Chapter 2 - Earl-Eye in the Morning

Kirk leaned on the table and slid along the bench to the edge.

"Reminds me of a joke. Why do dilithium miners drink standing up?" Kirk leaned harder on the table and pushed to his feet. He waited there several breaths. Spock suspected the nerves in Kirk's inner ear were too chemically inhibited to be helpful in determining vertical orientation.

Spock came around the table and waited at ready.

Kirk tugged his uniform down. "So they're not surprised when they do."

The bartender came over with a pay terminal. Spock had a credit chit out before Kirk, partly because the latter lost his balance checking his pockets and had to lean on the table again.

"No fights tonight," the bartender said pleasantly. "Good night. Boring. But good. When you showed up with a Russian and a Scot I thought we were in for it. But they were good earth boys. When they get to the colonies it's all over."

Kirk swayed his way to the doorway with pure force of will and leaned on the doorframe. A misty rain was falling. Kirk's respiration was elevated as was his heart rate. Spock could just hear the beats of it over the hiss of the rain. He resisted using his tricorder.

"I recommend beaming aboard, Captain."

"You recommended that already," Kirk said, voice as unsteady as his body. "Proving Pike right about your arguing. Are there aircabs?"

"There are a handful that go between the city and the spaceport. I believe a groundcar would be easier to hire."

Kirk slid around the doorframe and stood outside under the overhang. "Pike forgot to mention you were a pedant."

"If I may speak plainly, sir?"

Kirk waved a clumsy hand to say he could.

"Specificity-"

" . . . is critical on a mission. I know." Kirk smiled. Yet another kind of smile. An apologetic one.

Spock pulled his tricorder out. "There are three groundcabs waiting at the edge of the Bowrey, Captain."

Kirk rubbed his neck and peered into the mist. The signage and lightwire doorways reflected off the pools on the roadway, spires of light beneath a dark glass surface. It smelled of moss and caves and distant dust turned to mud.

Spock let the tricorder hang on its strap and waited, hands latched behind his back. More than a decade under Pike and he had no experience to draw upon for his next action. Pike had been careful about maintaining his own control. He had often pretended to drink rather than actually doing so. And Spock had no experience with how Kirk may or may not react to assistance other than that he refused to involve the ship.

The mist was collecting into watery gems on Spock's boots and the black edge of his cuffs.

"I suspect you don't like getting wet," Kirk said.

Was this an invitation to offer another suggestion? Spock had no other suggestions. He said, "It is not preferable, but it is certainly not harmful."

Kirk righted himself by bracing his elbow against the door frame. His inner ear had apparently completely stopped functioning.

Kirk tossed his chin. "How far to the cabs?"

"Point six two of a kilometer."

Kirk pushed off with a determined air. His steps were brisk but uneven. Spock remained just beside, certain that the hazy darkness and the many reflections would make it impossible to balance indefinitely on vision alone, especially with a sluggish reaction time.

As they approached a thrumming club with a strobe flashing in a light cage around a tunnel entryway, Kirk grabbed Spock's forearm and put half his body weight on it as he fell into him.

Spock grabbed his arms and righted him, holding firm until he stopped swaying. Kirk had made it considerably farther than expected.

A loud group of ore haulers stumbled by, seemingly unaware of the rain. Spock waited for them to pass, adjusting his hold as Kirk's balance shifted.

"Would you accept more assistance?" Spock asked.

Kirk looked up at him. Mist collected immediately on his eye lashes. "If you're offering. Can't say no."

Spock put Kirk's right arm around his own shoulder and held fast to that hand. He looked around to orient himself relative to his last view of the tricorder and started walking.

"That's better," Kirk mumbled. "Thanks."

Kirk managed to match his pace now that he no longer needed to balance. At a bend in the street, Spock stopped. Kirk looked around, then rubbed his face on his sleeve.

"This way." Spock headed for a dark gap between the fake wood shake front of a fortune teller and a tattoo animation parlor.

Kirk stumbled and, for a few steps until they halted, Spock had all of his weight.

"You sure?" Kirk sounded nearly unconscious.

"It shortens the distance by half."

"If you can. See. Then fine." Kirk's head hung limp. Water droplets formed on his hair and dripped off. He shook his head and raised it. Spock could feel the effort it required through their physical contact. Kirk's system was far more inhibited than he was allowing to show.

They shuffled sideways to fit through the gap. The alley widened out but contained stacks of pallets and discarded plastic barrels.

"You can see?" Kirk held his free hand out before him. "I see I think. The other end. No."

"Do you wish to go the other way, Captain?"

Spock could feel Kirk's shoulder muscles tense then loosen.

"No, I trust you can see."

Spock adjusted his hold and took three quarters of Kirk's weight, leaving him enough force on his feet to walk normally. Kirk could barely manage. At least they were out of the rain.

"Captain, if you become incapacitated I will assume command and beam you to the ship."

"Duly noted. Commander."

They were most of the way through the alleyway when Kirk, apparently seeing the other side, increased the pace and put his foot through a pallet. Wood and fasteners rasped on concrete. Kirk grabbed at the air and Spock arrested his fall. The pallet slipped farther out from underneath Kirk, twisting his leg. Spock felt pain shoot through Kirk's ankle despite his boot as it pried at the slats.

Spock put his arms around him and hefted him level with ease. Kirk clung to him, both arms behind his neck. His acute disorientation in the darkness pounded at Spock's shielded mind.

Spock put a toe on the pallet, and lifted Kirk bodily by the ribcage. Kirk tossed his boot free and fell even more heavily into him trying to regain his feet. He was breathing heavily.

"You're warm," Kirk slurred.

