Welp, it's been a while but here it is. I'd like to say thanks for all of the new follows and faves, they're all very appreciated. In addition, a massive thanks to Starlight Radiance for helping me out with this story and just being awesome in general :)

-Ace

-o-o-o-o-o-

A heavy exhale was all Spock managed as he stepped into his quarters. He was about ten minutes into his 30-minute lunchbreak, which left him with just enough time to freshen up before having to get back on the bridge. He hadn't had any sleep in days, and even though he was capable of staying awake for two weeks straight if he absolutely had to he was already feeling the effects of sleep-deprivation. Denying himself rest was going to become increasingly detrimental to his ability to function, but he had to keep moving. He was aware that whipping himself on this hard was not a sustainable way of handling things, but he kept telling himself that it was only a temporary solution until he found a better way. He did realize how faulty this system was as he was now too busy and tired to take care of any personal problems, but he had already fallen victim to the vicious cycle and much to his own surprise didn't really mind. Avoidance was the absolute worst way to deal with anything, but for now it was the most convenient one.

The door had barely closed behind the Commander as the door chime already gave a sudden whistle. His shoulders dropped and his hands curled into fists in poorly concealed frustration. Not immediately responding to the request to enter his quarters resulted in the door chime being pressed again, indicating some frustration on the other side of the door as well.

"Come in", he announced with an intentional sharp edge in his tone. One of his arched eyebrows crawled up towards his hairline in a very unimpressed motion as the door slid open and Doctor McCoy unceremoniously stepped through the doorway. He seemed alarmingly determined as he crossed his arms across his chest while he waited for the door to close before speaking up.

"I heard that you've been working almost nonstop for the past five days."

"Four days, nineteen hours-"

"Shut up", the physician snapped. "So I talked to Scotty and Chekov over lunch and what they said got me thinking. I'm guessing in your case 'working nonstop' literally means you haven't slept or eaten a proper meal since Friday?"

The Science Officer had a feeling he might not be able to get rid of the man quite as quickly as he would have hoped. McCoy was like nippy bulldog when he got it in his head that something wasn't right; he just wouldn't let go. "I'm currently performing the duties of two people. Having to make some sacrifices to accommodate the increased workload shouldn't come as such a surprise."

McCoy looked like the Vulcan had just spat at him. "Denying yourself food and sleep has nothing to do with work. Let's not even pretend that you don't know that."

The silence that fell between them gave Spock an opportunity to turn his back at the Chief Surgeon and take a seat behind his desk. The physical distance this put between them would hopefully help convey the Commander's disinterest in having this conversation. McCoy didn't seem to consider it as much of a hindrance.

"I was curious so I asked some questions, and guess what else I learned?" The Doctor flattened his hands on the surface of the desk and leaned over it so the Vulcan was forced to maintain eye contact. "You take a break every night during gamma shift to go run on the treadmill at the gym. For two hours. I know for a fact that you don't like running even nearly that much."

McCoy's stare was firmly fixed on the First Officer's face, hunting for even a hint of something resembling emotion behind the stoic mask. Noticing none he moved onto the final statement of his rant, which Spock hoped would result in the human leaving the subject alone and never bringing it up again. "This is about Jim, isn't it? Not much of a coincidence that as soon as he falls ill you start torturing yourself."

"Doctor, this conversation is not a constructive use of my time", Spock stated coldly, dark eyes staring daggers at the physician. "I have matters to attend to before my lunch break is over."

"You actually think I'll allow you to go back to work before you've had at least eight hours of sleep? There are rules about this stuff, you know."

"Ordinarily, yes. I should think you and I can both agree that these are no ordinary circumstances."

"Ordinary enough not to warrant giving yourself a stomach ulcer!" The Doctor growled without giving a single though to how uncomfortable the sudden increase in volume was to the Vulcan. "May I remind you that I have the power to declare you unfit for duty if I observe concerning changes in your behavior?"

Spock's mental exoskeleton performed as immaculately as always, allowing no emotion to trickle through. Beneath it, however, a sudden surge of anger and frustration was billowing in his veins with an alarming intensity. He had neglected his meditation long enough to begin slipping in his emotional control, and Doctor McCoy's blatant blackmail was severely trying is patience. He wanted to remain unhinged, battle it out rather than compromise, but it seemed the end result was going to be the same regardless. The physician would not make such a threat if he wasn't prepared to follow through. The Vulcan officer lowered his gaze but remained defiant even in the face of defeat.

