A/N: Thank you all for your warm thoughts! Monday was a complete success and in honor of that I am posting Chapter 7. The next chapter might be a little longer in coming so I made sure this one was a good length to tide you over. Also, I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to all the reviews personally but I take all the compliments AND the criticism to heart and appreciate you taking the time to leave your thoughts. Whether you love it or hate it you're still reading 'Broken Orbit' and that makes me very happy!

Also, there is a bit more swearing in this chapter than in previous ones so consider yourselves warned.

Now go and enjoy!

Chapter 7

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.84, 1306 hours. Dianara picked at her food as she waited for her friends to get through the line. It'd been a long morning in in the engine rooms and by the look of the repairs Mr. Scott wanted to make today the afternoon would be even longer; simply thinking about it made her groan into her rice bowl.

The things they didn't tell you in the recruitment videos…

She might have to finally crack open that bottle of wine her parents sent with their last care package.

The loud scrape of a chair caught her attention and as she looked up Dia saw Commander Spock take a seat beside Lt. Uhura. Immediately she went on red alert, as did almost everyone else in the room. She didn't know any of the particulars of the case, only that he'd been injured on a recent away mission and didn't remember who his wife was, and that there was a blanket gag order not to tell him. She thought it was a pretty ridiculous command all things considered but it was a personal matter and since Dia wasn't either of their direct subordinates she simply obeyed and left things alone.

Still, that didn't stop her from entering the pool going around about the couple. Her money was on Spock either recovering his memory or figuring the situation out within two months of waking up. Based on the other odds it was a long shot but she always was a romantic.

"So I was thinking…"

"SHHH!"

She grabbed Michael's sleeve and yanked him down to his seat, upsetting his soup. "Hey, what'd you think you're…" Dia jerked her head toward the couple and he instantly shut up, just as transfixed as she was. They both stared at the back of the Commander's head, their food forgotten.

If only her ears still weren't ringing she might've heard a bit about what was said; still, she could at least read their body language. Commander Spock didn't give off much but the Lieutenant was very frosty which was strange, knowing her reputation and the situation she was in now. Obviously she was upset and aside from one quick little outburst the encounter was rather dull.

A blue hand waved in front of her face. "You guys, have you heard anything I've said?"

This time Michael joined her. "SHHH!"

"What?" Jalessa followed their gaze across the room. "Oh!" She took her seat without any invitation. "This is better than the entertainment vids!" she squealed giddily as she popped a tater tot in her mouth.

Several more minutes passed and neither of them dared move. Not until the Lieutenant and then the Commander left the Mess did Dianara even consider breathing again.

"Well that was disappointing," Jalessa remarked. "I thought there might be yelling or kissing or something."

Dia rolled her eyes. "He's Vulcan," Michael replied, "They don't do that sort of thing…at least not in public anyway."

"Ok, so then what's stopping her?"

The friends looked at each other. She had a point. Whatever Lieutenant Uhura's reasons were they must be good. "Who knows?" she replied with a shrug, turning back to her now cold lunch. "But whatever happens, Ry'el better not win the pool. He'll get thrown out the airlock if he does." It was no secret he had a thing for the Chief Comm Officer but he was the only crewmember betting against the couple, and that was a new low even for him.

"No kidding."

"That guy's a jerk."

"Agreed."

The trio finished their meal without any further excitement.

Spock had been granted active work status 12.57 days ago and was simultaneously acclimating himself to his on-going duties on both the bridge and the science lab. During that time he had managed to speak with every crewmember under his purview and had discovered an unusual trend.

Lieutenant Uhura was avoiding him.

He knew this for a fact because he had had more interaction with Ensign Poole than he had had with his former TA—and being the gamma shift navigator the overlap in his and Ensign Poole's respective shifts only accounted for 1.3% of Spock's time. In contrast, he spent 84.7% of his time working side-by-side with the Lieutenant and had yet to say more than nineteen words to her.

