Notes: First chapter originally written for the STXI Kink Meme. Slight editing from the original.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009 and I make no profit from this work.
The inhabitants of Mados III were progressive enough to know about Vulcan dietary restrictions and considerate enough to make accommodations for Commander Spock during the Enterprise's mission to renew a peace treaty with the small planet. Most unfortunately, the well-meaning people knew very little other than "Vulcans don't eat meat" and being primarily a meat eating populace, their concept of vegetarian cuisine was...somewhat lacking.
This would account for the unappealing bowl of broth that was placed in front of Spock during supper.
Jim Kirk eyed the greenish-grey muck that was sitting in front of his first officer. And then he glanced up at Spock. However, if the Vulcan was at all turned off by his meal, his face didn't reveal it - Spock looked just as calm and collected as usual and he accepted the bowl with the utmost courtesy. Well, the young captain thought, maybe this was just another one of those cultural differences that exist between humans and Vulcans. Maybe this was some sort of Vulcan delicacy that he was unaware of. Maybe Spock was looking forward to eating the bowl of sewage. At least he didn't have to eat it! So the captain shrugged and thanked God that he wasn't a vegetarian and turned back to his own plate which was heaped high with roasted animal parts that resembled beef in all the right ways.
During their time at Starfleet Academy, Spock had attended the mandatory classes on diplomacy and etiquette and general good behaviour for landing parties on colonized planets. And one of the most important rules for crew members on diplomatic missions was essentially, "unless you have reason to believe that you are about to be poisoned, just eat the food." Regardless of how ugly or bad-tasting or foul-smelling or slimy or burnt or moving the food is, the fact remains that it is unlikely to do you any real harm.
So the first officer was the very picture of good breeding as he obediently ate the broth. It wasn't too bad, really. As long as he didn't think about the taste or the smell or the texture of what he was putting into his mouth it was almost tolerable. He focused his attention on the conversation and the strange decor and tried not to dwell on the sensation of what felt like snot sliding down his throat.
Somehow the bowl eventually emptied and Spock felt no small amount of relief as it was taken away with the rest of the dishes. However he was unable to shake off the vague sense of impending doom that settled over him a few minutes later. He couldn't quite place it. There was no reason to for him to be feeling apprehensive - the crew was not under any discernable threat and the mission was progressing smoothly. It was quite illogical - as illogical as the beads of sweat that were collecting on his forehead.
Vulcans do not have sweat glands, a fact that most are unaware of and for good reason too. Sweat glands are not visible to the naked eye like the pointed ears and upswept eyebrows of your typical Vulcan. Due to the naturally hot, arid climate of their homeworld, it is quite uncommon for Vulcans to find themselves in an environment which they consider uncomfortably warm. Commander Spock, being a Human-Vulcan hybrid, inherited the trait from his human mother and although they were generally unnecessary for regulating his body temperature, sweat glands have a secondary function that Spock was becoming more and more aware of with each passing moment.
Sweating is increased by nausea and Spock was beginning to feel very nauseous.
The only reasonable explanation was the food. This wouldn't be the first time unfamiliar food disagreed with him. Over time, he'd become accustomed to the effects that alien food had on his Vulcan digestive system. Spock usually endured only slight discomfort after eating strange foods. However, this time he found himself growing more and more uncomfortable as sweat began to trickle down his temples and back and his heart began to race.
At least now that the meal was over they would soon be beaming back up to the ship where he could ensconce himself in his quarters until this spell passed.
Unfortunately, the fates seemed to have other plans. Kirk was sweet talking the leader of the Madosians, working his charm like a pro and completely oblivious to the declining condition of his first officer. And the Madosian leader was clearly amused by the lively young captain, which had its effect on Jim and encouraged him to turn up the charm. So it wasn't long before the alien was trying to convince Jim that the landing party should spend the night on the planet's surface and enjoy their hospitality. Spock unwittingly widened his eyes and glanced in the captain's direction.
Usually the captain would decline such a request and opt for the comforts offered by the Enterprise and the opportunity to remain close in case a message came through from Starfleet. However, having enjoyed the company of their hosts and the food and considering that there was no pressing need to hurry back to the ship, Jim took a moment to consider the offer. He briefly glanced around at the faces of his crew. Everyone appeared to be pleased. Except for Spock himself, that is. But that was normal.
So Jim accepted. And imperceptibly, Spock cringed.