"Very well, Doctor. But I will return to my duties tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., not a minute later."

"I suppose that'll do for now." McCoy backed off immediately upon receiving the answer he wanted and paced away from the Commander's well-organized desk in relaxed, fluid motions. "Look, I don't expect you to tell me what's going on but I can make a pretty decent guess. If nothing else, at least talk to Jim. I think you might both benefit from a good heart-to-heart."

"Heart-to-hearts are not how the Captain or myself handle personal matters."

"Never too late to start, Mister Spock", the Doctor mused as he headed to the door, much to Spock's relief. "Talk to him or the next time I'm going to be much more unpleasant to deal with."

The Vulcan waited for the Chief Surgeon to make his way out of the door before perking an eyebrow and muttering to himself: "You couldn't, Doctor, even if you tried."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Kirk had been told in the past that he was somewhat restless by nature, and waiting to be released from sickbay certainly brought out that side of him. He couldn't help fidgeting like a schoolboy in detention while he waited for McCoy to finish all the paperwork involved. Earlier he had gotten a very stern lecture about the importance of rest and general not-being-a-dumbass, which only added to his antsiness since he was already absolutely fed up with having nothing to occupy himself with. There was an abundance of books in the library database, of course, but he couldn't concentrate on reading with all the pent-up energy he had accumulated. He needed exercise and something useful to do, and he feared his head might explode if he didn't figure something out.

As McCoy was finally done with the formalities he gave Kirk the permission to go, and just as the man was about to make his near euphoric waltz through the sickbay door the doctor barked in his Southern drawl: "Just so you know, I'll be keeping an eye on you. Don't do anything stupid."

Kirk spun around and flashed his most innocent smile. "I'd never."

The Chief Surgeon raised a brow at him and shook his head, grumbling something indignant under his breath. He seemed to be in a foul mood. The Captain settled for a short laugh as a sufficient response and stepped into the hallway, a smile still lingering on his face. There was a giddy bounce to his strides as he made his way to the nearest turbolift, and he had a very hard time resisting the impulse to take a little detour and visit the bridge. Kirk turned the handle of the turbolift, and stated his destination with slight disappointment in his voice. It would have been fun to show up unannounced and surprise the bridge crew, but he suspected that McCoy would most likely find out about it eventually and he didn't exactly want to purposefully evoke the doctor's wrath. He knew better, even though he simultaneously tried to find a way to convince himself otherwise.

Upon emerging from the turbolift he immediately attracted the attention of the crew members walking by in the deck five corridor his quarters were located in. He was in casual clothing, and probably looked like he had just been woken up from hibernation. The Captain was greeted with distant politeness, but he couldn't help noticing the wary curiosity in his crew's eyes; an indicator that despite Kirk's requests, his First Officer had been quite reticent about what was going on.

His quarters were dark and silent as he entered, and turning on the lights revealed that his living space had been cleaned while he had been in sickbay; no doubt to ensure that there was absolutely no possibility of him becoming infected again. Bones had mentioned that since the virus was of alien origin, the human immune system would never develop immunity to it on its own. So far both Kirk and Spock had been prodded with needles more than enough to last them a lifetime in order to not only manufacture a vaccine for the new strain, but to also send some blood samples back to Earth for research purposes. Only very few strains of Vulcan influenza were a threat to humans, and therefore the discovery of a new mutation was of interest. To Spock it had been more or less humiliating.

Kirk unzipped and kicked off his boots, and sauntered through his quarters to the bathroom with the intention to wash off the smell of disinfectant that seemed to be clinging onto every molecule of his body. A quick glance into the mirror above the sink confirmed that he did still look slightly ragged and pale, even though he mostly felt just fine. For the past few days he had suffered from muscle soreness from staying in bed for so long, and his neck and shoulders protested with a dull ache as he pulled his black hoodie and wifebeater over his head. The rest of his clothing joined the temporary laundry pile on the tiled floor, and the Captain stepped into the shower cubicle promising himself that he'd put everything in the laundry basket later. Getting the sickbay smell off of him was a more immediate concern in his current state of lack of responsibilities.