This fact did not bother him during the day—but in the evenings and in the privacy of his quarters Spock found his thoughts turning toward his former student more and more. His preoccupation with the Lieutenant was not only personally alarming but endangering to his health. He could not concentrate and if he could not concentrate than he could not effectively meditate. Without proper meditation he could not sleep for any meaningful period of time nor could he expect to have as strict control over his emotions as was expected of him. At the rate he was going Spock conceded his agitated state would become readily apparent in another 4.8 days' time…and he did not wish to draw Doctor McCoy's attention to his person again so shortly after slipping out of his clutches.

Still, no matter the consequences, his thoughts never seemed to stray long or far from Lieutenant Uhura.

He found it difficult to reconcile the memory of the woman he knew at the Academy with the one he now saw daily. Throughout their prior acquaintanceship she had been the epitome of a high-spirited extrovert; now, however, she could only be described as sullen and withdrawn.

Spock wondered if it was the Battle for Vulcan that changed her. 78.47% of the graduating class had perished in the fight, and it was the type of devastating loss that lingered long after the event itself was past.

He would know; he still felt his own losses from that day acutely.

Rounding the corner of the lunch line found the object of his nightly inquiries sitting by herself, her mind wholly engrossed in her PADD. It was…unnatural to see her alone and without preamble he strode over and set his tray down, hoping to have a conversation with her and resolve what was (for him at any rate) a most troubling matter.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

She looked up and gave him a curt nod. "Commander." She appraised him with a detached look; the sensation left him feeling as though he had been weighed and measured and found wanting. The Lieutenant returned to her PADD, neither accepting nor rejecting his tacit request, so he sat down to eat. As he picked at his salad he caught a glimpse of her work and saw a scrolling list of foreign vocabulary. "You are reviewing your Renaran?"

"Yes."

Inwardly Spock smiled, pleased to see that she was just as thorough in her duties now as she had been at the Academy. That much, at least, had not changed. Still, her current attitude grieved him on a much deeper level.

In spite of her prolonged silence Spock found himself becoming more centered the longer he remained in her presence. He remembered reading about this phenomenon in both pre- and post-Surakian literature. Lieutenant Uhura was literally a balm for his troubled katra, most likely a result of his pleasant recollections of their former association. Whatever the case he welcomed the respite her physical proximity brought, even if their personal issues went unresolved.

Unable to force another bite down his throat he set his fork aside. "May I ask a personal query?"

Her sigh was barely audible and the look of—Annoyance? Displeasure? He could not be certain though it left him slightly flustered—quickly left her face. She folded her hands and, every inch a true professional, gave him her full attention. "Of course."

Spock took a deep breath. "It has been 54 days since I awoke in Sickbay with no recollection of the last 3.71 years of my life. In the intervening time you have conversed directly with me on only six occasions and I have observed that when given the opportunity you either avoid interacting with me and/or flee from my presence. I am endeavoring to discover why that is."

Lieutenant Uhura's carefully schooled features went slack and she opened and shut her mouth repeatedly as she searched for an answer. "Commander, I…that's just not true."

There had been a time not so very long ago when she had never lied to him. She valued the truth. When they conversed it was not as a student would speak to a teacher, but as a well-respected equal would communicate with another. She told him stories of her various interests, kept him abreast on the status of her studies, described what it was like for her growing up in Africa and told him how her family were faring back home. In turn he revealed a great deal more about his life to her—his upbringing, his family—than to any of his other colleagues; and despite how closely he guarded his privacy he found the exchanges with her to be rather refreshing. Before when there was silence it was only the comfortable pauses found between friends.

Now, things were quite different.

"The data I have compiled on the subject would prove your previous statement to be untrue."

He eyed the small pout that formed on her lips as she carefully chose her next words. "Why would I be avoiding you?"

