during the day, every day, after just so many dreams. He doesn't dislike the material, but a little reprieve every now and then wouldn't hurt his feelings. It starts to seem like he can't shut his eyes without seeing provocative images of Spock, whether with Jim himself or solo. The visions are both stimulating and annoying the shit out of him, and doing neither half-assed. A weaker man might have given in and attempted something with Spock, but Jim knows things weaker men don't. Primarily that Spock would never go for him, no matter how many nights his subconscious drove him to cold micro showers.
It has been two and a half months since his first "romantic" dream about Spock when Jim has the most vivid dream to date. It's just after a long day avoiding Spock and he's so frustrated that he has trouble getting to sleep. When he finally dozes, the jump from conscious to subconscious vision is almost instantaneous and the relief is just as quick. He is sitting in the middle of a wide open room, which appeared to be wall-to-wall wood. The only items in the room are a long maroon cushion, almost like a a mattress, lying flat on the floor surrounded by tall, gently flickering pink candles. The room was oddly dark, with a warm glow that was so rarely seen in this century that Jim finds himself holding his breath as he looks around—and then he sees the ceiling. At first glance, it looks like millions of stars set into a purple sky, like there is no ceiling and Jim wonders how he can breathe, because he knows he's not on earth and it doesn't feel like a ship. Suddenly, a bright white ripple squirms across the sky and it becomes a view of six bright moons in a reddish atmosphere; the ceiling is a hyperclear holographic monitor, he realizes.
Jim blinks and he's lying on the cushion, staring up at the six moons as a comet passes leisurely through the middle. He has almost let his guard all the way down when one of the walls makes a light hissing noise and a small section opens into the room. Before he can see what is outside, Spock walks in and shuts the door behind himself with a faint click.
Jim's physical reaction to seeing Spock is immediate, obvious, and embarrassing, but Spock doesn't mention it as he approaches. "Are the images satisfactory?" Spock asks, hands tucked behind his back as he comes to a halt. He does not make any move to touch Jim, which is at once irritating and a relief. "They are among the most scenic images from the xx galaxy."
Kirk raises an eyebrow. He's fairly certain that's not a real galaxy, but as soon as he begins thinking about it, he stops. It doesn't matter. "They're nice," he says and sits up when Spock doesn't move any closer. "Did you do this?"
The Vulcan lifts his chin a little, the equivalent of anyone else puffing with pride. He says nothing.
"Do you want to sit down?" Jim pats the empty cushion where he had been laying.
Spock just stares down at him. "If you truly desire my company," he says, as meek as Jim has ever heard him, and kneels gracefully on the edge of the cushion. He looks nervous or uncomfortable and it's strange. Jim doesn't feel any tension, but he feels like he needs to say something to relieve it. He has never been good at knowing what to say to make other people feel better—so he doesn't talk.
Jim reaches up slowly and brushes Spock's alabaster cheek with his fingertips. He goes frigid for a moment, and then he leans into the touch and his eyelids lower seductively. Spock ducks in and Jim thinks the Vulcan is going to kiss him, but he just presses their noses together. The moment is warm and fuzzy and so intimate that Jim loses himself in it and pulls Spock down to lie beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He tries to snog him, but he is bolted to the spot, unable to get his lips on Spock. There is no apparent reason for this, and it is extremely surprising, given the nature of all his other dreams, but he doesn't fight it. A subtle, indescribable feeling makes itself known in his core.
"I have always... Felt, I suppose, is the correct term—I have always felt this way," Spock says not in his usual overconfident, cold manner of speaking, but rather in a voice barely above a whisper. "We do not strictly need to engage in sexual activities; that is how I feel."
The ceiling ripples again and a seascape with sparkly neon green waters and a star-speckled sky, broken up by a stripe of brilliant pink lights, colors the room. The pink is reflected in Spock's eyes as he stares directly at Jim, unblinking, and the sharp edges of his gaze appear soft and gentle. It's as romantic a dream as Jim has ever had, just by the feel of it—mushy like old movies and intimate like the word caress—and it's scary and he never wants to stop feeling the tightness in his chest and lungs. "I hate you," he says quietly, pouting, and he knows Spock won't believe him. He isn't sure that he's kidding.
"I am sorry that you feel that way," Spock murmurs good-naturedly, as he lifts one hand to run a finger gently over Jim's cheek. "However, my stance on the matter has not shifted."
"You're stupid." Jim expresses his general hatred by laying his head on Spock's shoulder. He feels so strongly the comfortable pain and warmth in his chest, and he's confused to an extent. It is mostly on the surface, and mostly just to make himself feel better.
"I am afraid the conversation has taken a turn which I can not logically assess, nor agree with. What has brought you to this conclusion, Jim?" Spock asks and it sounds like he is genuinely curious. Jim cannot contain his laughter.
With a slow kind of realization, Jim opens his eye to an empty room, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips.
oOo
One day, several weeks out from the last time he spoke to Jim about his behavior, Spock witnesses a conversation that makes him rethink his decision to ignore the peculiar activity.
He is passing by sick bay in a brisk manner, as he has somewhere to be, but as he passes he can hear familiar voices carrying on inside. Spock is not in the habit of hesitating, much less eavesdropping, but he does not much analyze his decision to hover by the door and listen in. For the sake of his dignity, however, Spock pretends to be reading a multi-page article about the use of advanced geo-probes for interplanetary holographic study. He does not read a word of it.
"Damn it, Jim," the voice of Dr. McCoy grumbles all too familiarly and Spock can hear pacing. "I'm a doctor, not your personal counselor! What the hell do you want me to say? That there's an antidote for your REM cycle? There is, actually, but I'm not going to give it to you because that's not healthy."