The hot water felt soothingly relaxing against the Captain's upper back, and apart from the sound of running water it was blissfully quiet compared to the constant noise of the ship's medical department. He attended to his shoulders first, kneading every tense fiber of sinewy muscle tissue with his fingertips in motions that vaguely resembled the Vulcan nerve pinch. Spock had tried to teach him the technique on multiple occasions, but so far all Kirk had gained from the exercises was a fairly effective method of dealing with a sore neck. The Science Officer had been mildly amused by this discovery, remarking that it might have more applications than a successfully performed nerve pinch. Compliments like that weren't something Spock usually handed out very readily; a fact that made Kirk feel exceptionally privileged.

The Captain grabbed the bottle of shower gel resting in the soap holder, squeezed some of it onto the palm of his hand and began the process of massaging it onto every inch of his skin to remove any trace of the dull antibacterial soap he had had to subject himself to for the past week. The weirdly chemical smell of it simply didn't leave him feeling clean enough, and quite frankly turned his stomach. He was already very fond of long showers, but trying to rinse off the smell had on most days kept him in the shower for at least forty-five minutes, which had earned him McCoy's unabashed disapproval. But now Kirk was free to cover himself from head to toe in appropriately scented shower gel and soak under the spray of hot water to his heart's content, and he intended to enjoy his regained freedom by detaching himself from the world for the next half an hour. The cloud of warm steam clung to the glass of the shower cubicle and condensed into an opaque layer of fog, forming a cocoon that isolated him from the tedious realities of his current existence. And yet, as soon as he gave some rein to his thoughts, they circled right back to what had landed him in sickbay in the first place.

His memories of the events that had unfolded after he had collapsed in his quarters were still very hazy and vague at best, but he had been plagued by some faint recollections that he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember fully or forget completely. He remembered being placed under a flow of freezing water, his limp body propped up against his Vulcan second-in-command. The First Officer's arms around him, and the relative coolness of Spock's skin against his feverish forehead. The steadfast protectiveness with which Spock had held him. Something about it all seemed to have revived an old, deep-seeded emotional need in him, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. Initially he had greeted it with certain bittersweetness like one would a long-lost friend, but its unexpected persistence had quickly evoked concern in him. The feeling gnawed at him constantly, lurking at the back of his mind even when he tried his best to remain distracted. He had spent many of his nights in sickbay desperately going through his vocabulary to at least find a suitable word to describe it, but with little success. It wasn't completely unfamiliar to him as he had spent years willingly carrying it with him as a form of self-punishment, but after working hard to rid himself of it he wasn't ready to welcome it back with quite such open arms.

They were close, Spock and him, but Kirk often felt almost disappointed that there was still a certain barrier of formality between them. Granted, it was infinitely better than how things had been between them back when the Captain had been assigned to assume command on the Enterprise; Spock had been as compliant as he was now – perhaps even more so, since he was now more comfortable disagreeing – but quite curt and almost cold towards the new commanding officer. It had taken two months before the Vulcan had even agreed to eat lunch with the new captain. Eventually they had somehow established a friendship, which had been the first time Kirk had found himself gravitating to his First Officer more than he was perhaps supposed to.

The Captain recoiled; there was a word that came to his mind, but for the sake of his sanity and his friendship with the Commander he stopped himself from giving it further thought. It was tempting to give up on his denial, but the risks of doing so were far too great even for someone used to taking a gamble.

Kirk turned off the shower in angry motions. I love him as a friend, he told himself, his inner voice a furious growl. And that's all there is to it.

…right?

-o-o-o-o-o-

Walking around late at night after Doctor McCoy had explicitly told him to get some sleep or else was a calculated risk on Spock's part. Seeing as the only other person currently in a similar predicament was the Captain, it was only logical to conclude that keeping each other company was the ideal way to kill time. He had a sneaking suspicion that the human was still awake since any extended period of idleness tended to make the man an insomniac. The Iowan's intensity was an asset in his work, of course, but in circumstances like these it was very much a disadvantage. Spock couldn't really relate to such susceptibility to frustration since he wasn't even nearly as restive, but even so he was fairly certain that the Captain might appreciate having someone to be bored with.

The only problem with the current plan was the fact that much like the Science Officer, Kirk appeared to have decided that a late-night stroll was in order. It made him significantly harder to locate, but Spock was counting on the fact that there were only so many places the man could go without running the risk of encountering the Chief Medical Officer. The Vulcan wondered whether the decision to leave their respective quarters was actually more about rebelling against the good doctor's orders just for the heck of it, rather than warding off boredom. It seemed very likely, for they both had a very prominent streak of innate stubbornness.