"That is precisely the information which I seek to uncover. At the Academy we spent an average of 5.1 hours daily working in close proximity and conversing…" Spock went on to quote her the statistics without a second thought. Gathering data from their daily interactions, analyzing it, extrapolating the results, all of that was simple; it was second nature to him, just like breathing. What was not so easy was determining what it meant to him personally and what, if anything, the Lieutenant was gleaning from his presentation. At times her facial expression denoted boredom; at others he almost believed she was in physical pain. Sometimes he was not even sure she was listening to the testimony he was giving.

"Furthermore, at 1432 yesterday…"

"Enough!" The Lieutenant's sharp command instantly silenced him and drew more than a few startled glances from their colleagues at neighboring tables. With a sigh she lowered her head a fraction of a degree and collected herself, speaking apologetically as she looked him directly in the eye. "Commander, I am not avoiding you. There is nothing to avoid. We work on the bridge together, yes, but we have different focuses. Rarely does the communication department have a need to interact with the science department but when they do I will consult you. And if you are suggesting that I am shunning you socially then…" Her hands were gesticulating wildly now and Spock's eye caught the glint of gold reflecting off her left ring finger.

For the first time in his life he spoke without thinking.

"You are bond—…married?"

Humans wed. Vulcans bond. It was a distinction he would do well to remember.

Lieutenant Uhura immediately stopped moving and clamped her mouth shut as the color drained out of her face. Conversely Spock felt his own blood cool by approximately 6.3 degrees and his previous calm be replaced by a sense of dread that he could not adequately name nor fully comprehend. He had not known she was married; that information had not been listed in any of the Enterprise logs. Looking her over again he saw her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the right one covering the left in a vain attempt to hide the ring.

"Yes," she meekly replied, "I am."

"It's a symbol, Spock." He was 3.14 years old and had made repeated inquiries about the plain gold band she wore daily on her left hand.

"Clarify."

She sighed and shifted him on her lap so she could hold her hand out before him. "The ring was given to me by your father after our bonding. It's a token of his love and fidelity."

"I have not seen other women wear such jewelry despite the fact that they are bonded."

"That's because it's a Terran custom, Sweetie. A ring on the fourth finger of the left hand usually means that a person is married. It's very common where I'm from." She looked down at the ring and smiled brightly. "Your father indulged me."

At the time Spock had been struck by the 'otherness' of his mother's tradition—Vulcan bonding was all he knew—but now he was grateful for the lesson, otherwise he would never have known what it was he was looking at.

All lapses aside Spock was certain there was not one mention of her marriage in any of the data he had come across; indeed, there not so much as a hint suggesting that she was involved in a relationship at all. She was full young to be married even by her own species' standards, though the practice was not wholly unheard of. Whomever she chose to commit herself to must be worthy as she, much like himself, would not enter into such a relationship lightly.

Still, he felt a certain amount of disbelief discovering that his former student had, in the intervening years, wed. Lieutenant Uhura's marriage was yet another reminder of a significant moment he had missed and he mourned it.

However, he was the son of a diplomat and an officer, and certain social niceties had to be observed. "It is customary to offer congratulations, however belated they may be," he said, picking up his fork and resuming his lunch as if his gut would allow the food to be consumed. Slowly he chewed and forced first one bite down, then another. He longed to leave but would not be seen fleeing like a coward. This encounter was now proving almost physically painful for him. Where once the Lieutenant had been a balm she was now 'salt on an open wound'—and yet Spock could not break away.

In a move that rivaled his own natural speed the Lieutenant turned, grabbed her PADD and stood over him. "Thank you," she said, sweeping an errant hair off her high cheekbone. "I…I must report back to the bridge now. Have a good afternoon, Commander."

"Lieutenant," he replied with a nod.

She turned and left the Mess without once looking back and he followed her progress until she cleared the room. His tea cooled and his food remained untouched as Spock considered all that he had just learnt in that too brief interaction. 2.89 minutes later he deposited his half-eaten meal in the recycle chute and left to return to his quarters for further meditation on the matter.

