Notes: This is turning out to be a multi-chapter endeavour. I've got the next bit half-written so it shouldn't take too long to get it written up. Thanks to those who reviewed.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009 and I make no profit from this work.

Jim had made it all the way down to the main hall before he remembered Spock. He'd glanced appreciatively around the room the Madosians placed him in, contacted Scotty on the Enterprise to inform him that he'd be away from his precious engine room at least until morning, requested an overnight bag for each of the men, and made use of the facilities. He'd just been washing his hands when the others approached his room to collect their captain before they rejoined their hosts for the evening.

This is when he noticed the absence of his first officer. Spock wasn't among the group of guys who walked along with him which was to be expected. Spock was never late. Ever. The guy was chronically early. Every meeting, every shift that the commander attended since the beginning of Jim's captaincy saw his arrival at least fifteen minutes before it began. So Jim assumed that Spock already down there, awkwardly trying to avoid making small talk with the aliens. However, when they reached their destination Spock was nowhere to be seen. And none of the others had seen him since they first reached their temporary quarters.

'Huh,' he thought with a small amount of concern. If Spock was late, well, that could only mean that something had held him up. No big deal. He'd probably be along in a few minutes with a mundane explanation for the delay.

Fifteen minutes passed and Jim just had to check on Spock. The guy was never late like this. And he'd been acting all weird after dinner. And so he excused himself and made his way back through the winding corridors to Spock's room and knocked on the door. There was no reply. He tried calling. "Spock, you in there?" Still no answer. Hmm. Well, he couldn't imagine that Spock would be inside ignoring him – that would be illogical. Maybe he'd taken the opportunity to beam back aboard the ship when no one was paying attention. Jim scoffed. Yeah, that'd be the day. Perhaps Spock got lost on his way back to their meeting point. No, with his super-accurate Vulcan memory, that didn't was highly unlikely as well. In any case, it was clear that Spock wasn't around.

Oh well, he'd probably turn up in a few minutes and if not, Jim could just try him on his communicator. Or contact the ship and have them locate him the easy way. No big deal.

He was just about to turn and walk away when he thought he heard Spock's voice emanating from inside the room.

Jim didn't think twice about marching into the room. Closed doors had never been very much of a deterrent for him. And anyway, if Spock wanted him to keep out, he could have said so when he knocked – Jim couldn't guarantee that he would have listened but chances are he might have considered it.

He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting to see when he entered Spock's room but he certainly hadn't been expecting to find his first officer slouching in a corner of the bathroom floor, looking like absolute hell.

At the sight, the captain's brain shut down.

Then it started up again a moment later and gradually registered the sight before him. "O...kay...this explains a lot," he said as he quickly knelt beside Spock. The man was pale, even for him. His face was shiny with sweat, his usually tidy hair plastered to his forehead. And he was trembling. A far cry from the usually unflappable Vulcan who he called his first officer.

Damn. Good thing he came to check on him. "Jesus Christ, Spock, what's going on?" Jim asked with no small amount of concern. "What happened to you?" But there was no reply. Spock's dark eyes were glazed over and fixed on the floor and it suddenly occurred to Jim that the Vulcan hadn't so much as blinked since he entered the room. Could Spock even hear him? Sure didn't seem like it...and that would explain why he hadn't answered the door. Jim's concern increased as he leaned in closer to Spock and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Spock."

Jim was relieved when his first officer finally responded and turned to meet his gaze. But that relief was short-lived. A split-second later Spock's bloodshot eyes widened marginally and he went as white as a sheet. Then he blinked slowly, swallowed, and Jim was knocked backward onto his ass as Spock made a mad scramble across the floor. Before Jim could react, the tiny room was filled with the sound of logical, cool-headed, dignified Spock puking his guts out.

