Spock? And a dog? What a concept! I know, it's definitely not 'a thing' in the fandom, but, listen. I just really love Spock and I just really love dogs. I had to write this story. I'm excited to dig into this fic, guys. Let me know what you think of it so far! LLAP my lil Trekkies.

It had been eight days since his last migraine. Six days since the beam-down to Lyro. One day since he and Doctor McCoy had last seen each other, tensely brushing shoulders in the supply room, illogically causing Spock to briefly consider fetching new boots at a later time.

So why was he again experiencing a migraine? Spock rarely had headaches, though yes, sometimes, they did occur. He estimated he experienced one mild headache once every 10.72 months, but migraines? Discounting the recent one, he'd only ever had one before in his entire life. Yet, in hardly more than eight solar days, he'd had two.

The first, he told himself, was logically explainable. The night prior, he'd shared a subspace call with his mother. She was sharing the news that one of the elder's had passed, but, elders had passed before without specific notification. Spock knew it was a veiled excuse for her to speak with her only son without the direct correlation of her simply wishing to see him. Sarek had joined the call, and after hardly three minutes of discussion, Sarek had ended it.

Perhaps you should remember to owe Vulcan what Ty'lillit served. A Vulcan to be remembered for history, a death celebrated because of the accomplishments of her life.

What are your implications, Father?

There are no implications, unless there is something applicable to be heard.

And so he had a migraine. He and his father's mental link had long been dormant, but their discussion had not only woken it, but torn a formidable rift within it. It had taken four hours of meditation to subdue the effects.

So, though he did not wish to admit it to himself, that particular migraine was justifiable. It was also unfortunate, for it had somehow pierced Spock enough to show on his features and prompt an inquiry from the ship's chief medical officer. That conversation had most notably added to the length of meditation Spock performed to control the migraine.

Perhaps Spock had not experienced two separate migraines in the past eight days, but rather one inconsistent one. That was likely. It had been controlled, but due to the increasing tensions with McCoy, it had returned. At any other regular time, the human doctor could never have such a physical effect on Spock, but, because of the migraine's initial configuration, it was a possibility.

How inconvenient.

Leonard McCoy was a smidge late coming into the mess hall, or at least late compared to most days. He'd overslept by setting his alarm for 1500 rather than 0500, because who doesn't like being reminded that they're growing older and losing their damn mind already?

So he slugged himself in, his hair not entirely brushed, and he plopped himself down with a pair of medical lab hands who were chatting about…well, he wasn't sure. Something boring. He took a grateful sip of his very black coffee, and with a twitch of his brow, noticed Spock sitting alone halfway across the room. Well, not entirely alone, as he hadn't been entirely alone for the past, what, week now? She was there, sitting right beside the green-blooded bastard.

McCoy took a somewhat spiteful bite out of his bread roll as he observed them. The Vulcan hadn't noticed him. His nose was in his PADD, only a steaming ceramic mug of tea on the table, with one hand resting on the back of the dog's head. Hmm. Only tea again.

The doctor swallowed and brought his bread down to the table. The sight of the two of them was bizarre, for sure. Particularly because each of them were so bizarre individually. Together, well, they were quite the package.

But yet, they seemed so normal together. As if the sentence 'Spock has a dog and also they like each other' was as regular as the weather report. And that was the most bizarre of all.

McCoy had met with Cagn the past night to discuss the animal's adjustments. Phenomenal, the veterinarian had said. Phenomenal, her bandages have just been removed and she's showing nothing but progress. The strange components of the disease are still present in her bloodstream, but as we discovered that first day, it's simply a benign thing. Nothing of concern.

And being the blissful man he was, Cagn was simply tickled by Commander Spock's mystical effect on Kiv. That's what she's called, Leonard! How simply astonishing. She's been given a name. What better place for that dog to be than on the Enterprise?

How about Earth? McCoy thought grumpily. Literally Earth would be a better place to be.

Christ, he felt just so damned tired. It was that kind of tired where you can feel your eyeballs in your skull, you can physically feel exhaustion on your skin like it was a piece of clothing hanging off your body. It wasn't like he'd not been sleeping on purpose, dammit, Leonard McCoy treasured sleep!

Now, he didn't describe himself as a 'creative' man, but, he hadn't eradicated his imagination. Before falling asleep, to keep his mind from racing into the count of how many different colors of blood he'd seen on his hands, or from thinking about how easily it would be for the ship to be found on a collision course with an asteroid, McCoy liked to make up stories. Little fiction stories, things that didn't mean much of anything, to keep his mind on peace. A little yoga for the thoughts. And he'd swiftly fall asleep.

Now somehow Spock had a sixth sense for How To Piss Off Leonard, and he was rather gifted in that area, but he never truly bothered the doctor. Annoyed and irritated and pissed him off, yes, but, he wasn't his worst enemy. He was a green blooded troll, sure, but, he was also the first officer of the USS Enterprise. He was still one of the most distinguished cadet graduates and upstanding officers. He was still, by definition, a genius. If Leonard hated the man, he'd have to declare himself an idiot.

But to be blatantly tense with Spock, Spock who wouldn't allow himself to feel a damned thing, not even tension…well there must really be something wrong. Maybe that's why this had bothered him so much. Maybe that's why those little fiction stories weren't quite doing the trick this past week.

Maybe he even respected the damned Vulcan.

In any case, the time for apologies had long passed. Besides, he'd already given that a shot. McCoy knew the tension would die down, of course it would. Time diluted all things. But he and Spock would likely not quite ever be the same, and strangely, that almost upset him. He didn't really think about it consciously, because consciously he disliked the beanpole, but somewhere in the pit of his belly, he knew he enjoyed their sparing. Their strangely benevolent fights. But where the sparing had once been under-toned with a hint of amusement and competitiveness, now it would be with enmity.

Kiv was resting her head on Spock's lap, both of them completely unbothered. McCoy wasn't aware he was lightly shaking his head. Of all people…

He'd heard a few officers from the science department commenting on how they hoped the dog's attachment to Spock would loosen the Vulcan up a bit, maybe make him go a bit soft. McCoy had snickered to himself when they lamented how that hadn't happened at all, and he was still as hard and meticulous as ever.

Well, what else would he be?

Was this a planet-borne disease?

I don't know, Admiral Florence.

Well who was the first patient? Who started this? Which region of the planet did it combust from?

I don't know, Admiral.

How quickly did it overcome the population?

Admiral, I don't know.

Captain Kirk…I must admit, Starfleet is deeply disturbed by whatever happened to Lyro. I'm deeply disturbed. Plagues can be an expected thing, when the number of planets under the United Federation is growing so, but plagues are stopped. Plagues are controlled. This was catastrophic, on a level we have never seen before. It's almost unbelievable.

Admiral, I understand your concerns. I truly do. I saw them myself, I saw the horror that was thrust upon that planet. I wish to know the answers just as you do, but we've done everything we can to backtrack the disease. It's traces are evasive, ambiguous. I don't have answers for you. Some things in the universe are simply meant to be mysteries…

…is that all, Admiral?

The dog is healthy, Captain?

The dog is healthy, Admiral.