It would be another 6.16 minutes before he realized their entire conversation had been conducted in his native Vulkhansu.

"Mr. Chekov, your information is incorrect. The phrase 'Hell hath no fury like a Klingon scorned' did not originate in Russia."

"Captain, before you join the landing party I must insist that you reconsider. Starfleet Regulation 159, Paragraph 3, Section C clearly states that the Captain must remain aboard his or her starship if the likelihood of danger is…"

"Doctor, hovering over my shoulder is not conducive to my work. If you are in need of stimulating social interaction I suggest you seek out the Captain or perhaps Lt. Sulu."

If she closed her eyes tight and just listened she could almost forget that her husband was not himself. Even Kirk seemed to forget that fact and treat Spock like Spock instead of Spock, the Vulcan scientist and First Officer he had reverted back to after Anguillida. It was only when she listened more closely to his tone that she noticed it lacked the faint teasing or concern or hint of annoyance that she used to detect.

Living that way—so close and yet so far away from him—made every moment on the bridge pure agony. And every time he spoke to her…

"Lieutenant, have you corrected the transmission for the subspace anomaly on frequency four?"

"Would you please review this translation, Lieutenant?"

"Excuse me, Lieutenant."

Her rank had always been a pet name that he could use anytime, anywhere, without drawing undo attention to their relationship. Other people might hear nothing but a directive but she'd hear his longing for her in every syllable. Now though…

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

Lost in her recollections Nyota almost allowed herself a small smile before remembering who was speaking. Keeping her cool she adopted a neutral expression and kept her eyes on her PADD. "Commander."

Anyone else would have picked up on her unspoken desire to be left alone, but not him. Spock's heat flooded her side as he took a seat without invitation. Pushing the food around on his plate he glanced sideways at her PADD. "You are reviewing your Renaran?"

"Yes."

A thoughtful nod and then he returned to his meal. Her shoulders thrown back and head held high Nyota wondered how long she'd have to sit there before she could make an unobtrusive exit. His nearness was becoming more than she could bear.

"May I ask a personal query?"

She closed her eyes a fraction of a second too long and held her breath. No, please, anything but that… "Of course."

"It has been 54 days since I awoke in Sickbay with no recollection of the last 3.71 years of my life. In the intervening time you have conversed directly with me on only six separate occasions and I have observed that when given the opportunity you either avoid interacting with me and/or flee from my presence. I am endeavoring to discover why that is."

His noticing her distance—and openly remarking upon it—threw off her equilibrium. What was she to say? 'I'm sorry, Commander, but we're married and expecting a baby and you don't know me from Ensign Poole' wasn't a sufficient answer.

So she did what anyone in her position would do. She lied.

"Commander, I…that's just not true."

"The data I have compiled on the subject would prove your previous statement to be untrue."

Since when had Spock gotten so good at calling someone out? It was so unlike him it made Nyota wonder what else had changed. Practically praying for an alert and against her better judgment she asked, "Why would I be avoiding you?"

"That is precisely the information which I seek to uncover. At the Academy we spent an average of 5.1 hours daily working in close proximity and conversing…"

He droned on and she tuned out. The last time he delved into a statistical lecture this long had been shortly after the miscarriage. Back then Spock talked of the improbabilities of their conceiving naturally, of her being able to carry a Vulcan-human hybrid to term, of the likelihood of copper poisoning or premature birth or future miscarriages. In hindsight Nyota realized he spoke about their loss that way because the data was something he could wrap his head around, whereas the tragedy was too incomprehensible and emotional for him to verbalize. She knew better now but at the time she'd screamed 'til she was hoarse, hurling expletives right back at his statistics and shocking them both.

It was one of the few times she'd ever raised her voice in his presence.

"Furthermore, at 1432 yesterday…"

"Enough!"

Spock stopped speaking and looked as cool as ever, but knowing him like she did she could see he was rattled by her outburst.