In the galley he only found a group of sleepy-eyed lieutenants, and the observation deck was completely empty. The gym was the next logical place to check, although Spock wasn't sure he liked the possibility that the Captain might be exercising so soon after such a personal experience with the Vulcan flu. Granted, Spock had been quite unwell himself, but his friend could have been dead within a few hours. McCoy had confirmed that neither the virus itself nor the high fever seemed to have caused any permanent damage, but nevertheless the Captain's recovery would take much longer than the Commander's. The Vulcan grit his teeth; he had been the one to bring the virus aboard and to infect Kirk with it due to simple carelessness. He still insisted to himself that he should've been the one to suffer the greater consequences.

Had someone asked Spock would've certainly denied having been even the slightest bit worried when the Captain had seemingly been nowhere to be found, but finding the human did evoke mild relief in him. Kirk was the only one at the gym, standing alone in the middle of the tatami and practicing knife-throwing on one of the foam targets used for recreational archery. The man shot a glance towards the doorway and gave a smile the Vulcan wished he could somehow adequately respond to.

"I see you've decided to give the throwing knives another go", Spock commented with a touch of amusement in his voice. The last time the Captain had attempted to master the art of knife-throwing he had very quickly lost patience and sworn that from there on his set of knives was going to remain purely decorative. It seemed the sick leave was starting to get to him.

"I have read and I have slept", Kirk stated with a short laugh, "which means I'm running out of things I'm currently allowed to do."

For a moment Spock considered admitting that his activities were also at present under the watchful eye of the Chief Surgeon. He decided against it, as Kirk was unlikely to accept a cursory explanation as to why. "Have you made progress?"

"Does it look like it?" The Captain threw the last knife he had in his hands, watched as the hilt hit the target instead of the blade and the knife joined the three others on the tatami. The man gestured towards the empty foam target and tilted his head as an invite for Spock to either mock or console him. The Vulcan didn't like the narrow selection of choices, especially since neither of them were particularly productive.

"I can instruct you on the technique if you'd like."

"Thanks, but maybe another time", Kirk declined, his smile turning shy. "I'll hold you to that, though."

Spock gave a nod of acknowledgement and approached in calm motions, not giving away any of the concern that had just moments ago coiled in his chest like a cornered rattlesnake. He didn't want to in turn give his friend a reason to worry as there was enough going on as it was. Unfortunately, the Captain had become very good at reading him, although his attention seemed to have been diverted by the obvious.

"You're looking a little rough. Everything okay?"

The Commander's right eyebrow made an escape towards his hairline at the comment regarding his tired appearance. Surely it wasn't as obvious as his friend suggested. "I have spent the majority of the past two days engaged in petty politics with Starfleet to find out why our twenty-four-hour maintenance stop at Starbase 11 has been extended to seventy-two."

"Well that doesn't sound good."

"We've been assigned to hand over some cargo to USS Potemkin, but she's estimated to arrive approximately seventy hours after us. Our orders are to wait in orbit."

An expression of mild irritation spread onto the Captain's face to replace his smile as he asked: "And I'm guessing the cargo in question is considered a biohazard, therefore transferring it from one ship to another is going to be an ordeal?"

"Affirmative."

"Thought so", Kirk grumbled bleakly. Protocols regarding the transfer of hazardous materials varied in strictness depending on the substance, of course, but vials of blood containing an entirely new strain of a highly infectious virus most certainly would be considered worthy of more precautions than just a 'handle with care' sticker.

The human's eyes sought out Spock's, and the Commander recognized it as a look of sympathy.

"How do you feel about all that?"

"Jim, what is the one characteristic the Vulcan culture is famous for?"

"You know what I mean", Kirk scorned with attempted sternness, but his distinct for-Spock's-eyes-only smirk undermined the façade as he fondly added: "Smartass."

Spock thoughtfully tilted his head to the side, hands formally clasped behind his back. "The new strain needs to be studied thoroughly and the Federation laboratories on Earth are the best place for that as the threat the virus poses to humans is not insignificant."

"But we managed to contain it. Doesn't that suggest that this particular one will only ever exist in a lab from now on?"

