Title: Clothes Make the Man (or the Vulcan)
Characters: Spock, Kirk, McCoy, various
Rating: K+
Word Count: 2523 (this bit)
Warnings: Among other things, this is total fluff, angst, and crack; though probably no more so than an actual episode of the show. You have been warned; proceed with caution.
Summary: Five times Spock wore something other than his uniform, and one time he was all too glad to put the uniform back on. (sorry to disappoint you hopefuls, but this is still gen fic, people. No pon farrs allowed :P)
A/N: Adaptation from a writing prompt given to me by imbecamiel, during my recent whining about a lack of muse on my LiveJournal. Other prompt answers to come; this is just the one that grabbed my attention the most. Oh, and my apologies for a prolonged hiatus; my inspiration disappeared along with my free time recently, and I've only just started warily wading back into fandom in general. Bear with me, if you will.
V.
Spock of Vulcan does not fully grasp the human concept of panicking.
Panic is an instinctual response in most sentient beings, usually triggered by some traumatic experience or event; however, such a response can certainly be controlled through the Vulcan Way. Were it not for his own flawless Vulcan control, he too might succumb to such an emotion, given that the cause is certainly sufficient. As it stands, he is grateful for his mental shielding and thought processes, as they prevent him from indulging in that extremely human emotion.
(It does not help his state of mind when Dr. McCoy merely smirks at him in that infuriating way of his, and informs him that 'the Vulcan equivalent of freaking out is still freaking out, Commander.')
Captain Kirk has been quite busy the last three weeks, engaged in year-end crew evaluations. Together with his senior command staff, Kirk has spent the better part of every day performing the in-depth examinations which are required of every crewman at the end of every fiscal twelve-month. These are highly important evaluations, and every crewman understands that his career path is greatly dependent upon his performance in those year-end reviews. In consequence, this time of year is more stressful than most for many of the crew, and the burden of the final evaluation is a highly taxing workload for the command chain of any starship. And along with the fame of being the Federation's flagship, comes a continual stream of young, hopeful applicants – whose only chance of coming aboard is to replace a crewman who does not meet the evaluation standard which Kirk upholds relentlessly.
Because of this, it does not necessarily raise any warning flags to either Spock or Dr. McCoy's medical staff, when the captain visits Sickbay halfway through the second week, complaining of a persistent headache and muscle spasms. Such is normal, McCoy reassures Spock upon his inquiry, for any human when engaged in such a high workload. He is well aware that the captain suffers from infrequent headaches even during so-called 'dry seasons', and so it is not unusual for his discomfort to be severe enough that he actually seeks out medical aid rather than simply dealing with it himself, as is typical.
Nevertheless, Spock makes a mental note to keep a careful eye upon the human to whom he promised his total loyalty shortly after his recent, disastrous, mutiny to rescue Christopher Pike. Kirk forgave his offense with the same compassion he extends for the difference in their cultures; and while Spock was indeed given a thoroughly stern dressing-down and a warning that such an act will not be tolerated in future, he counts himself lucky to not only be permitted to remain at his post, but to continue as if he has not betrayed the trust of the one human whose opinion he actually values. His offense was unforgiveable, and had he not a previous loyalty to Christopher Pike after eleven years of service he would never have even contemplated such a betrayal of Jim's trust; however, what is done, is done. The captain has forgiven and apparently forgotten his treachery – and Spock will never again step out of line behind this remarkable man.
Kirk appears to be merely tired as they continue the crew evaluations, however; perhaps a bit more so than usual, but that too is only indicative of the time of year. Spock does what he can to relieve the burden of the technical paperwork, leaving the captain with only the evaluations to do, and he also sees to the crew's brief shore leave, docked as they are around the industrial center of Starbase 65-A. The crew evaluations will determine which of the crewmen disembark here to transfer to other ships, and how many crew slots they will then have to fill from the pool of ever-eager young cadets, ensigns, and lieutenants who wish to test their skill aboard the Federation's flagship.
While Kirk is spending a good fourteen hours a day seeing to the year-end evals, Spock is equally busy with the minutae of his new post. While he has been performing as full Commander and First Officer for many months, he has only just received his stripes – and now, as a full Commander, it is he who must answer for much of the ship's operations, and he who will receive the censure if requirements are not met. He does not mind the added responsibility, for he is perfectly capable of performing to standard and well aware of that fact; but at the same time, it does add hours of inspection duty into his already hectic week.
He blames this additional workload for his tardiness in identifying the problem, though he is aware that there is really no excuse for his negligence. No man, not even Jim Kirk, is a good enough actor to deceive a Vulcan who is giving his full attention; this is Spock's fault, and no one else's.
