A/N: Here is another update! I will try to do one or two updates a day. Thanks for reading, and do leave reviews please. :)

Kirk sat slouched in his command chair, overseeing the science crew receiving and interpreting data from the planet below. They had to work twice as hard now that Spock had started showing symptoms, analyzing and scanning the samples to find a cause or cure to the mysterious plague.

Kirk raised his fingers to his eyes, trying to rub the grit of tiredness from them. He didn't like this, not one bit. Spock was laid up in sickbay, and was only going to get worse, while his team worked to find an answer. The only thing Kirk could do is watch. The tension was almost strangling, but there was nothing to do about it. Abruptly he stood.

"Mr. Chekhov, you have the conn." And he strode into the lift, without waiting for the softly spoken, "Aye, sir."

Once in the lift, Kirk leaned against the wall.

"Recreation." He told the computer and the lift started to move. Maybe a hard workout would ease his mind.

McCoy pressed a hypo into Spock's shoulder. He scowled. All they were doing was waiting. Waiting for Spock to worsen, to get better, for a cure. It was maddening!

"Doctor, I do not think that hypo has done anything to merit such malice." Spock remarked softly.

McCoy jumped and looked up. He realized he had been glaring at the hypo in his hand for the past few minutes. He grunted, and glanced at Spock sitting there in bed, wearing a Sickbay issue gown and wrapped in blankets. The isolation room was warm for his tastes; luckily the biohazard suit he was wearing had climate control, but Spock was freezing. His shivering was further testament to his impending deterioration, and McCoy shied away from that thought.

"It's not getting you well. That's enough for me." He growled, as he checked the biobed readings. Temp up, respiration down. Bad bad bad!

"You worry unnecessarily, Doctor." Spock cleared his throat painfully. "I shall be fine."

"Oh and you know this how, oh mighty Vulcan seer?" McCoy shot back. "I'm the doctor here." Spock sat up straighter and McCoy prepared, with a sigh, for what he called a "logic lecture".

"First, the inhabitants of the planet had limited medical supplies and none at the end. Second, I have been treated with a broad spectrum and powerful antibiotic from almost the moment of infection. Third—"He broke off, self-consciously bringing his elbow up to cough lightly into. "Third, you and Jim will not let me die." He said this last bit very quietly but with full conviction. It was almost an order in its intensity. McCoy blinked in surprise at this overt display of trust from the stoic Vulcan. Spock's eyes had closed after this speech and he shivered again.

McCoy stood to go out, pausing at the door. Looking back at Spock, lying limply with a green flush in his pale face, he felt a new confidence rise. Spock believed in him, and he could not fail him.

"You better believe it Spock." He spoke softly, and turned to go, turning up the heat a few degrees as he went out.

Both the fever and the coughs increased from that point on. Spock was now continually alternating between shivers and being so hot that he longed to kick off all his blankets. Only his remaining logic kept them on. His breaths became raspy, rattling in his chest, broadcasting the fact that they were filling with liquid. But the worst so far came in the form of paralyzing, deep coughs.

He'd give anything to go into a healing trance, but the coughs could not be held off long enough to sink into one. His attempts had him reaching the first or second level of awareness, before his ribcage would seize up and he would be painfully aware of each cough scraping through his raw throat. He was forced to sit in an awkward half upright position in an attempt to ease his breathing, his head lolling uncomfortably because he lacked the strength to hold it up.

Spock shifted miserably, and sighed. He turned his head as the airlock released and Kirk walked in, encased in a protective suit.

"You're awake." Kirk said, unnecessarily. He walked closer, and put a gloved hand on Spock's shoulder, squeezing a reassurance.

"Yes, Captain." Spock rasped.

"How do you feel?" Only Spock's last vestiges of dignity and logic kept him from rolling his eyes. He thought it must have been very obvious how he felt. Some of McCoy's more potent oaths could cover his present circumstances, he supposed.

"I am fine." Spock said as strongly as he could. The effort cost him, however as he broke into another coughing fit. His lungs seized up and the muscles in his torso protested the abuse. He wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to pass. The coughs did not pass, however, and he began to panic as his chest muscles refused to relax enough for him to draw breath. His field of vision was dark around the edges. Gasping between each harsh, grating cough, Spock felt people around him, holding him up, wiping his chin of the green, bloodied sputum he coughed up. His lungs were on fire! Someone pounded hard onto his back and Spock spat something disgusting into a cloth held to his face.

After a moment, he suddenly could breathe again. He gasped and swallowed, almost choking. Spot danced before his eyes and he sank into an exhausted doze.

When he became aware of leaning against someone's chest, breathing in time with them, he was flooded with feelings of mortification. Who had seen his panic, his terror at not having the simple ability to draw air? He stiffened and tried to pull away, but only made it halfway up before he swayed with dizziness. The man behind him again pulled him down. From his shushing noises, Spock recognized Jim.

"Ji—"Spock's voice gave out, and he coughed lightly, trying to speak.

"Shush, don't talk." Jim murmured. "You're alright." Jim slid slowly out from under Spock and sat again beside the bed, arraingeing Spock against the pile of pillows as if he were a new born child. Spock took a moment to adjust to the change of position, then tried again to speak.

"What ha—"

"A bad coughing fit." Kirk answered. "Bones said one of the worst yet. He wanted to sedate you, but you calmed enough once I held you up." He went to rub his forehead and ran into the mask of the biohazard suit. "Sorry about that, by the way. I know you don't like that much physical contact."

"Think nothing of it Captain," Spock rasped, finally finishing a sentence. He reached out an unsteady arm, seeking to reassure his captain. "It did seem to…ground me to reality."

"Well, good. Your welcome then," Kirk said, taking his thin hand and patting it gently, before letting go. "Bones wants to run some tests, so I'll leave you to his mercy."

As he finished speaking, McCoy bustled in. He was carrying various pieces of equipment, and Spock didn't look forward to finding out exactly what the functions of each were.

"That's right," McCoy said. "The only time I get to boss you around is when you're a patient. I intend to make the most of it while it lasts." McCoy planted his feet and glared at the Vulcan, while Jim chuckled. Spock consented to raise a weary eyebrow.

"Good luck, Spock," Jim said earnestly.

A/N: Ok now press that little button just below here. No, a little to the right, yup perfect. :) Thanks for reading!