"Quite correct, and I must admit that I, for one, am quite content with that."

Kirk uttered a short laugh in response, slightly shaking his head. "Can't say I'm going to miss it much myself."

The conversation came to a pause and both men were left standing there rather awkwardly. The Vulcan one of the two would have gladly discussed more work related matters if all of them hadn't involved the subject that had brought their pleasant chat to a halt in the first place. Tension was once again suddenly present in the room, even though they had in several occasions talked about what had happened and at least in theory it was supposed to be over and dealt with. But something at the back of Spock's mind kept trying to prompt him to say anything that could potentially make things return to the way they were. He couldn't find the appropriate set of words to use from his otherwise extensive vocabulary no matter how much he searched, and as long as he didn't say what needed to be said he was sure he was driving a wedge between himself and his friend.

Said friend nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Listen, uh… I should probably head back and try to sleep some more."

"Yes, that would be advisable", the Commander agreed and interrupted his train of thought. He could return to it once he was alone, but for now he wanted to direct his full attention back to Kirk, and specifically his mood. Currently there wasn't much change from the usual, except he was perhaps a bit less talkative than normally. That, and he didn't seem to be interested in any prolonged interaction; he had turned down Spock's offer to help him grasp the technique of knife-throwing, was already leaving and so far hadn't made any suggestions to perhaps meet up in the following days for lunch or a game of chess.

The human was quick to collect his knives and place them back into their case in complete silence. Once done, he began making his way out of the gym while avoiding further eye contact with his second-in-command. "Good night, Mister Spock."

Kirk's decision to depart was so sudden and unexpected that Spock was momentarily stricken with a complete lack of any suitable phrases that might buy him some time to find out what was going on. He grabbed the Captain by the upper arm as the man was about to pass him, confident that he could figure something out. The superior officer was stopped in his tracks, and Spock expected to see anger as the Iowan's head whipped around and their eyes locked. What he received instead was an unmistakable deer-in-the-headlights stare, and he heard his friend's breath hitch as if he had just punched him in the stomach. A well-defined bicep instantly tensed underneath the Vulcan's slightly exaggerated grip.

"Jim", he said, his voice slightly lowered to gently coax out an answer. "Is everything all right?"

Fingers closed around Spock's wrist and pried him off, a fingernail digging into the heel of his hand.

"Yes. Why?"

"You seem distant."

"I've got a lot on my mind." Kirk's fingers curled tighter and pushed down on the fluttering artery below the base of the Science Officer's thumb. "Just need some alone time."

Spock swallowed slowly and looked down at his trapped hand. They had had a conversation before about how he would appreciate it if his wrists weren't touched. He wondered if his friend was doing this as a way of testing his nerve. The contact had lasted a lot longer than was required to make him release his grip, and his friend had searched out the spot on which his rapid pulse was very easy to feel. Something a fellow Vulcan would only do under very specific circumstances.

"If it's anything I can help with…"

"This one needs to be dealt with alone", the Captain stated, finally relinquishing his grasp as if he had suddenly remembered that he was still holding onto the slender, blue-clad wrist. "I appreciate the offer, though. Thank you."

A tight knot formed underneath Spock's diaphragm as the men wished good night to one another and the human walked out in steps that were needlessly restrained, as if he was holding himself back to look like he wasn't trying to make a quick escape. The Commander's thoughts were tied in an endlessly looping pretzel as he watched the Iowan leave; he couldn't recall an occasion – in recent history at least – in which he had been this unsure as to what to make of an interaction between himself and the Captain. It made him immensely uncomfortable that he couldn't brute force it into any form of logical mold that would've fit nicely into the jigsaw puzzle of things he knew about James Kirk. Something was different now.

Despite his familiarity with how Kirk's mind worked Spock couldn't tell if the man was in fact in need of alone time or almost desperate to share whatever burden he was carrying, but for some reason felt he couldn't verbally express that. The way he had clutched the Vulcan's wrist would point towards the latter, but the Science Officer was hesitant to make assumptions with so little to go on. It had been quite a way to attract his attention, however, given that Kirk had been educated about that particular section of Vulcan culture and customs.

Perhaps…

No, surely not. The more likely options needed to be exhausted first before he even touched that subject.

Personal reasons weren't enough of a justification to ignore the logical order of priorities.