Spock didn't move right away. People were walking by in the street ahead of them. But the two of them were well in darkness. Had someone fifteen days ago happened to ask him the odds that he would two weeks hence be bodily hugging his new captain in an alleyway of a spaceport, he would have cited odds not quite astronomical, but certainly close to it. His mathematical model would not have included sufficient extreme variability to the factors involving Kirk.

When it was quiet again, Spock said, "Are you ready to continue, Captain?"

The reply came from far closer to Spock's ear than voices usually came from. "How far?"

"About as far as we have come again."

Kirk's forehead rested heavier on Spock's shoulder. Spock resisted suggesting they beam out. Kirk was perfectly capable of remembering the previous two times it was suggested.

Kirk sounded sober as he chuckled, "What's worse, the transporter chief gossiping, or you carrying me?"

"Those sound equal to me, Captain."

"I didn't mean to get to this state."

Spock thought again of Mitchell. It caused more emotion to pulse through him than holding his captain did. If the first officer were willing to undermine the captain for the reward of a few hours with a woman the captain had an eye on, what limits did he have?

"Let's go," Kirk mumbled.

"Yes, sir."

Spock had a firm hold on Kirk as they stepped out from the alley. The pain in Kirk's ankle seemed to help his concentration and they made the cab stand relatively easily. Spock inserted a credit chit and the doors to the four-seater clamshelled open. Kirk swung himself awkwardly into the back and hung on the back of the seat ahead of him, head between his arms.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

Kirk nodded without looking up.

Spock decided he could better assist from the back if Kirk got into difficulty on the ride. He slid into the seat beside him and pressed the button for the doors. Kirk flopped back and canted his head between the headrests, eyes scrunched shut. The lights dimmed inside and the cab hummed to life and surged away down the empty streets.

Other than one groan on a sharp corner, the journey was in silence.

At the hotel, Spock levered Kirk out of the back and steered him to the lift with only a hand on his elbow. Kirk leaned against the lift wall and felt around in his pockets.

"I don't have a key." Kirk stopped to rub his head. "Wait, yes I do." He blindly handed over a plastic chit. "1125."

The lift responded to hearing a number and began ascending.

Kirk scrubbed his face. "Thanks for bringing me to my room, Mr. Spock." He dropped his hands. His eyes were excessively bloodshot. "Thanks for not calling the ship."

"I remain in disagreement with that, Captain."

"Noted."

The lift doors opened, Kirk tried to walk unaided and clipped his shoulder on the retracted lift door. Knocked off balance, he landed on his knees in the circular hallway.

"That will teach me." Kirk put a foot flat to stand but swayed and did not attempt it.

Spock held out a hand. Kirk took it. Remained on the floor. Looked at Spock.

"You are surprisingly strong," Kirk said.

Spock nodded and waited for Kirk to put tension on his hand before pulling him to his feet.

In the room, Kirk stumbled to the bed, clumsily tugged off his boots, then stumbled to the toilet.

Spock looked out the window over the curved couch lining the curved window and listened to the water running, splashing. In a similar state induced by illness, Pike would not only shun additional offered assistance, it would produce a backlash. Nevertheless, it was Spock's duty to do his best shy of contacting the ship.

In the kitchenette he dried his hair on a towel then found bottles of lemon soda to which he added precise measures of table salt in a slow stream while circulating the bottle so as to not cause an eruption of fizz. He placed these on the bedside table and retreated to the window again.

Kirk emerged and made it to the bed with some effort, entered a tugging war with his rain darkened shirt, which he eventually won, and collapsed backwards upon the covers with his uniform draped over his bare chest.

Spock approached, prepared to be reprimanded for doing so.

"Captain?"

There was a pause. "Hm?"

"In your condition, you should sleep on your side in case you take ill. As well," Spock picked up a soda bottle and held it out. "You should consume this."

Kirk sat up with a grunt and rolled onto his elbow and accepted the bottle. He drank it in three swallows.

"Oh. That's better." He rubbed his eye, pulled the pillow closer and fell sideways upon it.

Spock sat on the couch, grateful for the heater running behind him, and with his tricorder set on mute, scanned Kirk remotely. When a scan showed he was asleep, Spock crept back to the bed and pulled the free half of the bed cover over him.

To avoid thinking about the decision to remain on the Enterprise, Spock meditated on his research projects. He invented sample data to merge with already collected data and predicted what kinds of result strength could be expected and whether any adjustment should be made and the collection restarted.

At nine hundred hours, the door to the room slid open and Lt. Commander Mitchell strode in. When he spotted Spock, he stopped.

"What are you doing here, Lieutenant?"

He spoke in a normal voice and Kirk stirred on the bed.

Spock knew Mitchell knew his correct rank, and that it was equal to his own. But as first officer, he was Spock's superior. Rather than correct the error, which Mitchell likely wanted him to do, Spock revealed nothing of his reaction, a mode he was practiced at, albeit from a time before he joined Starfleet.

Spock said, "The captain was unable to return to his room unaided."

Mitchell glanced at Kirk, who had rolled over onto his back and begun snoring quietly.

Mitchell shrugged. "So? He's here now."

"He consumed a mixture of alcohol and related synthetic compounds that were capable of rendering him physically ill. I thought it best to remain." Mitchell rankled him so badly he was retreating into an ultra Vulcan mode. To his own ears, Spock sounded like one of his cousins rather than himself.

Mitchell scoffed. "Jim's an old drinker. It would take a lot more than that to hurt him."

"Am I to assume that you will assume responsibility for his care, Commander?"

Mitchell smiled in a way that hadn't been in Kirk's repertoire. It struck Spock as mocking. "Yes, Mr. Spock. I will. Run along."

Spock nodded as if this was a perfectly normal interaction and departed.