Disclaimer: Star Trek and all characters therein were created by Gene Roddenberry and the copyrights belong to Paramount and therefore Viacom. I couldn't possibly own them without huge amounts of money or time travel, neither of which I have yet managed to attain.

One Equal Temper

Two

Kirk thought about what conversational tactics were likely to get him the farthest on the way to Spock's quarters, but he still had only the barest sketch of an idea of what he was going to say when he reached the door. But then, he'd gone into battle before with less defined plans. Not as his first choice, true, but he was still alive, as was the vast majority of his crew. A fairly good record when it came to making it up as he went along.

He stopped outside Spock's door and keyed the comm rather than just hit the buzzer. "Kirk here," he started. "Spock, you in there? I need to talk to you."

There was a moment of silence, long enough for Kirk to begin to wonder if perhaps Spock had instead retreated to the rec room or observation deck after being relieved from the bridge, but then the low voice came in response, "Come."

Not exactly a promising response, but Spock didn't tend toward enthusiastic greetings even at the best of times. Kirk gave a mental shrug and stepped inside.

He braced himself for the increased heat of the environmental conditions inside Spock's quarters, knowing that he kept it as close to Vulcan normal as he could, but the hot dryness of the air still hit him in the face like a load of bricks as the door closed behind him. Whew. He had a great deal of respect for the physical stamina of Spock's human mother. Spock appeared to have been seated at his desk, but he rose to his feet when Kirk entered. Remembering McCoy's words about a leg injury, he hurriedly waved him back down.

"Captain," Spock said stiffly. "I apologize for the delay in acknowledging your entrance. I was engaged in preparing my report on the Murasaki 312 mission."

Kirk couldn't suppress a slight, rueful smile. He should have expected as much. "Come on, Spock," he said. "I ordered you off the bridge to get some rest. The report can wait."

"You will require the reports of all officers involved prior to making any decisions based on the outcome of this mission," Spock replied. Despite his resuming his seated position, neither his posture nor his voice relaxed in the slightest. "It then follows that it is my responsibility to file it as quickly as possible."

"Maybe," Kirk allowed, "but I don't need it right this second. You're off-duty, take a rest. Any decisions I need to make can wait a day or so."

There was a pause frozen in time, with Spock's hand still resting on the controls of the computer, then he carefully withdrew it and placed it behind his back. "I do not believe that they can, Captain," he said. His voice had gone from stiff to completely flat. Kirk hid a grimace. Bones and his suspicions had both been right on target. Something was definitely wrong. Only to be expected, of course—losing people you were responsible for was never easy, and losing them during your first experience with command would make it even harder. But part of him had hoped, despite that hope being largely contrary to his earlier observations, that Spock's logical nature would make it easier on him, that he would recognize that he had made the only decisions he could to save the majority of those people, as so few humans in his position were able to do.

He should have known better. Spock was half-human, after all, and even Vulcan logic couldn't entirely erase the sting of loss, whether a Vulcan would ever have admitted that or not. It was part of being alive. Besides, Kirk had noticed that Spock's Vulcan logic never seemed to cut the man himself much slack.

"I think I can be the judge of that," he said easily, despite the mental alarm Spock's words raised. He didn't believe his decisions could wait? What was that supposed to mean, anyway? He looked past Spock, toward the back of his quarters, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. That statue in the back was . . . ugly. Was it from Vulcan? It didn't fit his mental image of the planet, somehow. But then, there was an awful lot he didn't know about Vulcan. "It is my job, after all."

"Forgive me, Captain. It is indeed one of your functions about the Enterprise to make such judgments, but I do not think that you can fulfill that function with the necessary accuracy, not without being made aware of the events that took place on the planetoid in the center of the Murasaki 312 effect. Thus the importance of my report being filed in a timely manner."

"Well, I'm not completely in the dark, you know," Kirk said. He smiled, his best attempt at friendly charm, trying to coax Spock to unbend a little. He realized that closing down like this was one of the ways his Vulcan first officer dealt with troubling events, but Spock was his friend as well as one of his best officers, and Kirk couldn't help him fix whatever the problem was if Spock was determined to completely shut out his friend Jim Kirk and talk only to his captain. The Vulcan wasn't quite meeting his eyes, either, not exactly looking away but avoiding direct eye contact, and that bothered him. Spock met his eyes. He just did. But, apparently, not now. "Bones filled me in on a lot of what happened down there. Actually, that's one of the reasons I'm here. He said he wanted to check on you—something about one of those natives tossing rocks in your . . . general direction?"

