A/N: Next chapter! Also since I forgot previously, I do not own Star Trek nor any of its characters. That privledge belongs to Gene R. Sad day. Thanks for reading!

Sickbay. Doctor's Log: Well, Spock's gone and done it again. Superior Vulcan physique be darned, he always manages to find the one thing that can bring him down. After beaming up, decontamination, and blood testing, I found that the only one of the landing party infected was that green-blooded Vulcan. And it was his green blood that did it too. The disease that killed all the Vulcan colonists seems to be a variant of the Vulcan plague, very similar to ours in that it either affects the lungs, the lymph nodes or the entire system, but worse in symptoms and death rate. Fortunately, for the Enterprise, it only affects copper-based blood. So we won't have a plague ship on our hands, but we will have one very sick Vulcan.

Spock sat cross-legged on his bed, submitting to a battery of tests performed by Dr. McCoy. He was grateful that as of yet, the blood draws and diagnostic checks could be done in his own quarters. He did not appreciate the sterile, public atmosphere of the Sickbay. Spock was not looking forward to the inevitable time when he would have to be confined in sickbay. At least in his quarters he could meditate, or work with ease. Or he would, if he were not interrupted every 3 hours to see if he was sick yet.

"Doctor, I fail to see why I must be constantly interrupted. It is not necessary; I will inform you when I start to feel ill." McCoy snorted as he gathered his supplies.

"Sure you will." Spock knew he was thinking of the many times Spock had concealed an illness or injury from his perceptive doctor. Spock suppressed a sigh. McCoy cheerily went to the door. "See you in three hours."

The smile faded from McCoy's face as he strode away from Spock's cabin. He scowled as he remembered the results from the Spock's latest scans. The bacteria were increasing throughout Spock's bloodstream, in spite of the antibiotics he was immediately put on. McCoy also wasn't making any progress with a cure, either from the annals of Vulcan literature, or tests run on the dead Vulcan's infected blood. He was spending every free minute in the lab, running test after test. So far there were no positive results.

Once in his office, he keyed on the computer.

"Request the Captain to my office, please." He leaned back to ponder how to tell Kirk that his best friend may be dying.

When Kirk walked into McCoy's office, Bone's grim face gave him pause. McCoy saw worry, fear, and anger flash by before being hidden by Kirk's Captain's Mask.

"Report." Kirk ordered in a formal tone, hoping to avoid platitudes from a friend, in lieu of information from his CMO. McCoy straightened, swallowed and reported all he knew, telling him of the increasing bacteria count and failed tests.

"Barring complications, I would put survival at 30 to 35 percent." Kirk clenched his fists behind his back. It could not be possible. Spock was not going to die. McCoy cleared his throat.

"Jim, I'm sor—" Kirk cut him off.

"He is not dead yet, Doctor McCoy." Kirk said sternly. "You would do well to find a way to keep him in that state." Kirk sighed and let the tension leak out of his posture. He turned to go, then stopped in the doorway. "Get him well, Bones."

After the Captain swept into the corridor, McCoy clenched his fists.

"I will, Jim." He swore. "You can count on it."

After 32.5 hours confined to his cabin, Spock could honestly say he was restless. He stood by the door, he lay on the bed, he walked in circles unable focus on one topic for more than 5 minutes. Yes he was adgitated. However, he could not logically determine why that should be. All his normal pursuits were available inside and out of his cabin. He had played chess with Jim last evening, and won. Admittedly, it was over a computer consul; Spock could not risk leaving the cabin, and spreading the bacteria. He had his research, his duties from the Science station were relayed to his quarters. He could meditate at his leisure. Why then, did he feel so uneasy?

He pressed a hand to his stomach as he paced his quarters. It could have something to do with the fact that he was unable to keep his meals in the correct organ. A side effect from the antibiotics he was on, and actually many of the medicines the Doctor had forced down his throat, was a persistent nausea.

Spock sat at his desk chair attempting to concentrate on data readings from the planet's atmosphere. After 2 minutes, he gave up and rubbed his forehead. He illogically was reluctant to admit it even to himself, but no doubt the illness was beginning to manifest itself. He felt tired, achy and cold.

He pulled his blanket closer around his shoulders, and leaned forward again. Spock picked up the stylus, ignoring the slight tremble in his hands. He would do his duties, even imprisoned in his cabin, until he no longer could.

An undetermined amount of time later, McCoy buzzed, and after a moment, let himself in. It was an undetermined amount of time later because the Vulcan with impeccable time sense was currently asleep, slumped over his desk, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. McCoy smiled from behind his protective mask. Spock always looked so young asleep. His mouth was slightly opened and his usually tidy hair was rumpled and crushed against the tabletop. He couldn't have been very comfortable.

McCoy shook Spock's shoulder, prepared to watch Spock bolt awake and then deny he was ever asleep. He wasn't prepared for a groggy eye flutter and slight groan. Spock slowly raised his head, surreptitiously trying to shake off the webs of sleep that seemed to cloud his mind. McCoy leaned over him and felt his forehead.

"Well Spock, your free time is up." McCoy sat on another chair and looked at the ailing Vulcan. Spock's pace was pale with greenish smudges under his eyes. McCoy could tell the illness had taken hold by just looking at him. "You've got a slight fever." Spock nodded. He had suspected. "I gotta take you up to sickbay."

Spock breathed out slowly, a long-suffering sigh for those that knew him. He glanced around his cabin, aware that he would not be seeing these surroundings for quite some time. He shook his head again; nostalgia and regret were illogical and very human. He must be more affected then he thought.

"Very well Doctor." Spock cleared his throat, his voice was raspy. "Allow me to gather my things."

McCoy shook his head.

"Sorry Spock, everything has to be decontaminated. Even the clothes you're wearing will have to go."

Spock again sighed, and submitted to being led to Sickbay.

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