She couldn't tell him the truth, not yet. He wasn't ready. "Commander, I am not avoiding you. There is nothing to avoid. We work on the bridge together, yes, but we have different focuses. Rarely does the communication department have a need to interact with the science department but when they do I will consult you. And if you are suggesting that I am shunning you socially then…"

Nyota watched him tense further and stopped, following his eyes to where they came to rest on her left hand—more specifically, on her wedding ring. In all her attempts to try and shield him from this part of their lives it never occurred to her to take off his ring. Quickly bunching her hands in her lap she hoped he wouldn't notice the similarities in design between her wedding band and the one his mother had worn; he'd had her ring specially commissioned since the original had been lost with Lady Amanda.

"You are bond—…married?"

Her head jerked up. Was that a slip of the tongue or did he know? Vulcans didn't slip. Perhaps he suspected? "Yes, I am."

Nyota held her breath as the seconds ticked by and she watched his brain kick into overdrive. She would've killed to know what he was thinking—or at least be able to reach out and take his hand and forge a connection and find out secondhand. Instead she had to content herself with waiting.

Spock completely surprised her by picking up his fork and resuming his meal.

"It is customary to offer congratulations, however belated they may be."

Her heart sank; whatever it was she thought she'd seen in his eyes and heard in his voice a moment ago was a lie. He didn't remember. Suddenly the room was stifling and she hurried to her feet.

"Thank you. I…" her breath hitched and she struggled to get the words out. If she didn't leave soon… "I must report back to the bridge now. Have a good afternoon, Commander."

"Lieutenant."

She could feel his eyes follow her even after she left the room but her disappointment lasted longer still, keeping her company like a shadow throughout the rest of her shift and long into the night.

Crecial High Hall, Stardate 2261.91, 2630 hours (local time). "No, Ambassador," he said, swooping low in a graceful bow. "It is we who are humbled by your presence."

Uhura was going to hate the fact that he actually paid attention to her cultural sensitivity lecture and didn't end up making an ass out of himself. Jim bit back a chuckle just thinking about the look on her face when she found out.

Representative Vima muttered his thanks again and shoved off, finally giving him a chance to look over the assembly and the fragile peace he and his team helped broker. Five days of tense negotiations had left him wondering whether they could even get a ceasefire on Plor let alone a lasting one, but now they'd not only done just that but also got both sides to agree to equal shares to the mining rights on the moon too.

There went another notch on his belt for Team Enterprise. His people were good—really, really good.

Only the best for his ship.

Smiling, Jim made a move toward the human-approved section of the banquet table for a well-deserved treat. He'd seen a red pudding-like dish earlier that smelled like double chocolate brownies; better still, Bones was on ship and whatever he didn't know about his diet wouldn't (likely) kill him.

"Captain."

Kirk's heart hammered in his chest as he struggled not to jump. G-ddamit but the man really was part cat. Their first few months together Spock used to sneak up on him all the time but in the last two years he'd gotten better about announcing his presence to his 'aurally inferior' peers.

Guess they were back to square one here too.

Casually picking up a napkin and plate Jim began doling out some goodies. "Yes, Mr. Spock?"

The Commander trailed a half-step behind him, hands clasped behind his back, as they made their way down the line. "Now that the negotiations between the Renarans and the Crecials have concluded there is another matter I would like to discuss with you."

His hand paused on the spoon and he looked up to Spock. "Fire away." He turned to find the Commander staring at him, one eyebrow raised high. "It means go ahead, Mr. Spock."

The man continued staring at him skeptically before proceeding. "Captain, it has been brought to my attention that Lieutenant Uhura is married; however, in the course of subsequent research the identity of her partner remains shrouded in mystery. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to who the person is, why he or she is not present, and why there is no record of him or her in the database onboard the ship."

