As unbelievable as it might seem, I haven't abandoned this story. Quite the contrary. I've simply been so obsessed with perfecting every single detail that I eventually succumbed to writer's block for quite a long time. I finally managed to let go a little bit and got back into the flow and, well, finished the chapter in two hours. Sometimes I just make life way too hard for myself.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter. And I would also like to point out that your thoughts matter to me, so keep those reviews coming~
As soon as he would step into the hallway, he would unleash his personal hell. Spock realized this well beforehand, and during the sleepless two hours he had spent laying on his back with his bare feet dangling off the edge of the bed, he had had plenty of time to brace himself for it. Humans were incredibly curious by default, and since the humans Spock worked with were no different in that regard, he knew he would have to answer a lot of questions that had arisen as the rumors of the Captain's illness had undoubtedly begun to spread. There was always someone who couldn't keep any information to themselves, even when they gained absolutely nothing from passing it on to someone else. This was a trait of the human species the Science Officer had never understood, only observed with mild disapproval. If it served no logical purpose to share possibly sensitive knowledge, why was the act of sharing it so necessary to some?
So far Spock himself knew that he was currently a carrier of two different strains of the same virus; one strain only capable of thriving in the body of a Vulcan, and the other resilient enough to infect a human before being destroyed by the violent immune response it evoked. Doctor McCoy had pumped as much antivirals in him as possible within the boundaries of safety, and by now both strains were most likely losing the battle. But merely killing off the infectious agents didn't get rid of the actual problem; Spock had brought the virus on board, and his body possessed enough human traits to provide the perfect platform for the virus to mutate. In addition to this, his immune system had been weakened by too infrequent vaccinations and lack of contact with fellow Vulcans, hence the virus' prolonged presence in his system.
But how was he supposed to explain all this to the crew without making them consider him as a walking biohazard? Or was there even anything left to explain if a member of the medical personnel had talked about the situation to a friend, who in turn told another friend?
The Commander slowly rolled onto his side and rounded his back in an attempt to ease the tension in his muscles. It hadn't been particularly challenging for him to pick the Captain up and carry him into the shower and onto the gurney, but it seemed he had neglected the proper technique of lifting another person and had used his back more than his legs. A sharp pain shot up his spine as he pushed his knees towards his chest, taut muscles rippling under his skin as they refused to relax. The rational thing to do would be to go back to sickbay and ask McCoy to take a look at the painful area, but Spock found himself reluctant to do as logic dictated. He was slightly hazy from all the medicines coursing through his bloodstream, and he found the idea of possibly adding yet another drug to the mix quite an undesirable option.
Something had happened when the Science Officer had dashed into the Captain's quarters and found the man laying sprawled on the floor with a puddle of vomit next to his head. His forehead had been scorching hot under the Vulcan's tentative fingers, and he had been unresponsive to being touched and spoken to. Spock's first thought had been to get the man under a cold shower in order to stop his temperature from rising, as it had been obvious that he had had a dangerously high fever. The course of action had been most logical, but there was no explanation to how and why had he suddenly forgotten everything he knew about carrying another person. He had willingly sprained his back without giving one thought to preventing such an injury.
The austere look in Spock's eyes darkened as he furrowed his arched eyebrows at this thought, and despite his aching muscles begging for rest he sat up and reached for his boots.
Dwelling on this subject was not the lesser of two evils.
-o-o-o-o-o-
The first sensation to break through the darkness of Kirk's dissolving unconsciousness was the repulsive smell of disinfectant. His chest heaved as he fought the urge to rid himself of whatever stomach contents he might still have, and his eyelids slowly flickered open to let in the blindingly bright lights of the sickbay. The hazy double vision his drugged brain provided him with made him feel even sicker, but he withstood the nausea with what little strength his body had. He saw two blue-clad blurry forms walk over to him and heard them speak in lowered voices, but he couldn't understand a word they said despite his efforts to concentrate on the syllables that rolled off their tongues. Kirk felt his left shoulder and leg being firmly grabbed, and he was briskly rolled onto his side. He was faintly aware that this was done to prevent him from possibly choking on his own vomit, but he wished they would have let him be; if anything, he was now more nauseated than before.
The hiss of a hypo accompanied by the mild, stinging pain in his shoulder evoked a recollection in him, but he was too groggy to grasp that elusive memory. A low groan was pushed out of his throat as someone suddenly reached out a hand to adjust his pillow, and it seemed to attract that person's attention. They set a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder and said something vaguely familiar, although he couldn't quite understand it through his medicated haze. Kirk nuzzled the pillow, another soft noise escaping him as he tried to produce speech with little success. His throat was drier than the red sands of Vulcan.
The presence on his bedside disappeared abruptly, only to be promptly replaced by another one. This one was much more familiar to him, and even though he couldn't quite focus his gaze on their face, the voice repeating his name could only belong to a certain Chief Medical Officer.