Spock looked down. "I plan to report to sickbay as soon as my report is finished and logged. It is not terribly serious. I did manage to return to my quarters under my own power."

Kirk studied him for a moment. He crossed his arms across his chest almost before he realized he was doing it, settled his weight against the floor. "I think I'd like you to report to sickbay now," he said.

"I am not attempting to conceal the severity of my injury, Captain," Spock said, a slight touch of inflection returning to the monotone voice. He sounded almost . . . annoyed. "Such an action would be most illogical. I shall certainly report to sickbay as soon as I'm finished here."

"Leaving your leg untreated until then," Kirk said. "Spock . . . tell me. How bad is it?"

Spock didn't look up at him. "I am concerned," he said, "that the analgesic that Doctor McCoy is certain to prescribe for me will hamper my ability to put my thoughts in order, making the composition of my report effectively impossible. I would prefer to wait for such treatment until after it is completed."

It was bad. If Spock thought the kind of painkiller Bones would give him would put him out like that, then it had to be. But Spock knew his own limits, his own mind, and he must have a good reason for choosing to complete his report before allowing the doctor to attend to his injury. Kirk studied Spock's face. His features were drawn, tired, but his jaw was set with determination. It didn't seem likely that he would change his stance on this, at least not willingly. Kirk considered a moment longer, then turned abruptly to hit the comm button with his fist. "Kirk to sickbay," he said. "Medical team to First Officer Spock's quarters, as soon as possible." He hesitated a moment, but figured that Bones would follow the implication of his request without the need for further instructions. "Kirk out."

Spock half rose. "Captain!"

"Sit down, Mr. Spock!"

Spock didn't look happy about it, not in the least, but he obeyed, slowly, his brows drawing together as his eyes slid away to focus on the wall directly across from his desk. "As I have already stated, Captain," he said, his voice gone completely flat again, "I do not require pain medication at this time."

"You don't have to take any," Kirk said. "I'm not going to order you to take drugs you don't . . . want to take. Just let Bones take a look. You know I can't walk out of here knowing you have a leg injury that hasn't been treated, hasn't even been so much as looked at. After he fixes you up, you can finish your report. No ingestion of painkillers necessary, though if it's all that bad I'd certainly recommend one of the milder ones." Spock still looked unconvinced. Kirk sighed. He crossed directly in front of Spock's line of sight and leaned forward, propping his hands on the desk, almost invading Spock's personal space. "See it my way," he said, making his voice go relaxed, affectionate, almost teasing. ""Isn't it . . . illogical . . . to delay treatment for an injury that could quickly and easily be dealt with? Isn't it logical for me to want to make certain that my first officer is going to be all right? You've been hurt. I want you well before I want your report. What's so wrong with that?" Still no response. "Spock," Kirk said quietly, "I'm not going to make any decisions about anything until I'm certain of the welfare of my surviving officers anyway."

A moment passed before Spock said, "Very well, Captain. Your point is valid. I will allow Doctor McCoy to examine my injury, and treat it to the best of his ability without administering any mind-altering analgesics."

Satisfied, at least for the moment, Kirk removed his hands from the desk and stepped back. "Very good," he said. "Thank you, Mr. Spock."

"There is nothing to thank me for, Captain," Spock said. "You have expressed a concern for my welfare. I have accepted its validity. That is all."

"Well," Kirk said, rocking back on his heels, "even so, thank you for accepting my judgment even though it isn't what you'd have preferred."

"I do not require thanks in this matter," Spock said. "You are my commanding officer."

Kirk sighed. "Yes," he said, mentally giving up on the issue. Spock obviously intended to be stubborn about it, and he might as well save the effort it would take to argue him down for other endeavors. He linked his hands behind his back and looked down at the floor. "So I am." He contemplated the situation for a moment, searching Spock's face as he did so. His features were impossible to read, as was so often the case, but he seemed worn, drained, uncomfortable in Kirk's presence. Very nearly unhappy. If it had been any of his other officers, Kirk would have thought him depressed over the outcome of the recent mission. But Spock? Did Vulcans even get depressed? Spock would have no doubt called such a reaction illogical, but he was half human, and humans were all too prone to such emotions.