Whatever he expected to come out of Spock's mouth it sure as hell wasn't that. Just how had he figured out that Nyota was married? Did she know that Spock knew, and even if she did or didn't how in the world was he supposed to answer that question? Sure he had the authority but did he really have the balls to go over his Comm. Officer's head and her specific request that Spock not be told?

Not really, no…but Jim didn't want her knowing that. She had enough sway over him as it was.

"Have you asked the Lieutenant about any of this?"

Spock quirked his head. "I have not. At the time of the disclosure of her marriage she appeared—uncomfortable with my discovery; however, I find the secrecy surrounding the identity of this individual to be intriguing."

Jim resisted a smirk. Give the Vulcan a puzzle and he'll need a place to piece it together; give him a place to assemble it and he'll ask you a million and one questions before he's through. He couldn't help but notice the almost-emphasis Spock placed on 'intriguing'; it gave Jim a split second of hope that maybe he would finally remember something of his life before Anguillida.

Daring to look over his shoulder Kirk saw the Lieutenant in a semi-circle with two junior Renaran delegates and the tall, white-haired Crecial man whose name he couldn't pronounce. She was just starting to show and while she hadn't made an official announcement yet the crew had begun to whisper. Judging by the way What's-his-name was hovering he seemed to know too; must've been something he'd seen in her aura—that was what Uhura said, right? That Crecials could see auras? He was too busy trying to remember who to bow to and when to recall that specific little tid-bit.

Either way, the man was standing too close for Jim's liking.

He'd bet his last credit that if Spock were in his right mind he'd be over there in a heartbeat in that same protective stance. Maybe that's what prompted him to ask Jim about her in the first place; even if he didn't know why he still felt that same urge to protect Uhura the way the Crecial man had. Either way it put him in a bit of a tight spot.

"I think you need to talk to her about this."

The air between them shifted and if it were possible Jim felt his friend tense up even more. "I am not asking the Lieutenant, Captain. I am asking you."

This was one of their most successful and peaceful missions in—well in a fucking long time—and yet he almost wished for a bomb to go off just to give him a much-needed diversion. He'd given Uhura his word he'd back her up and besides, he really didn't want to be the one to tell Spock that he was the 'mystery spouse', especially not here. Just imagining that conversation was enough to give him a migraine.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim spotted a bowl of fruit. Casually strolling over he grabbed three up and tossed them in the air with well-practiced hands. His antics caught the eye of several celebrants and they all murmured to themselves appreciatively. Good, he had an audience, which was just what he wanted. Spock couldn't make a scene now.

"Captain…"

"Did you know," Jim said, cutting him off, "That peaches are my second favorite fruit? They're so hard to find this far out in space, especially such ripe ones…" He stopped and bit down on the fruit in his hand, eyes closed as he savored the sweet bite…

…that melted in his mouth all too fast.

That's not good.

"Captain."

Jim's eyes burst open and he looked down to see the gooey, lime green center as his body simultaneously started rejecting the unknown, peach-like, foodstuff. Aww hell, he thought as his chest started to constrict, Bones is gonna kill me.

A quick look at Spock as he pulled out his comm. showed that the man had all but abandoned his earlier line of inquiry, making Jim smirk.

But at least I got my distraction.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.91, 2030 hours. The machinery stopped and Leonard looked up and across the room. They'd been trying a new method of synthesizing neurotransmitter production for the last several days and this test looked promising.

At least more promising than the last thirty-seven. Everything they'd tried over the last two months had failed. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had to fashion a cure for Lt. Marks—delving into the mysteries of the human brain was a pretty tall order—but then he had to find a Vulcan/human one too?

The wonders of medical science that made Spock possible also made him a son-of-a-bitch to treat. McCoy cursed his predecessors.

Still, rather uncharacteristically, he had hope.

Chapel had her head bent over a microscope and he didn't bother to give her anything more than a cursory look at the results. It either worked or it didn't, simple as that. "Well? What's the verdict?"

"It…" she turned around, her soft blue eyes downcast, "It's negative, Doctor. There's no change."