"Bones", Kirk managed to croak, struggling to keep his eyes open. Rest of the sentence came out as slurred nonsense, but the Doctor seemed to understand nevertheless.
"Just take it easy for a bit and I'll explain everything later."
Normally the Captain would have tried to protest, but for once he had no desire to rebel against the physician's recommendation. His body felt like it had been beaten to a pulp, and every move he made seemed to require ten times more effort than usually. The distinct feeling of cold had settled onto his shoulders, and he wished he could have expressed his gratitude properly when Nurse Chapel brought him an extra blanket. It was strangely pleasant to have people fussing over him when he felt so utterly miserable.
His heart sank, however, as he realized that the person he wanted at his bedside the most was nowhere to be seen. He didn't want to be so incredibly dependent on his First Officer, but the Vulcan's calming presence would have been most welcome during this moment of distress. Kirk shot a gaze at McCoy, who – judging by the look on his face – already knew what the Captain's next question would be, but allowed him to ask it nonetheless.
"Where's Spock?"
"On the bridge, tensing up the atmosphere", the Doctor replied with a crooked smile dancing on his lips. "I'll call him in a few minutes so he can come keep you company."
Kirk's eyes fell shut again, and he didn't bother wasting more energy to open them. This conversation was easier without eye contact anyway. "I need to... to talk to him."
It was a poor excuse and Kirk knew it, but he couldn't just say that he wanted Spock there just for the sake of having him around. He could have done with a little bit of support from someone who wasn't going to jab him with a bunch of hypos, but his ego didn't allow him to admit exactly how scared he was.
"I'll call him, but first we just need to make sure you're okay."
A pained sigh passed the Captain's lips as he pulled the blankets tighter around himself, reluctantly submitting to McCoy's protocols. He was dizzy and cold, and even though the nausea had subsided slightly he didn't feel well enough to start arguing. Kirk rounded his back and pulled his legs towards his chest in an attempt to find a more comfortable position and perhaps doze off while he waited for Bones to finally summon the Science Officer. It angered him that the physician wouldn't do it immediately even though every single member of the medical staff was more than competent to make sure he wasn't going to perish as soon as they turned their backs. And nobody was telling him anything about what was going on either.
Kirk's jaw clenched, but he remained quiet.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Distractions. He needed distractions.
Unfortunately the universe around Spock seemed to have other ideas. The workload dumped onto him due to the Captain's unavailability was completely and utterly dull, and the space around the Enterprise was empty and calm. When a message came through that a private vessel suspected of smuggling was under pursuit by two other Federation ships the First Officer's interest was immediately captured, but it faded quickly when further information reached him. The vessel had been chased to a completely different direction and was unlikely to maneuver back towards the Enterprise's current location. Spock wasn't certain what he had expected.
After hours of staring at the main screen, listening to the hum of machinery and occasionally going through a report someone handed him without so much as a greeting, the Science Officer couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering. Even his attention span – as infinite as it often seemed – had its limits when practically nothing was happening. Desperate to concentrate on anything other than the Captain's current state Spock leaped out of the commanding officer's chair and made a bee line to the turbolift, sharply stating to the bridge crew that he was going to visit Engineering. He felt their worried stares on his sore back as he left, but pretended he didn't notice.
The bridge crew knew that the Captain was unwell, but Spock had remained very reticent when it came to the origin of the illness. He suspected that they already knew, and was quite glad that they had so far spared him from having to explain the circumstances to them.
His involvement in the situation as patient zero was painfully obvious.
-o-o-o-o-o-
By the time Kirk finally heard Spock's voice coming from somewhere around the nurse's station the lights in the sickbay had already been dimmed for the night. He was aware that something had gone down between McCoy and the Science Officer – at least judging by the Doctor's uptight demeanor as he had returned from his mission to find the man – and the Captain was quite surprised to even see the Vulcan show up and run the risk of another confrontation. He wasn't upset with his First Officer, however; the relief of finally having him there ruled out all grievances. He heard Nurse Chapel talking to the First Officer in a lowered voice, but was able to make out the words "he might be sleeping".
Kirk huffed a bitter laugh to himself. As if he would be able to sleep.
The Captain raised his head from the pillow as he heard the quiet clacking of Spock's Cuban heels against the sickbay floor, and through the wisps of golden hair that fell on his face he saw the Vulcan turn the corner and enter the ward with a glass of water in his hand. Kirk produced a tired but genuine smile to greet his friend.
"Evening, Mister Spock."
"Evening." Spock seated himself in the chair that had been brought to the Captain's bedside hours ago. "Nurse Chapel requested that I bring you water", the Commander explained and offered the glass to the human. "She informed me that you are still slightly dehydrated."
A short and slightly labored laugh passed through Kirk's lips as he propped himself further up and accepted the drink. "Do you have any idea how much water they've made me drink today?"
"Knowing Doctor McCoy, a considerable amount."