Jim was pleased. Ever since he took command of the USS Enterprise, he'd found himself in a constant struggle to prove his worth. It was as though his higher ups were keeping a watchful eye on him, just waiting for the young, inexperienced captain to screw up so they could say, "See, we knew he wasn't ready for this. That business with the Narada and saving Earth was all just a fluke," and reassign their shiny new flagship to someone a little older, a little wiser, and a lot less cocky. It hadn't been easy for Jim to keep himself and his equally young and volatile crew out of trouble. There had been a few...incidences but as long as Starfleet didn't catch wind of anything there was no harm done. (There was an unspoken agreement among the crew to keep any undesirable outcomes quiet – Jim wasn't the only one with something to prove and the less Starfleet knew, the less paperwork they'd all be doing in the end.)
If there was one thing that Jim excelled at, it was turning up the charm and winning over even the most stubbornly resistant aliens. He was good at it and it was generally fun and appealed to his daredevil spirit. And he knew that his continued success was driving his superiors batshit crazy. Whenever one of their diplomatic missions was going this well, Jim couldn't help but silently celebrate. So when the landing party was invited to remain planetside for the night by the Madosians and considering how much his crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, he simply couldn't turn them down. It could be considered a gesture of...interplanetary friendliness or something. That and he wouldn't object to another round of the Madosian version of scotch on the rocks.
He was a little taken aback when his first officer pulled him aside and asked for permission to return to the Enterprise immediately.
Spock wasn't exactly the most social guy you'd ever meet but Jim figured that he would recognize that accepting the Madosians' invitation would work wonders to improve the Federation's relationship with the alien planet. So his reply to the half-Vulcan's query was a simple, "Why?"
"There is a pressing matter that I must attend to," the Vulcan informed him a little stiffly. Which Jim translated to, "I am not interested in 'partying' with you lesser life forms and would rather get back to work than spend another minute here."
"Jeez, Spock," the young captain objected in a lowered voice. "It can't wait until the morning?"
"I must insist, Captain," Spock replied with a swift inclination of his head.
Well, he couldn't say that he was totally surprised. Lively social gatherings weren't exactly Spock's scene. He probably should have insisted that he stay, set a good example for the rest of the crew and all that. But shit, he didn't want to force the guy to endure the evening if he was going to be uncomfortable the whole time. Spock already looked uneasy about the situation insomuch as Spock ever looked uneasy. And he could easily excuse the first officer by telling the others that he had duties to attend to back at the ship – they wouldn't question it. Or care, probably. These guys seemed pretty laid back.
But before he could give his permission to Spock, the leader of the Madosians appeared at his side and insisted on showing his visitors to their temporary lodgings before their entertainment for the evening could begin. A moment later Kirk and his men found themselves being led through the building as their host chattered on, giving them an impromptu tour of the place. Oh well, Spock could endure another fifteen minutes or so before being released to the Enterprise. It wasn't going to kill him or anything.
Then again, now that he thought about it, the half-Vulcan didn't look right. Jim couldn't quite put his finger on it. He chanced a glimpse at his first officer. There wasn't anything glaringly wrong with Spock, he just looked...a little off. Kinda flushed. Or maybe that was just the lighting. Jim drew closer to him and quietly asked, "Hey Spock, is everything ok?"
Spock's tone betrayed no hint of malady as he replied, "Quite alright, Captain," without skipping a beat. Well, maybe it really was just the lighting.
They eventually entered a curved hallway lined with doors where each of his men was designated a room for the evening. Kirk expected Spock to take this opportunity to pull him aside again and get an answer from his captain. Instead without saying a word, Spock stepped through the doors of his own room which immediately slid shut behind him.
Huh. Jim raised an eyebrow. Well, that was...quite rude actually. Not like Spock at all. There was definitely something up with him. But he'd insisted that everything was ok. Maybe he'd just decided to suck it up and stick around until morning and wasn't very pleased about it. Or something. Jim really didn't know and he didn't have the time to stand around puzzling it out as he found himself whisked off to his own room where the Madosians repeated their invitation for him and his crew to join them for the evening. He nodded and thanked them and then found himself alone.
