As much as Spock hated to admit it, he was in dire need of assistance from someone around him. Given that the only person currently in his quarters was Captain Kirk, Spock was looking for the correct words to ask for help.

His head felt like it was about to explode. His stomach ached and churned. He was thoroughly exhausted, even after the past five hours of sleep. His body was aching. He doubted his ability to move, let alone walk.

So, he was contemplating the words to ask his Captain for assistance to walk to the bathroom. It was... strange to be so lacking in self-sufficiency when he was totally used to taking full care of his own self.

He opened his eyes warily. The room was still dark and the cloth against his eyes was still warm. Spock imagined that Kirk had been re-heating it in the meantime of Spock sleeping. He raised a hand slowly, fingertips brushing the warm cloth.

"Spock?"

Spock licked his lips and stretched experimentally. It further proved what he had thought: his body was aching. Although an 'ache' designated only a dull pain, which was nothing of what Spock was experiencing. Again, he doubted his ability to walk on his own.

"... Captain," he said weakly.

"Hey..." Kirk walked over to the bed, looking at him warily. "How are you feeling...?"

"Unwell," Spock said simply. "I am in need of assistance."

"Yeah? What do you need?"

"Assistance," Spock repeated. "In walking. The percentage of the possibility of fainting..." he trailed off, trying to catch his breath to finish the sentence, but Kirk interrupted.

"I really don't think you need to be up and about yet. Bones was here awhile ago; your temperature's up to thirty-five even."

A thirty-five degree fever would explain the body aches and pains, where nothing else would. It logically explained the symptoms and yet... he didn't care about the logic behind what was happening to him. He was just mildly irritated that Kirk was trying to argue with him when Spock didn't feel like countering back.

"Understandable, except requiring use of the lavatory is hardly something I am able of controlling," Spock said tiredly, placing his palm against the mattress to push himself up.

"Oh. Sorry." Kirk offered his hand. "Should have said."

Spock didn't comment as he took Kirk's hand. He focussed, instead, on clenching his teeth against the pain that assailed his body as he moved, as he stumbled to his feet. His legs very nearly did give out from under him and he leaned against Kirk's shoulder, trembling in efforts to keep his mouth shut. Vulcans did not express pain vocally. Vulcans did not cry out.

"You okay?" Kirk asked awkwardly, his hand ghosting Spock's back unassuredly. He seemed unable to decide if Spock needed the support or not. Spock thought that this was the one time that he would not have complained if Kirk put his hand against his back. Physical support would have helped, immensely. He would not, of course, admit to that.

"No," Spock replied. "I do not believe that I can stand for much longer."

"Right. Come on."

Spock had rarely felt so useless. Even in his days at the Academy, he had been designing tests even while studying. He hadn't been at his peak and he had still managed to accomplish a means of feat. As it were with illness, however, he doubted his ability to do anything. He barely managed to walk to the bathroom and back without throwing up or passing out and by the time that he crawled back into bed, he was covered in sweat and shaking.

"I still think I should get Bones..." Kirk said slowly.

Spock pressed his forehead against the pillow, swallowing back a moan. "Perhaps... it would be wise..."

"... You must be really sick to say that," Kirk replied. There was a click and Doctor McCoy's voice filled the air moments later.

"McCoy here."

"Bones, Spock's quarters."

"Is he worse?"

"He's... not good," Kirk said slowly. "I don't know if anything's changed, really, but he's conscious and hurting."

That was a bit too perceptive, Spock reasoned, but he didn't comment. He didn't know how the Captain knew he was in pain and it wounded his already fragile pride to think that he was failing to maintain his usual façade.

"Be there in a few minutes. McCoy out."

"Stay awake if you can," Kirk said, the command falling from his voice as he returned to speaking to Spock. "Bones said he'd be here in a minute."

Spock nodded slightly. His ability to hear hadn't been yet impaired, but he didn't trust himself to speak.

"... You're pale as hell, Spock."

Spock inclined his head in another nod. He wished that Kirk would stop stating the obvious and let him sleep or at least try to meditate.

There was suddenly pressure against his forehead. A slight noise of surprise graced his lips as he pried his eyes open.

Kirk looked down at him hesitantly. "Sorry." He removed his hand, only to place it against Spock's face, palm-down. "You're really warm, Spock..." He removed his hand again, only to take Spock's face in both of his hands seconds later. "Son of a bitch..."

A chill crawled up Spock's spine. He shivered. Jim's hands were warm and it was so stubbornly cold.