Kirk took a careful sip, enjoying the coldness of the water. His temperature was still slightly higher than normal, but seeing as it had stabilized around 99 degrees McCoy had decided to let the fever run its course instead of inhibiting it. The cooling blankets were ready just in case, but so far it seemed they wouldn't be needed anymore. Kirk took a few more sips of water before handing the glass back to Spock, who placed it on the bedside table. During the brief silence the Captain had a chance to study his First Officer, and couldn't help noticing the slight tension in him. Biting his lip he wondered whether he would receive an answer if he asked about it, but Spock caught his stare before he could arrive to a conclusion.
"I apologize that I couldn't be here earlier", the Vulcan said with subtle regret and something almost akin to melancholy in his voice. "My presence was required throughout the day-"
"It's alright."
A brief silence fell between them, during which Spock's gaze wandered slightly to the side, breaking eye contact. He had an ever so slightly pained look on his face, but Kirk couldn't figure out what could possibly be the cause of it; his First Officer seemed healthy enough, and Vulcans in general weren't known to show signs of pain unless they were in absolute agony. Then again, it could be that the Captain was simply imagining it, or possibly even projecting his own discomfort on Spock; after all, he craved sympathy and comfort from a source that was unlikely to provide any.
"I assume Doctor McCoy has explained the circumstances to you?" Spock inquired tentatively, his gaze traveling back to meet Kirk's eyes. Kirk gave him a nod, a warm smile lingering on his lips.
"He gave me the short version. Apparently my body didn't take too kindly to a flu meant for a certain green-blooded species."
"I understand that a mere apology is not enough", the Science Officer said quietly, "but I am sorry that my failure to realize that I was still infectious-"
"Spock", Kirk interrupted sharply, his brows furrowing and smile quickly fading. "This isn't your fault."
"I'm afraid I must disagree. Had I been more careful, you may not have been infected."
Hearing this certainly cleared up a few things for the Captain – especially why the Vulcan seemed so unusually tense – but he could still barely believe the words that passed his First Officer's lips. It made no sense that his famously unemotional friend's judgement on the matter was so severely clouded by what appeared to be guilt.
"Spock", Kirk said with an exhausted sigh, and to emphasize his point grabbed the Vulcan's wrist. "Don't do that to yourself. Just... don't."
A muscle tensed in Spock's arm and he slowly looked down at the human's hand grasping his wrist only barely above the second rank stripe. Generally he didn't approve of people touching him without a proper reason, but the Captain had always been an exception to this rule. It seemed that casual physical contact came naturally to Kirk, and eventually the First Officer had gotten used to it, although with varying success. Having his hands touched still made him slightly uncomfortable due to the connotations such gestures held in the Vulcan culture, and thus grasping someone's wrist could be considered highly suggestive. Spock obviously understood that the Captain's intentions were much more innocent, but couldn't help trying to subtly shrink away from the touch. Much to his relief Kirk noticed.
"Sorry", the human said and let go of the Vulcan, giving a coy smile as he retracted his hand. He wasn't really that sorry, but for the sake of maintaining their friendship he figured it was for the best to at least sound apologetic. The warmth of Spock's skin seeping though the fabric of the blue uniform had been quite comforting, and Kirk balled his hand into a fist to savor it a little bit longer. A tight feeling coiled in his chest, and whereas it would have normally indicated a medical emergency the Captain knew that this time it was due to his growing thirst for solace now that he had gotten a small taste of it.
With a slight coolness in his tone Spock soothed: "No need to apologize, for I am aware that there were no... insinuations attached."
Kirk dropped all the way back onto his pillow and made a noise of amusement. He glanced at his friend in the sharpest way he could, marking his question as a challenge. "Even if there were I assume you would be completely unaffected?"
"Naturally", the Vulcan replied calmly. Kirk couldn't help feeling somewhat disappointed that his friend ignored the subtle provocation. Occasionally in situations like this Spock did humor him and engage in banter, but this time the Science Officer apparently couldn't be bothered. "There are some publications available if the subject is of interest to you."
"I think I'll pass on those." No sense of humor today, hm? The Captain thought and gave a short laugh that made his headache flare up again. It was probably advisable to try to get some sleep, and seeing as Spock was providing neither solace nor entertainment it was as good a time as any to call it a night. "Anyway, it was nice of you to visit me, Spock, but I think Bones is going to come scold me soon if I don't get as much sleep as possible."
"Indeed", came a prompt reply, and the First Officer stood up with careful grace. "My schedule permitting I'll call on you again sometime tomorrow."
"I'll hold you to that", the Captain teased and pulled the blankets higher. "Good night, Spock."
Something softened behind the Vulcan's dark gaze as he nodded. "Good night, Jim."
Kirk's tired smile lingered as he watched his First Officer leave, but his heart sank immediately as the lean form slipped around the corner and out of his sight. He wanted Spock to stay, but the mere presence of his friend was not enough to assure him that despite his bout of Vulcan flu, the universe wasn't out to get him.
He tightened his closed fist, but the added warmth in it had already dissipated.