"Dam—"

"Doctor!" M'Benga shouted from sickbay. Setting his disappointment aside Len raced over to find Spock half-dragging, half-carrying Kirk who had one swollen arm draped around the Vulcan's shoulders. The kid was so bloated he was almost twice his normal size and the ugly purple bruises that mottled his face made him look like he'd gone twelve rounds with a Klingon.

"What in the hell happened?" he cried, giving Jim a pointed look as he ran his tricorder over him. "I thought you said this was peaceful?l!"

M'Benga ushered them over to a biobed and Spock gingerly set the captain down. The doctors tried to get his shirt off but Jim was so puffy Geoff had to cut the material instead.

"Ib blash pifful."

Numb tongue. Great. This was Mulvaran mud fleas all over again.

At least they weren't rocketing off to—no, best not to think of that.

Giving his friend the once over Len noted that while he was struggling a little bit Jim was still breathing on his own and that was encouraging; one less complication to worry about and all that.

The universe really did just love to shit on his friend's immune system.

"What?"

"Ib…"

"The captain stated that the mediations between the Crecials and Renarans was, and still is, peaceful. He is currently having a negative reaction to a food item he consumed on the planet."

WHAT? After all the lectures and all the near-misses he had to go and do a g-ddamn foolish thing like that… "Dammit, Jim! How many times have I told you to scan your food? You're allergic to every g-ddamn microbe in all of g-ddamn space, so what in the hell made you think you'd be immune to this one thing this time?"

Jim continued to babble as he and Geoff urged him to lay back and Len held the hypo in hand, waiting for him to finish before depressing it into the bloated skin that used to be his neck. As he concluded his speech Jim's eyes sought out Spock's who was now standing a short distance away at parade rest. Apparently the Vulcan understood every word of his gibberish.

"I do not 'bitch', Captain; I was merely lecturing you on the same virtues Doctor McCoy has just expounded over the necessary precautions you must take to safeguard your health from alien food products. It was unwise of you to ingest the tritana without scanning it first, especially since it was not located on the same table as the other Terran-approved meal items."

His eyebrow raise nearly rivaled the Commander's. "He did WHAT now?" Did the kid have a death wish? Depressing the hypo with more force than necessary the kid made one last statement before the sedative kicked in. Curiosity getting the better of him he turned to Spock. "What was that last bit he said there?"

"The Captain said, and I quote, 'It was a peach, Bones'."

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.91, 2349 hours. McCoy stepped out of his office to find his lone patient still blissfully unconscious—and with an unusual visitor keeping vigil at his bedside.

"Mr. Spock?" The Vulcan turned his head but did not rise. "Have you been here this whole time?"

The Commander nodded once, answering in that minute gesture alone and nothing more, before turning back to Jim. Come to think of it he never did see him leave but once the kid's throat started really closin' up he didn't have time to register who or what was where, just focused on keeping Kirk alive.

He dragged a stool over to the other side of the bed and had a seat. How many nights had they spent just like this, one unconscious and the other two worried sick? And usually it was Kirk giving them all heart attacks. Len scowled just thinking about how much knowing Jim had aged him.

Looking him over he noted that the kid's color at least appeared to be returning to normal. He didn't look as bloated as before either, though that'd take a few days to fully subside. Knowing how vain Kirk was he'd bitch about the water weight for the next two weeks.

"How come you're still here?" he finally asked his silent companion.

It was a question Jim would've asked too if he were awake. These last few weeks with Spock around and yet not had been hard on Jim—harder than he'd care to admit, especially when they both knew Uhura was worse off; and while Len appreciated the lack of Vulcan bickering deep down he missed his friend too. Maybe it was because they both feared that however dysfunctionally-functional their previous relationship had been it might not return even with time.

After a careful moment's consideration Spock replied, "I am here because the Captain is here."

Oh.

Perhaps their fears were unfounded after all.