McCoy had just started the bi-monthly equipment checkup when the sickbay doors swished open. He put down the hypospray that had just been tested, and turned around with a glare for the approaching Vulcan.
"I s'ppose you think you're better again."
Spock predictably raised an eyebrow. "I anticipated your reaction, Doctor. However, it is illogical to assume that since I was ill this morning I must still be ill." Spock climbed onto a biobed and flicked it on. "This time," he continued, "I assure you that my symptoms have all but subsided and I am ready to return to active duty."
"Kind of like how you were ready for active duty this morning? When your sinuses were so clogged up that crewmen clear to engineering could hear you breathing? When you were still running a significant fever?" McCoy came over to the biobed and pulled out the auxiliary scanner, taking a few additional readings of Spock's respiratory system.
"No Doctor," Spock with the tiniest hint of impatience in his voice, "as you can see, my temperature has returned to normal." Spock gestured at the appropriate number on the panel above him, reading it upside down.
McCoy scoffed. "Arethian flu does a lot more than raise your temperature, Mister Spock. An' when you keep traipsing all across the ship and into sickbay to try to convince me you're better, you just infect other people and–"
"There have been no additional reports of Arethian flu since I contracted it four days ago; I assure you I'm very careful–"
"Careful not to sneeze all over uninfected crewmembers? You sneezed all over Ensign Kyles last night! Thank goodness he's already had it. And I told you not to be reading ship reports! You're supposed to be resting."
"I can rest and read simultaneously."
"No you can't. You get that big Vulcan brain of yours all fired up and it'll hog energy that's supposed t'be for your immune system. Sleep or meditate. Don't come to sickbay every few hours or you'll really never get better."
McCoy examined at the readings. Irritatingly, Spock's symptoms had actually subsided. Respiratory inflammation was down; temperature was nearly normal; lymphatic system activity was still elevated, but that was to be expected. McCoy sighed. He was unsure whether it was a sigh of annoyance that Spock defied all models of good patient behavior and still managed to get better, or a sigh of relief that Spock would stop being underfoot. "Well Spock," he said, "much to my surprise, you do seem to be much better. Nice enjoyable bed rest really does wonders, don't it?" McCoy grinned. Spock glared.
"Thank you for your confirmation of my health, Doctor. I will return to duty." Spock was off the biobed and half-way to the door before –
"Hold it. Come back here. Si'down, mister." McCoy pulled out a hypospray. "Here's a mild pain reliever. You'll probably still have muscle aches for a day or so, and will be lethargic. Arethian flu throws your digestive system all outta wack, so extra liquids for the next three days, and take it easy on the spicy food. Come back at the end of the week for a checkup, and we'll see if your blood chemistry is all back to its usual Vulcan perfection."
"As you wish, Doctor." He sat still as McCoy administered the hypospray. "You mentioned I would be lethargic; would a stimulant be appropriate?"
"Short-term, yes. Long-term, no." McCoy said. He hated prescribing stimulants. "You need to take it a bit slow. Ease back into your normal activity level over several days."
Spock's usually neutral facial expression twitched in such a way that it was clear that 'taking it easy' wasn't on his to-do list. "We're purchasing iridium at Taurus II tomorrow, and my services are needed."
McCoy smiled. "Well lucky for you, you're staying on the ship tomorrow. No stimulant required."
"Doctor. Iridium mining is notorious for its high variance in ore quality. It is essential that I perform an inspection before our purchase. Besides, isn't 'fresh air and sunshine' essential for recovery?"
McCoy put away the hypospray and started in on the paperwork. "There isn't any fresh air on Taurus II, Spock. And Scotty is just as capable of holding a tricorder as you are. Besides, Arethian flu is highly contagious, and Taurus II has never been exposed. I'm not taking any chances. Arethian flu is nothing to sneeze about."
Spock stared at McCoy for a moment. "Considering that Arethian flu involves a great deal of sneezing, I assume that your previous statement was humorous."
McCoy grinned. "Very good Mister Spock." He pressed submit on his PADD. "You're all cleared for on-ship active duty."
Instead of bounding off the biobed, Spock remained seated. "Thank you for your analysis, Doctor. Tomorrow, I will remain on the bridge and monitor the Enterprise's standard orbit." He straightened his cuffs.
McCoy felt almost bad for the Vulcan. Almost. Not quite. "You could always come down here and fix the faucets," McCoy suggested.
"It was my understanding that they were replaced just last month."
"Yeah, but the damn things always start leaking within the first two weeks, it's the most annoying thing," McCoy muttered. He grabbed the next hypospray to continue the inventory.
"I do not believe I have time to fix your faucets." Spock said.
"Even though you have nothing to do? Ah, whatever." McCoy waved him off. "Never mind. No one has time," he said gloomily.
Spock was about to leave when McCoy spotted a new box of medical supplies, and suddenly an idea hit him. "Oi, Spock. One more thing." McCoy pulled off the packaging and opened the vial. He shook one of the tiny, seed-shaped devices onto his palm. "Know what this is, Spock?"
Spock inspected the tiny object. "A sub-dermal bio-sensor," he announced at last.
"That's cheatin' you looked at the package." McCoy thought he saw what might have been a smirk on Spock's face, but when he looked again his expression had returned to neutral. "But yes, that's right," McCoy continued. "It's the latest version. This thing'll track everything: your heart rate, your blood pressure, and everything you'd ever want to know about your blood chemistry. It has an accelerometer, and can communicate with the ship's sensors to track every step that you take. Now you don't get sick very often. Might be interestin' for you to watch yourself get better over the next few days. Track your progress?"
Spock's eyebrow was all the way up in the 'Christmas has come early' zone of his forehead. "Fascinating, Doctor. Personal, continuous bio-statistics. That would indeed be interesting." Spock considered for a moment. "How do I access the data?"
"You can rig it to download to a PADD in real time. I'll send you the manual. Now where did I put the injector… let's get this thing under your skin."
McCoy wandered into the back room, muttering about leaky faucets and bad organization. Spock seated himself on the biobed, awaiting his new toy.
A/N: Star Trek is very good at taking things from everyday life and putting them in a new context, so that we can better understand them. This is a little Christmas present-inspired story that does just that: give the crew of the Enterprise a fitness tracker, a fancy grill, a leaky faucet, and an ant problem and see what happens. There is also some amount of plot, I promise!
There are five chapters, and they're all written. I'll post them gradually over the next week as I get the last of the typos out.
I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please review. Thanks for reading! :)