The moment the door shut behind Spock, he frantically glanced around and dashed across the room into the small adjoining washroom. He barely made it in time. As soon as he reached the toilet, Spock dropped to his knees and violently emptied his stomach contents into the bowl. The room spun around him in a haze of tile and glass as he retched again and again, grasping onto the sides of the bowl with shaking, sweaty hands. It felt as though his insides were twisting in knots, sharp and sickening. There was nothing he could do but wait for the spell to pass.
After a few minutes, when the urge to vomit began to slowly subside, Spock hit the lever and gingerly leaned back against the opposite wall. He shut his eyes against the stark lighting in the tiny room and tried to catch his breath. This was unlike anything that he'd ever experienced. As a Vulcan, his body was built to conserve as much fluid as possible so vomiting only occurred in cases of severe illness. So this spell was more than simple indigestion caused by unfamiliar food. There must have been something in that dish which was causing him to become ill.
Spock fought through his light-headedness and attempted to formulate a theory. The Madosians wouldn't have poisoned him, would they? No, that would be illogical. If they had any motives against the landing team they would have targeted the captain. It was much more likely that, with their primitive understanding of Vulcan anatomy, they served him food which was incompatible with his physiology. A simple misunderstanding resulting in what was shaping up to be a rather severe case of food poisoning. Most unfortunate.
After several minutes passed and his nausea began to return with a vengeance, Spock knew that something was very wrong with his body. A small voice of reason in the back of his mind insisted that the best course of action would be to contact the Enterprise immediately and request to be beamed directly to sickbay. Another reasoned that his condition appeared to be declining rapidly and it would be prudent to seek assistance before he lost control of his mental faculties. But a third, much louder voice shouted that he was about to be sick on the bathroom floor and that voice couldn't be ignored.
The world spun briefly and with a short burst of adrenaline the Vulcan darted across the bathroom floor on all fours. His stomach lurched he began to retch once again, coughing and gasping for air whenever he was able. This time when the spell passed, Spock was hit with a wave of fatigue which blurred his vision and left him feeling weak. On top of this, he felt as though the temperature in the room had dropped drastically which was made all the worse by the fact that his shirt was soaked through with sweat.
And this, of course, is when Murphy's Law decided to rear its ugly head.
Spock jerked in surprise when he heard the staccato sound of someone knocking on his door, proof of the toll his sudden illness was taking on his usually unshakable control. He knew exactly who it was, even before the captain's voice called out, "Spock, you in there?" And immediately his body tensed up. It couldn't have been panic that took hold of Spock. No, he was a Vulcan and Vulcans do not experience emotions and panic is a very distinct emotion. So what transpired next could only be considered the result of his illness and not panic. Nope. Not panic at all.
"Engage lock," the wide-eyed Vulcan called out in a quavering voice to the empty room. And then, with a sharp intake of breath, he remembered that they were not aboard the Enterprise where there a voice activated locking mechanism on his door. Even so, it most likely would not have made a difference if he had been on the ship considering that the captain possessed the override code for his door and in all probability wouldn't hesitate to use it.
He might have taken a moment to reflect on his error, to take note of his lowered reaction time, altered level of awareness, and confusion and recognize that he was beginning to lose control. But the captain had already opened the door and now he was making his way across the room and this was all highly distracting. Not to mention the fact that his mouth was quickly filling with sour saliva as the ground proved once again that it was in fact made of jelly and decided to sink and rise while he reclined there.
Spock fixed his gaze on a section of the floor and tried to focus on regaining control of his stomach. And for some reason thinking about the presence of his captain, of Jim standing there, looking down on him as he sat in a heap on the bathroom floor was not helping matters. So he didn't glance up when Jim appeared in the doorway and paused or when he slowly said, "O...kay...this explains a lot," or when he eventually knelt down beside him and leaned in and asked what was wrong. Spock was so deep into his trance that he didn't react until he felt a firm hand settled on his shoulder and heard a gentle but commanding voice say, "Spock."
He turned and looked at Jim. It wasn't just the motion of turning his head that pushed him over the edge. It was the shame of being discovered in a compromised state by his captain, by Jim of all people, and the guilt of having concealed his illness for illogical reasons and the frustration as he felt his carefully maintained control slipping away from him. Well, it was all a bit too much.
The first officer turned and fixed his gaze on his captain for 1.7 seconds. Then he paled, blinked once, parted his lips, and then lunged across the floor to empty his stomach once more as Jim recoiled in shock and blurted out a startled, "Holy shit!"
And thus, Spock's humiliation was complete.