Title: Unorthodox Therapy
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Rating: G
Word Count: 964
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for Spock's Brain
Summary: Missing tag scene for Spock's Brain. McCoy and Spock have their own way of helping their captain forget his migraine...
A/N: There's a leeeeetle TNG nod in here; can you spot it? Also, don't ask where this sprang from; the train of thought was a bit weird. Intended originally to be a serious piece and really - how can it be, after that worst-of-all-implausible-even-for-Trek-episode? :P Vive la random. I may be on crack but who cares...
As was his unfortunate habit after stressful situations, the captain of the U.S.S Enterprise was at present merrily barreling his way along the path to a migraine of epic proportions. With adrenaline having vanished under the onslaught of relief, coupled with a thorough dressing-down and seriously threatened repercussions from his superiors for a completely blatant violation of the Prime Directive, Captain Kirk was not a merry man.
The admiral in question's suggestion, basically that the Federation Council would have preferred he left the primitive civilization alone to develop, and simply let them have Spock's brain, had been the tipping point in a mounting scale of verbal warfare, and the ever-growing tension between Kirk and his superiors had blown up spectacularly in front of the whole bridge crew.
Not, admittedly, the best day he'd had in a long time.
His Chief Medical Officer and newly-restored First had practically dragged him, scowling and quietly swearing in Klingon, off the Bridge for a meal in Officers' Mess, and he was at present safely seated out of the way of any poor unsuspecting fool who might be idiot enough to mention The Brain Incident and get himself transferred to Waste Recycling in three seconds flat.
"You're sure, absolutely sure, Spock, that you're not havin' any difficulties at all?"
After ten minutes of trying to edge conversation out of a scowling Jim Kirk, McCoy had wisely given up and was proceeding to ignore his superior except to remove the second dinner roll and two of the cookies from the man's plate, chucking them into the nearest recycling chute.
The seething Glare of Death he received didn't faze him, not after the kind of brain surgery he'd just performed (at the risk of his own precious brain, thanks very much). Coming between a man and his carbohydrates was in the description for this wild job.
Calm as a spring evening, Spock divided his carrots into perfectly-proportioned sections. "None as yet, Doctor."
"Well, that's a relief," the physician muttered, frown lines easing slightly. "Wouldn't want that pointy-eared brain of yours shorting out on us sometime."
"My mind does not possess physical attributes; therefore your metaphor is –" Both of them ignored the muted clunk as the captain's head impacted the table. Twice. " – inaccurate, Doctor."
"Shut it, Spock. Goin' to let me give you that pill yet, Captain sir?"
Blurry hazel eyes slitted with ferocity. "I hate you both."
Spock's eyebrow inclined precariously. "You are entitled to feel as you please, Captain, however unjustified the emotions may be."
"The pill, Jim."
"I am not taking any of your pills!"
"Well, don't call cryin' to me later tonight about it when you can't sleep, then – I'm a doctor, not a door-to-door drug salesman."
No one could do I-am-unamused like Captain James Tiberius Kirk.
"Anyway, Jim, if anyone has a right to be grouchy it's Spock. 'Least you still have your brain intact."
"Yes, Doctor. It's trying to pound its way out of my skull and you are Not. Help. Ing."
McCoy sighed, blue eyes flicking across the table to where their First Officer was doing his Vulcan best to show the world that he was certainly not-concerned-because-that-is-an-emotion about their intrepid captain. To be fair, Jim was in very hot water over the whole breach of the Prime Directive; he'd done it too often in the past to be given any leniency over the whole ridiculous venture, especially over something that carried such a risk of failure as this insane trek had been. McCoy figured the man was entitled to be cranky…heck, he was entitled to curl up in a ball and cry his aching eyes out if he wanted.
Or slam his head into the table again, like he was doing now. Idiot was going to concuss himself in addition to the impending migraine. He should have programmed a sedative into the captain's meal card…
Spock had demolished his carrots and was finishing up his whatever-that-freaky-looking-green-Vulcan-beet-thing was. "Captain," he inquired blandly, "might I suggest you refrain from further self-harm, and retire to your cabin with lowered lighting and a cold-pack to ward off the worst of the effects?"
McCoy didn't speak Andorian, but he could recognize a rude response when he heard and saw one.
"Jim, grow up," he said, and ignored the muttered insult he achieved. "Spock, take him back to his cabin and sit on him if you have to, but make sure he takes his medication and goes to bed for ten hours, or at least until he stops seein' double."
"Very well, Doctor. I –" Spock broke off abruptly, looking with detached interest at his hand, which had halted in its progress toward his cup of water.
"Spock?"
The captain's hazy eyes opened enough to finally see what was going on. "What is it, Spock?"
"Fascinating," the Vulcan intoned thoughtfully. "There appears to be a gap in the relaying of information from my mind to my radial nerve. I am…unable to move my hand any further toward its intended destination…"
McCoy swore, all color draining from his face in an instant. "Oh, no no no," he moaned, grasping distractedly at his hair with both hands. "I knew somethin' like this was going to…"
Not-quite smirking, Spock calmly picked up his glass and drained it.
The physician blinked.
James Kirk gaped.
"Oh you are so dead for that, you – you green-blooded son of a Vulcan!"
"Any revenge you could enact, Doctor, is quite worth it, to see that look upon your face."
"I swear, I will kill you!"
Crewmen stared, jaws dropped, as their impeccably cool First Officer gracefully scooted out the Mess doors, just centimeters ahead of a screeching, fork-brandishing Leonard McCoy.
And Captain Kirk put his aching head down on his arms and laughed until he cried.
