A/N: I still don't know what to do. I'm so buggered. I'm bad at this whole cliff hanger thing, as I make them, and promptly forget what to do with them.

Spock sighed. Loudly.

This was odd and unusual, as this was Spock, and he didn't do that. But eitherwise, here he was, sighing.

He was sighing, the Doctor was doing the vulcan 'We-need-to-have-sex-right-now!' thing, and he was in charge of making sure he didn't die or anything. Now, Spock didn't really hate the Doctor, and didn't want him to die, but he didn't want to be in charge of this. This was a huge responsibility. This was a life or death situation. This was a doctor's job. McCoy was the doctor here, not Spock. However, the doctor was now the patient, and so the reluctant patient must be the doctor.

He knew full well that there wasn't a creature on this planet that would help a halfbreed and a diseased monster like the two of them.

It was a mildly distressing situation. McCoy was wasting away with a terrible fever and Spock was being eaten up by something akin to guilt. If he couldn't find someone... he refused to even entertain that thought.

"Spock?" A voice said from the other room. Spock stood and walked to the other room.

"Yes, Doctor, can I help you?"

McCoy gave him a Look. A Significant Look.

Spock worried, he didn't worry visibly, but he worried.

"Spo-o-o-o-o-ck." McCoy repeated, the Significant Look changes subtly.

The last thing Spock had the chance to think before it happened was 'I know that look'.

a/n: proverbial cookies to anybody who knows what 'it' is.