Spock lay supine on a diagnostic table attempting to hear what Nurse Chapel and Lt. Kirk were discussing near the dispensary door. Dull pain thudded at the base of his skull and a ringing in his ears made it difficult to filter out the ambient noise of sickbay.

Something that made her smile and blush. Embarrassed? Or perhaps flattered. Something about Lab Four. And "play around with it."

It?

Whatever "it" was, Christine responded favorably before turning and entering the dispensary.

That she preferred casual sexual interactions without "messy" emotional attachment was not news to him. She'd said as much in their first non-work conversation. Sex was a biological function like any other. Her practicality in the matter could be considered admirable. In any case, it would be antithetical of Spock to think otherwise.

But Stache Man?

The man himself hopped onto the diagnostic bed next to Spock's and grunted a perfunctory "hey."

Unlike Spock, Sam Kirk had not suffered an injury and was merely waiting to be given the all-clear from Dr. M'Benga. He occupied the wait by turning to what he'd been doing before propositioning Christine –studying tricorder data from their landing party's survey.

Spock had been forbidden from looking at any screen, information relay, padd, or even around the room, though he was finding that last direction difficult to adhere to.

"You and Nurse Chapel appeared to have much to discuss," he blurted out. A concussion was the only explanation for this lack of restraint.

Kirk lifted his gaze from the tricorder screen and stared blankly at him. "Huh?"

"You and Nurse Chapel."

The mustache twitched. A slight scowl of irritation settled between his brows. "What?"

Spock briefly considered using the human verbal ploy "nevermind." Instead, he sat up slightly, supported by his forearms. No one was around to stop him.

"I am inquiring about your conversation with Nurse Chapel."

"Oh. Right. Yeah. I'm hoping to bring her in on this." He tapped a knuckle on the tricorder. "Consult maybe. Or if I can talk her into it, help design the research." A genial kind of reverence brightened his features. "She did some very cool stuff with xenomimetics at Stanford and I have a theory we're looking at a mimetic adaptations in some of these organisms. She also happens to be the same C. M. Chapel who co-authored a paper I've cited half a dozen times so, you know, win-win."

"I am aware." Spock had delved into Christine's entire body of work immediately after the rescue mission at Kiley 279, as well as how many times her work had been cited. And by whom. "Her credentials are not the issue."

"So, there is an issue. Why? Did I need to run it by you beforehand?"

Technically, yes. He should have. Though on further consideration it might be a gray area in this circumstance. "You were attempting to ascertain her interest first, I assume."

"I was. And she is," he confirmed. And for some reason, wagged his eyebrows.

As the science officer Spock's approval was required before advancing any research project. He had, to this point, believed himself unbiased and fair. But a list of reasons to refuse Sam Kirk rapidly cycled through his mind, and only a few of them spurious. Yet, he wondered if refusing Kirk would also be denying Christine a research opportunity in which she was genuinely interested?

"I would need to see a proposal before allocating the resources."

"Absolutely."

"Lab Four is not suitable for such a project."

Kirk looked bewildered, as if Spock had delivered a non-sequitur. "Uh. I know."

"Then why are you meeting her there?"

"I'm… not meeting her there. I have experiments running I need to check."

Oh. That must have been what he'd been telling Christine. Still…

"There will be no playing around."

Confusion morphed into something less…benign. "Well, I'm not twelve. So, sure."

Satisfied that boundaries had been established Spock lay back on the bed with a measure of relief. Kirk drummed his fingers on his thighs. His heels beat a rhythm of frustration against the base of the bio-bed as he looked around for someone, anyone to release him.

Spock didn't remember closing his eyes, it could only have been seconds, because Kirk was still on the same subject when he opened them.

"You got a lot of nerve, man," he said between clenched teeth. "I don't know what it is you think I get up to when I'm on duty, but I can assure you, my fucking job is what I'm doing. And pretty damned well, I might add."

"At no point did I imply you do not perform your duties adequately."

"Adequately. Wow." He jumped off the diagnostic bed and paced a short track next to Spock's. "I'm not sure what all this…" One hand made an encompassing circular motion—"this, right here, is about, but—"

Christine emerged from the dispensary, a flash of white in Spock's periphery.

"Oh shit."

The altered tone drew Spock's full attention. Kirk's lasso-ing hand covered his mouth now, one finger a second mustache above his lip. His eyes were wide in both alarm and comprehension.

"Oh my god. This about the other night, isn't it?" His eyes scanned the area – not for Dr. M'Benga and freedom now, but for eavesdroppers. Voice pitched low, he said, "Look. I don't spend all my time trying to get laid, okay. Me and Angie? We don't even work the same shifts half the time, let alone the same division. And I love my work. I wouldn't put my job in jeopardy for a quickie in Lab Four or any other lab."

"That is gratifying to hear."

"Or my marriage," Kirk added. "Same goes. I love my wife."

Spock, seeing no reason to comment on Sam Kirk's marriage as an afterthought, said nothing. A flash of white again, drawing his gaze. Christine placed a tray of supplies on a cart. She and a medical technician began to restock the diagnostic stations.

"Just to drive it home," Kirk's defense continued, "I'm interested in working with C. M. Chapel, nothing else. Professional colleagues."

"I believe you, lieutenant," Spock replied. He hoped this meant an end to the conversation. The pause that followed was just long enough for Spock to almost fall asleep.

"I'm kinda surprised she's here to be honest. On the Enterprise. I heard from a friend at Standford she gave up a fellowship working with Roger Korby for this."

Roger Korby? Foremost scholar in archeological medicine? Spock turned his head sharply, goggling at the woman who gave up a prestigious fellowship with Dr. Roger Korby—

Black spots floated in his vision, marring the view of her bright hair. Brighter than usual.

Kirk's monologue continued unabated. "That'd be career suicide for someone like me. But I guess she marches to her own drum. Free spirit. Shining academic star. She can afford to follow her passion wherever it leads, I suppose." He seemed wistful.

Perhaps Dr. Korby's research no longer aligned with Christine's… passion. Enterprise's mission provided far better opportunities to test her epigenetic technology in the field, after all.

"Even if I was interested—" Kirk's voice dropped to a whisper, "in hooking up – which I'm not to be clear, everybody knows that woman has a strict policy of not shitting where she – uh, not dating where she works."

As if sensing the tenor of their conversation, Nurse Chapel looked over at them. A trail of light strobed out from her hair.

Kirk grinned and waggled his fingers in response. Keeping both his smile and his eyes on her, he spoke to Spock out of the side of his mouth, "She could get with pretty much anyone she wanted though."

Spock felt her gaze on him, on him alone now, shuddering through him, head to toe. The light that drenched her person flashed and sparkled as she moved—

"But I get where she's coming from. Things can go south real quick if both people aren't on the same page. The environment gets toxic. All those messy feelings gumming up the works." He chuckled. "Not a problem for your people, I imagine. In fact, I bet you'd be right her up alley if you were so inclined. No feelings to get in the way."

-the sparkling aura expanded to the edges of his vision. Nothing but white nothing but white and white then suddenly a ring of darkness binding it, an aperture closing slowly, moving from the outer edges toward the center, shrinking the darkness until there seemed only a pinprick-

"Hey. Spock. Spock? Hey buddy. You all right there? Hey! Somebody-"

-a tiny hole poked in a filmy substance through which he could see her face looking worried before the aperture closed completely.