"Listen, Bones, that's not what I'm asking for. I'm a little concerned about your insubordination, though, come to think of it. You wouldn't treat me if you could?" Jim's tone tries to be lighthearted, Spock can hear it, but he is troubled and it colors his words.
Doctor McCoy heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Now you listen to me; that's not what I said, you bastard, and you know it. If you really think it's going to help, and you ask nicely, I'll give you the injection, but I wouldn't recommend it."
Spock hears the pacing stop and unintentionally inclines his head towards the door. When Jim doesn't say anything right away, Spock has to stand in the relative silence reflecting on his choices, and on the way Jim has been acting recently. He worries for both, but not in equal measure. He does not move.
"...Okay. What if it is what I want? What are the side effects?" Jim asks quietly and Spock looks up from his cover article. "Because I don't know what else to do, Bones. There's no one I can talk to about this except you." Spock narrows his eyes at a spot on the floor. He does not recall giving Jim the impression that he would not listen to his troubles.
"For the love of- Jim, did you not hear me? It would be against your doctor's orders and, more importantly, incredibly stupid! You wouldn't get any real sleep and there could be loss of appetite, gain of appetite, vomiting, diarrhea, muscle spasms, paranoia, hair loss, loss of function in your arms and legs, extreme swelling everywhere and flop sweats!" Spock could practically see Doctor McCoy's red face and wild gestures. "It'd be a hell of a lot easier just to confront the issue, you know."
He did not favor the expression referring to perked ears, but Spock feels it is accurate to say that his are. He is not proud.
"Don't act like I haven't thought about that, because I have. But it wouldn't... I can't..." Jim's voice is weak and wavering and Spock cannot peel himself away, even as a duo of nurses appear at the end of the hall. "You know as well as I do, Bones. Unless you think there's hope, I'm gonna try the treatment." There is a thick silence from the room that quickly gives way to the nurses' idle chat. "I've gotta get back to work," Jim concludes abruptly, Spock can hear him turn and start walking, and with no more than a glance to the nurses he makes haste to the nearest empty room in which he can stand and process information without interruption. Incidentally, he also moves in the direction he believes is less likely for Jim to travel.
Spock generally prides himself on his ability to process information and think logically—two major traits of his dominant race—but the talent seems so far out of his reach in the moment that something rather like panic sets in. He has a few stray theories pop into his head, as that is the only way to describe the shallow ideas that form quickly and without his authorization. He cannot bring himself to believe that night terrors (his initial suspicion) are the reason Jim had a clandestine meeting with Doctor McCoy. After a moment collecting himself, rationalizing, clearing his head, Spock refocuses on logic. For a moment the concept is foreign, but then it starts to flow naturally like a river and if the scientific reasoning is a guilty comfort for Spock the only witnesses are the stark white walls around him.
He absorbs the clear thinking like a dry sponge and lingers on the fact that there is not one single life in danger, no planet in peril. There was no reason for him to fret so greatly; it did not make sense. In his surge of logic, Spock quickly cuts through what little information he has to determine that a much more reasonable cause for Jim's behavior is post-traumatic stress disorder. The diagnosis would account for more than just recent activities, and could include night terrors. Spock nods to himself, smoothing his uniform with a quick tug and standing up a little straighter. With a small, cleansing breath he re-entered the hall, his mind made up. He would find out what had caused this undeniable trauma and do everything in his power to help Jim get back to normal.
oOo
He is fairly certain that his life has spiraled completely out of control. Rather than that, he feels as if there are no other options. Jim sits in his chair for as long as he can—embarrassingly shorter than the hour it would take to finish his actual work—and then he can't sit still anymore and he has to pace around, but the hallway is no good because he feels like there are cameras all over the place and, goddamn, he feels like throwing up again.
Jim does his best not to run to the nearest garbage receptacle, but he's not sure he succeeds as he only just makes it in time. He hasn't eaten much in the last few days, but a hell of a lot has come up. He'd learned quickly that Bones wasn't just trying to scare him with all those side-effects. At least the vomiting, paranoia and lack of sleep were real. And muscle spasms, goddamn, those were a bitch.
For the third time today, Jim hurries off to brush his teeth and just barely convinces himself not to take another dose of the antiemetics that Bones prescribed him. He's pretty sure they've all come up, but Bones warned him against over-medicating and he's really trying to be a good boy. (Not out of the kindness of his heart; he said he doesn't want to explain Jim's limbless corpse to the higher-ups.) It's hard for him, in the position he's in, to lay low with bad symptoms and a worse cure, but he sticks it out. He's strong.
Spock, as it turns out, is also strong, and irritatingly keen. Jim knows that he's been found out the day after he starts taking the shady medicine, but he plays dumb. Spock tries to get him to talk, in his own stale way, and offers an unnerving reprieve in the form of patience with Jim. After he's been on the drug a few more days, Jim learns that Spock is patient with him in front of everyone but Bones, for whom he acts like a total dick. It is at once perplexing and hilarious, although the change seems to have gone unnoticed by everyone. Bones thinks Spock has never been civil with him, but Jim knows better. He also knows that Bones is very entertaining when his feathers are ruffled, and he appreciates the interactions more and more as he starts to feel worse.
He wonders, sometimes, if it's worth it. He's only slightly less awkward around Spock, in exchange for hideous nausea, restless legs and exhaustion. It isn't a fair trade-off, he thinks, and then he carries on a whole conversation with Spock like a normal, if tired and paranoid, human being, without finding double-entendres in their speech. It's hard to see it, but Kirk believes that he is going to get over whatever it was about Spock in no time and be able to work together with him again.
When he is lying awake at night, or sleeping fitfully and waking up to make sure there are no monsters under his bed, it is much more difficult to imagine the treatment is helping. He wonders if he maybe should have just told Spock how he feels, but he has never done well with rejection.