Kirk had been . . . depressed the first time he'd lost someone under his direct command. Angry. Hell, he thought, remembering his days as a junior officer, he'd been absolutely furious with himself, and his despondency had dragged on for almost a week before Gary had managed to shake him out of his gloom and guilt and impotent anger and forced him to look at it from an objective standpoint, made him realize that, yes, he'd made mistakes, but it would be a bigger one to let them overwhelm him. Kirk couldn't imagine Spock ever having such a purely emotional reaction, to anything, but surely someone with his scientific respect for life would regret the loss of two men under his command.

He was pondering the possibilities of that when the buzzer went off at the door. Spock looked up, his lips compressing into a tight line, and said, "Come."

Dr. McCoy entered the room a second later, medical kit in hand. "I'll tell you one thing," he said. "This had better be about that ankle injury you got down there on Taurus, Mr. Spock. I swear I heard the crack of that rock hitting his leg where I stood, Jim." He turned to Spock. "And you can't tell me you aren't feeling it—I saw you limping your way up to the bridge."

Spock took a deep breath. "Indeed, Doctor," he said. "I do not intend to deny the existence of the injury."

Kirk nodded at McCoy, partly to defuse the monologue the doctor seemed to be gearing toward. He'd heard McCoy's typical complaints on the subject enough himself. "Yes, Bones," he said, and waved a hand in Spock's direction. "Feel free. Just—no painkillers."

McCoy was already halfway to Spock, but he stopped and looked back at Kirk incredulously at that. "No painkillers?" he repeated.

"I do not require them at this time," Spock broke in, "and my current acceptance of treatment is contingent on the condition that I may delay the application of any such drugs you may prescribe until such a time that I feel their benefits outweigh their drawbacks."

McCoy looked back at Kirk, who crossed his arms and nodded as he leaned back against the wall of Spock's room. "You heard him," he said.

"But Jim—" McCoy started, but Kirk shook his head.

"His choice, Bones." He kept his tone mild, but McCoy sighed and turned to Spock as if giving up on a lost cause.

"You sure?" he said. "Not even you can logic away pain—it'll probably hurt something fierce for a good long while."

"I am well aware of that, Doctor," Spock said.

"I can use a local anesthetic to take the edge off if I have to set it, but I'd prefer to give you something that'd actually help with the pain," McCoy continued.

"Please, Doctor," Spock said, his voice gone tight with control. "I am aware of the ramifications of my stated choice concerning medication. Simply do your work."

"Aren't you gonna lie down or something?" McCoy asked. "Probably make it easier on you if you do."

"I am fine here, Doctor." Spock stuck out one foot and bent down to tug at his boot. Kirk pushed himself away from the wall as the boot caught and Spock seemed to struggle to pull it off, but McCoy was already there. He cut through the tight boot with what looked like a laser scalpel and eased it off in pieces, scolding Spock for allowing the injury to get so swollen before allowing anyone to look at it all the while. As the doctor ran both scanner and fingers over the injury, which was indeed badly swollen, a nasty mixture of green and dark blue bruising all the way from Spock's toes up his shin, a constant litany of chiding admonitions accompanying his ministrations, Kirk felt a certain perverse sense of vindication. At least he wasn't the only one Bones carped at like this over injuries.

"Just as I expected," McCoy said after a moment, interrupting his own complaints about reckless Starfleet officers who couldn't be bothered to attend to their own physical welfare. "This is broken, Mr. Spock." Spock just nodded as if he had anticipated that diagnosis, though his lips tightened again at the news. McCoy threw up his hands. "What am I going to do with you two? Why even bother to have a doctor if you don't care one way or the other what I tell you?"

"Illogical," Spock said, his voice hoarse with strain as McCoy continued with his work, administering what had to be a local anesthetic just above his ankle. Kirk watched Spock's shoulders relax minutely as the numbing agent took effect and thought that the injury had been hurting him even more than Kirk had realized. "I take all medical advice under due consideration, as, I'm sure, does the captain."

McCoy sent a challenging look back in Kirk's direction, which he just answered with a grin and a half-shrug. "Sure I do, Bones," he said. "Due consideration."

"Which in your case means actual physical collapse and not a moment before," McCoy grumbled. He moved his hands on Spock's ankle, and Kirk figured from Spock's quickly suppressed wince and the sudden pallor of his greenish complexion despite the anesthetic that he'd set the bone back into place. A moment later he was running a knitter over the wound.