Nostalgia hit Spock full force. There was something familiar in the gesture. The last time that he had been ill, really ill, had been in his boyhood. His mother had performed the same action that Kirk was doing now, placing her hands against his face. It was... comforting, in an illogical way.

Spock pressed his face more firmly into Kirk's hands, reaching up blindly. His fingers fell into the mind-meld position on Kirk's face easily, without second thought. He felt him flinch underneath his fingers, but Spock was too consumed in his miserable state of sickness to comprehend.

His head pounded with the elevated beat of his heart. His eyes were heavy and his body felt weak from exhaustion. His stomach was churning, his muscles aching from repeated retching and continued shivering. Breathing was a battle, his breaths were wheezing in his chest, and tears of pain were stinging against his eyes.

It was cold, freezing cold, in the room that was sweltering. Sweat drew his clothes to his body, making illness infinitely more uncomfortable. His ears were ringing, echoing with every noise that he heard through the door of his quarters. Even as his quarters door slid open, light from the hallway flooded his room, making him close his eyes reflexively.

"Spock? Jim!"

Kirk snapped away from Spock's fingers and took off at a run from the room. Spock's hand fell heavily onto the mattress. He couldn't find the strength to move it, or even open his eyes.

"Jim!" McCoy exclaimed.

The sound of vomiting that was not his own met his ears made Spock wrench his eyes open. His eyes flickered towards the source of the sound, his bathroom, before looking to Doctor McCoy.

"Spock, what happened? What were you doing? Spock?"

Spock's eyes fell closed again. His concern for Jim was smothered by the illness. He couldn't voice a question if he wanted to.

"I'm fine..." Kirk's voice said weakly as his footsteps returned. "Transference... Really, Bones. Just help him," he said weakly.

"... Alright. Spock?" McCoy asked. The tricorder whistled nearby. "Hey. Pointy. Tell me how you're feeling."

"Miserable," Jim replied.

"I wasn't asking you, Jim."

"No, but he's miserable. He's got... this terrible headache. Everything hurts. Extreme exhaustion and terrible nausea and shortness of breath... My ears- his ears, sorry, are all closed up or something."

Spock had forced his eyes open again by this point. Both he and Doctor McCoy were looking towards Kirk at this point. Kirk looked back at them, looking uncomfortable.

"He did a mind-meld," Kirk said weakly.

Spock frowned to himself. Mind-meld... He had done that? That was an illogical action. It would only succeed in transferring his own experiences to Captain Kirk... as it seemed to have had. He did not understand why he had chosen that action in a moment of weakness.

"What?" McCoy asked incredulously. "A mind-meld? And you could feel what he was feeling?" He fell silent over the whirring of the tricorder. "To coin a phrase, fascinating. From a medical standpoint and all that shit."

A click of a hypospray alerted Spock to further medical assistance a moment before the spray was administered to his arm. He wanted to inquire on the contents but he was too tired. He could hardly explain his own actions, let alone speak.

"What's that?" Kirk asked quietly, leaning heavily against the wall. "What are you giving him?"

"A sedative. And I'm giving him more Stokaline. And then I'm going to go back to the lab and ask M'Benga what he thinks, because this doesn't seem to be working too well."

Another hypospray hiss. Spock couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Actually, Jim, you're going to go back to Sickbay with me so I can run an exam."

"Oh, no-"

"Shut up. I don't know what Spock was thinking but I want to know what he did to you with that mind-meld," McCoy replied.

"He didn't do anything... I just felt what he felt..."

"Stop arguing with me, Jim. I'm the doctor and you're in my territory now."

"Just worry about him, Bones. I've had a mind-meld done on me before; I know what it feels like."

"Oh yeah? When have you done a mind-meld? And with who?"

"It's one hell of a long story, Bones. I'm alright... I'm just worried about him."

"Hm..."

Spock felt eyes staring at him but he couldn't respond. He was far too tired and the sedative was taking effect. His companion's voices trailed off into muffled vocals as he drifted into unconsciousness.

There's an explanation as to why Spock did a mind-meld and it involves his childhood. Kid!Spock in the first movie is. so. cute. So I can't resist delving into his childhood (just a bit). And don't worry; it's not going to be terribly outlandish. It'll even have references to canon.

Cute awkward friends are cute. Jim's awkward as hell, Spock's too sick to care, and McCoy is his usual self. :p

NOTE: A Vulcan's normal temperature is 32.8 Celsius. So, 35 Celsius would be a fever for a Vulcan.

Keep up your great support! I love it. :) Thank you!