"Holy shit!" was the captain's tactless response as he landed on his backside and the vulnerable squishy part of his elbow slammed into the edge of the door frame. Jim gritted his teeth and pulled himself back up into a squat while Spock retched and coughed. His mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing. It was just...bizarre! Spock was by far the strongest guy on the ship physically. And in the months since the start of their commission, Spock hadn't visited the sickbay once except to receive the inoculations that Bones insisted on shooting them up with every time they joined an away team and for the mandatory examinations after their return.

To see him like this was...well, as ridiculous as it sounds Jim had begun to imagine that this second-in-command was invulnerable. Of course, deep down he knew that the guy must have some weaknesses; it's just that Spock never seemed affected by anything.

To see him like this was messing with Jim's mind in strange ways.

Finally, the part of Jim that was a Starfleet captain and capable of taking responsibility for the wellbeing of others picked his jaw up off of the floor and reached into his pocket for his communicator. The device flipped open with a familiar chirping noise and he was just about to contact the Enterprise when Spock seemingly regained control for a moment and asked, "What are you doing?"

Stunned, Jim stared at the back of his first officer's head. "What do you think? I'm calling Bones." That was obvious, wasn't it?

"That is unnecessary," the Vulcan replied in an unsteady voice, his breathing ragged.

Jim gaped at him. "...Uh...what?"

"It is unnecessary," he repeated. "I do not require you to contact Doctor McCoy at this time."

Jim watched in disbelief as his first officer finally hit the lever, eased himself back against the wall, and looked at him with green bloodshot eyes. "You don't want me to call Bones," he clarified.

"No."

"Even though you're obviously sick."

"Correct."

"Even though you're puking your guts out and we're on an away mission and I'm not a doctor and there's very little that can be done for you down here...you still don't want me to alert medical?"

"That is an accurate reiteration, yes."

Jim's eyebrows were hovering just below his hairline. "Huh," he said eloquently. "Do you mind explaining the logic behind this decision to me, Mr. Spock? Because it's not making a lot of sense of me."

Spock took a long breath as his long slender fingers worried the fabric at the hem of his shirt. "I am experiencing..." He hesitated and quietly swallowed. "...Slight discomfort as a result of the meal provided to us by our hosts. It should pass in due time without medical treatment."

Jim snorted. "That's bullshit." This earned him the Vulcan equivalent of an unimpressed frown. It was a little subdued by the sweat-streaked face. "If this is your idea of 'slight discomfort' then I don't want to see you when you're really in misery."

Ignoring Jim's remark, the half-Vulcan continued on. "This is not the first time I have endured symptoms of this nature after consuming unfamiliar cuisine. I am accustomed to tolerating such effects for their duration without medical intervention."

"What!" Jim's eyes just about bugged out of his head. Had Spock been suffering this way after every field mission in silence? "Are you fucking kidding me? Spock, why didn't you say anything about it?" He tried in vain to submerge his own hurt feelings at this news. Did Spock think he was that big of an asshole that he would force him to attend these diplomatic gatherings if it was causing him this much harm? "Does it always make you this sick?"

It was Spock's silence that gave him away.

Jim's eyes narrowed accusingly at this second in command. "It doesn't, does it?"

More silence. He's full of shit, Jim thought. He could almost hear the cogs whirring in the half-Vulcan's brain as he put together what was certain to be a most persuasive argument.

"...Nevertheless I prefer to remain here. My reasons are my own. I implore you to have confidence my judgement."

Hmm. Not very persuasive especially given that Spock had switched to breathing through his mouth and was quietly panting. It was almost painful to watch. "I'm sorry Spock, I'm having a hard time taking you seriously when you're sprawled out on the bathroom floor."

"Captain," the half-Vulcan said beseechingly, a note of frustration in his voice, as his eyes slid shut. He looked like hell. He was shivering. And he was absolutely one hundred percent serious.

Jim watched him in silence for a long moment. He's delirious, Jim decided. Then he quickly reached out and placed the back of his hand against Spock's damp forehead.

Spock's reaction was instantaneous. His eyes snapped open at the touch and fixed on the captain in an unblinking indignant stare.