Kirk met Spock's eyes and gave an exaggeratedly long-suffering sigh as he directed his glance down at McCoy, giving a what-can-you-do shrug and letting mischief tug at the corner of his mouth. Teasing McCoy would distract Spock from whatever discomfort he was suffering, at least.

"I heard that, Jim," McCoy muttered. He finished with the knitter and dug out another instrument Kirk wasn't quite as familiar with. It looked like some kind of bone-strength stimulator.

"Indeed, Captain," Spock said as McCoy applied the new instrument to his ankle.

"Say all you want," McCoy said, "we all know the both of you wouldn't still be around to harass me if it weren't for my so-called paranoia over the things you do to yourselves, so you two had better get used to it."

"Oh, I know that, Bones," Kirk said. "It's not that I don't appreciate your abilities."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I think you have a little bit too much respect for them," McCoy retorted. "If I weren't the doctor I am, you'd have to take better care of yourselves, wouldn't you?"

"Who knows?" Kirk asked cheerfully. "If you weren't the doctor you are, maybe we'd just be dead."

McCoy glared back at him as he dug in his kit and brought out a flexible support bandage, which he proceeded to wrap around Spock's foot and ankle, but he appeared to have decided that the comment didn't deserve to be dignified with a response. "I know better than to expect you to stay off this, Mr. Spock," he said, "so I figure I'd better provide some extra support so you don't just snap it again before the knitter and the osteogenic stimulator take completely."

"I thank you for the consideration, Doctor," Spock said gravely.

McCoy turned his dissatisfied stare on him as he attempted to draw his leg back. "It'd still be best if you took it easy for another day or two. And I want to see you again in twenty-four hours, just to make sure everything sets all right." He frowned. "I prefer to do my treatments in sickbay, when there's no reason why I can't. I do have standards, you know."

"We know, Bones," Kirk broke in, "and believe me, I appreciate you being so quick to accommodate my requests like this."

McCoy just shrugged, giving a sigh. "He probably wouldn't have stayed in sickbay long enough for it to set properly anyway," he said. He finished making certain the bandage was wound and appropriately tightened, then got to his feet.

"I do not plan to risk re-injury," Spock said.

"Sure you don't," McCoy returned, his sarcasm obvious. Spock just raised one eyebrow in response. Kirk couldn't keep back a smile as he pushed himself away from the wall and started forward. They seemed to be getting along as well as ever.

"Then you're done?" he asked.

"For the moment, anyway," McCoy said. "At least try to stay off your feet, Mr. Spock."

"I shall endeavor to do so," Spock replied.

"At least he's honest," McCoy said, turning to Kirk. "Not like some other people I know who'd just have said, 'Sure thing, Bones,' and then gone and walked around on it anyway."

"I have no idea who you might be talking about," Kirk said. "Everyone on my crew obeys their doctor's orders. Don't they, Spock?"

"They do, Captain," Spock responded, in a tone that suggested anything else would simply be too ridiculous to contemplate.

"Maybe everyone else on your crew does," McCoy replied. Kirk grinned in response. It was probably good to have a CMO who knew him as well as Bones did. McCoy stopped next to him on his way out the door. "Good job getting' me in here," he said in a low voice. "How's he doing?" His face said the question had little or nothing to do with Spock's physical condition.

Kirk just shrugged, letting his expression answer for him. In the end, he just wasn't sure. Spock didn't seem willing to talk, and everything he'd said so far Kirk had practically had to pry out of him, but he did seem marginally more willing to engage in discussion with his captain than with anyone else. It was probably just the effect of his rank, but even if that were the case Kirk still planned to take advantage of it if that was the only way to get Spock to tell him what was bothering him.

"He'll be all right," McCoy answered, his voice still pitched low. "He'll talk to you, Jim."

"You think so?" Kirk asked, not really expecting an answer. McCoy seemed confident enough, but it seemed far from a foregone conclusion to him.

"If anyone," McCoy answered. "And don't you start worrying now about this now. One's enough." He turned back. "Remember, twenty-four hours and I see you again, Mr. Spock," he said, to which Spock merely nodded, and then he stepped out of the room.

The door slid shut behind him, and Kirk turned back to face his first officer across the small room.