"Hey there, Jim." McCoy was sitting at his computer, staring intently at the screen while tapping his fingers. "Figured you'd walk in about now."

"Hope I'm not bothering you," Kirk teased. He found a nearby stool and rolled it over to McCoy's desk, plopping down beside him. "I know how busy you get, with your tests and everything."

"Please, Jim." McCoy sighed heavily, slightly miffed but trying to conceal it. "I know why you're down here, and you can't charisma your way out of this one."

Kirk propped his feet up on the desk, trying to look casual. "This one what?"

"Jim, your First Officer is in my Medbay."

"Yeah, Bones. I know." Kirk sighed, taking his feet off the desk. He never could fool McCoy. Not that he wanted to; he just hated it when things went wrong. "He hasn't looked right for a day or two."

"Well, glad he finally got up the nerve to come down here so we can figure out what's up with him." McCoy clicked around on his computer. "Stubborn hobgoblin."

"Well, he's your patient hobgoblin now," Kirk replied. "And he's my First Officer. What are we sitting around here for? What's going on with him?"

"Don't know yet, Jim." Just then the bosun's whistle rang alerting McCoy of a notification on his computer. "Hopefully this'll be his test results and I'll be able to tell you something. Quiet down a minute, if you don't mind."

Kirk chuckled. Bones may not have been a ship Captain, but he certainly had mastered command of the room.

But Kirk obeyed McCoy's request and kept to himself, tapping his fingers on his lap while McCoy clicked away on his computer. This wasn't a time to be bothering the good doctor. Spock was somewhere in Medbay, and it was possible something was seriously wrong with him. Both Captain and First Officer were absent from the Bridge, and not for the purposes of exploring deep space. There was no telling when they'd be back – and, judging by the new ensign's spunky attitude, Uhura and Sulu might only be able to man the station for so long.

"There we go." Dr. McCoy turned off the computer and pushed himself away from his desk. "Found it."

"Found what?"

"What's wrong with your officer, Jim." McCoy clicked out of his computer screen, having seen everything he needed. "It's a virus known only as M'bor'it. No, that is not the correct pronunciation, but it's from some obscure alien tongue and nobody's bothered to give it another name."

"So it's been recorded before?"

"Only a few times. But that's only because it's only known to be found on planet Theta-415, and we were the first ones to set foot on it for over fifty years. Because of course we were."

McCoy's humor made Kirk smile again, but inside, he hated it when this happened. They went to a planet, completed their mission, and then somewhere in the process, something went wrong. Sure enough, just a few days before, the Enterprise had visited planet Theta-415, on a mission to collect and analyze environmental samples to determine if an earth-colony could be set up there. There had been no immediate signs of life – no vegetation or plant roots, no animal prints or burrows, certainly no evidence of humanoid races. But he had stood there with Spock and discussed the very possibility of microscopic life, and the need for highly in-depth samples to determine its presence.

Here was a sample good as any.

"From what I know, it's little more than an intergalactic rhinovirus," Dr. McCoy continued. "Treatment is centered around fever reduction and pain control." He raised an eyebrow. "Except for whatever reason, this virus doesn't like to infect humans."

That would explain a lot. In the nearly two earth-years that Kirk had been in charge of the Enterprise, he'd never seen Spock be under the weather in any way. No, it had always been the humans that fell victim to the weird space illnesses, and Vulcan blood that kept Spock safe from it all.

"I know that look, Jim," McCoy muttered. "Cut the sap, it's an alien flu virus." McCoy gave Kirk a playful punch in the arm. "A week or so in Sickbay with some good rest and medication and he'll be right as rain."

"A week?" Kirk barely knew how long a week was in space-time, but it was certainly a long time when you were on a mission.

"I can't change it, Jim. Traditional virucides don't work with this one," McCoy murmured. "And I know he's perfectly capable of that Vulcan-healing-coma we've all heard about, but we've already discussed that, and he insisted on remaining fully alert. He's still eager to help," and the doctor let out a long-suffering sigh, "despite the fact that he's been admitted to Sickbay with the intention of keeping stress levels to a minimum."

"You've already admitted him?" Kirk couldn't decide whether or not he was glad that Spock wouldn't be comatose trying to get better. On the one hand, it meant the crew could still converse with him (with Dr. McCoy's permission, of course), and use his scientific expertise in their analyses. On the other hand, it meant he wouldn't heal as fast.

"Course I did, Jim. One look at him and you could tell something wasn't right." McCoy stood from his desk and went over to the cabinet he kept his tools in, setting to organizing them in their drawers. "You can go talk to him if you want, if he'll let you."

"You're alright with that?"

"I can't stop you, Jim." McCoy gave his Captain that cheeky smile he so often did when dealing with him. "But he'd probably like to see his commanding officer."