Jim's throat tightened in dread. Spock's skin was frighteningly hot. Way too hot.

...For a human. It was then that he remembered that Vulcans operate on a higher temperature than humans and he realized that he had no idea whether or not Spock's temperature was within normal parameters. Spock's eyes were wide and round and staring at him, glassy and bloodshot. The sight of it startled him a little. It was creepy. So he quickly removed his hand and cleared his throat. "Uh...Do you have a fever?" he asked awkwardly.

Spock slowly blinked and turned his gaze away as he seemingly assessed his current state. After a moment he quietly admitted, "Apparently so."

Jim gave a sigh of dismay. "We need to get you to sickbay." As much as Spock was reluctant to go there really didn't seem to be another option. "Come on; please don't make me be a jerk about this." He didn't think that pulling rank on the sick, seemingly out-of-it Vulcan would help matters any.

Spock's fingers redoubled their grip on the hem of his shirt, leaving patches of deeper blue where the sweat from his hands had soaked through the fabric. He wasn't usually one to fidget as Jim was wont to do when he was feeling anxious. Something must really be eating at him.

When he didn't receive a reply, Jim's concern increased all the more. He examined the man's face. Spock visibly paled before his eyes. His eyebrows were drawn together forming a line between them, his lips were parted slightly, and his breathing was growing more rapid by the second. "I..." he started weakly. "I...nnnggg."

Before Jim could say another word Spock dragged himself up out of the corner, bent over the toilet, and started throwing up again. In a flash of panic, Jim tried to remember what the good doctor had done for him when he'd been in a similar state, which was tricky considering he was usually too incoherent to find his own feet during those episodes. He knew that Bones said, "Damn it, Jim," a lot and muttered curses under his breath the whole time but that probably wouldn't help Spock very much.

He remembered that when Bones wasn't firing hypos into his neck, he'd hold one hand on his back. Jim wasn't sure how much it really helped per se but looking back he figured that it was reassuring to know that there was someone there looking out for him. So after a moment of indecision he reached out and placed a hand on Spock's back, still amazed by the heat that the half-Vulcan was giving off.

After what was only a minute or so but felt a lot longer, Spock's convulsing finally tapered off and was replaced by shivers. Jim realized that at some point he had started rubbing slow circles on his back. He wasn't sure how Spock felt about the uncommon physical contact between the two of them but he wasn't complaining so Jim figured that he found it acceptable.

When he finally moved to sit back, Jim slid his arm behind the Vulcan and assisted him. Spock didn't meet the captain's gaze for a long moment. "I apologize," he muttered softly.

Jim's reaction was simply to shrug. "Better out than in," he replied lightly.

Spock nodded, his bangs now completely wilted against his forehead. "I would not have the crew observe me in this state," he confessed quietly.

Oh damn, Jim realized. He's embarrassed. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. That's why he doesn't want to beam back up to the ship. "Spock," he started as gently as he could, "No one is going to lose respect for you just because you're sick." But as reassuring as he tried to sound Jim knew that if he was in Spock's position he'd be feeling pretty self-conscious himself. It's hard to maintain an air of authority when you're losing your lunch. Damn it.

At last Jim gave a long-suffering sigh and pointed an accusing finger at his first officer. "If you die down here and the Admiralty finds out that I didn't force you into sickbay I'm never going to hear the end of it!"

Spock somehow managed to seem relieved without actually looking relieved. "I assure you that I will not die, Captain."

Well, that was enough for Jim. "Alright, look," he started firmly, "if you're not looking a whole lot better in a couple of hours I'm contacting Bones and telling him to come down here. And you know how much he hates using the transporter."

Spock gave the smallest of nods. "It's quite illogical of him. The transporter is a perfectly safe means of conveyance."

Jim gave a brief chuckle. "No offense but right now you're not really the one to talk about acting illogical."

Spock gave a weary inclination of his head. "Indeed."