Spock has had no real indication that the captain is feeling at all unwell, until this morning – when, apparently unable to rouse the captain by comm-link, Lieutenant Uhura contacts him while he is performing an inspection tour down in the science labs, telling him in confidence that she is concerned for Kirk's welfare. The ship's computers specify upon his inquiry that Kirk is indeed in his quarters, but he is not responding to hails from either the labs or the Bridge, and when Spock arrives on Deck Five, the captain's door shows still Security-locked from the previous night.
Spock immediately overrides the locking code, to find that the bed in Kirk's small sleeping alcove is empty, and the captain himself is slumped over a pile of PADDs on his desk, head on one arm, apparently fast asleep. Repressing a twinge of human exasperation (this particular scenario happens far more often than is healthy, when the captain feels he is falling behind in workload), Spock moves to the desk, intent upon yet again waking the exhausted human and helping him orient himself for the day.
It is only upon trying to shake Kirk awake and eliciting no more than an unconscious murmur in response, that he realizes Jim is most certainly running a dangerously high fever, and probably has been for some hours – no one knows for how long he has been unconscious, as the captain has been at this desk most likely since the time Spock left him still working around 1900 hours the previous evening.
Incapable of doing more, Spock quickly moves the captain to his bed, and promptly comms Medical. Within minutes Kirk is escorted to Sickbay, where their Chief Medical Officer grumbles for a quarter-hour about being roused from sleep after just having crashed following delta shift duty, though he at least is at the same time performing tests with the expertise that Spock has come to recognize as the irascible human's sole saving grace.
The results are not encouraging; it is a fairly common, quick-acting virus originating in the Antares system, and obviously someone has brought it back aboard with them from the Starbase below. McCoy sets his staff to divide and conquer the rest of the crew with a preventative vaccine for the virus, and then quarantines the captain without further ado. High fever, possible hallucinations, muscle cramps, headache, vomiting, the doctor tells him as his people move with all the swiftness of the experts they are – Kirk is in no serious danger, but he will definitely be miserable for a few days, until the virus runs its course.
Spock sends out orders to temporarily recall and halt shore leave parties and then stands by helplessly, barely noticing when a nervous nurse tells him there is no vaccine which is compatible with his alien physiology, but that he probably is immune to the virus due to the differences in his blood makeup. Finally, McCoy returns, and appears to be surprised that he still remains in Sickbay, a full two hours after finding the captain unconscious in his cabin.
"If the idiot had come to me when he first started feeling sick, during the forty-eight hour incubation period, I could've given him the standard antibody treatment to help him fight off the worst of it," the doctor says, scowling in the direction of the quarantine cubicle. "Instead, he somehow gets past both of us with a dangerously high fever and other symptoms that you or I should have seen days ago!"
Spock is well aware of his failings in this area; despite the captain's unusual ability to power through pain or illness, he is not that good of an actor. Had Spock not been too busy to pay much attention to the human, he might have seen the signs before now, and been able to spare the man this new trial.
He returns from his (highly illogical, and yet it exists) self-recrimination, to see McCoy looking at him expectantly. Obviously he has missed something.
"Doctor?"
"I said, are you off duty now, Mr. Spock? Because if you are, then you'd better suit up, because I for one have to get more than two hours' sleep or I'm not gonna be of any use to anybody today."
"…Suit up?" he repeats blankly. He can certainly be 'off-duty' now, as he did not have Bridge duty today and he pulls a double shift most weekdays – but what bearing has that on anything?
Another step, well into his personal space, and a pair of frighteningly fierce blue eyes glint daggers at his head. "My office, Commander," McCoy says, in such a level, even tone that it is far more worrisome than his usual shouting. The doctor spins smartly on his heels and heads for his office, not bothering to see that Spock is actually following, and once the door has closed behind them the human points a thin finger at a chair before his desk.
"Sit. And don't pull that I prefer to stand crap with me, Mr. Spock; I am gonna sit, and I'm not gonna put a kink in my neck starin' up at you."
Spock sits.
McCoy leans forward, elbows on the desk. An air of utter weariness clearly shows the human's need for sleep. "Look, I'm gonna shoot straight with you, Commander," he says, and Spock becomes unaccountably uneasy. "I dunno what it is you and Jim have got going on between you, and I dead sure don't need to know particulars, because it's none of my business."
Horrified down to his Vulcan core at every single possibility to be extrapolated from such a sentence, Spock's eyes widen of their own accord. "Doctor, I assure you that –"
"Oh spare us, Spock." The informality is not unusual for this particular human, though the faint grin relaxing the physician's lined features certainly is. "I know how he looks around to find you first, whenever he comes in a room. I gave him a headache pill to stave off a migraine when he spent four hours arguing with the Admiralty about your command status, and let him vent to me for another hour after you stole this blasted bucket of bolts and nearly got yourself court-martialed for it. And, Mr. Spock," McCoy adds dryly, "I've seen the way you look at him. Vulcans have no emotions, my sainted aunt."
Spock has never before felt this particular, uncomfortable warming sensation creeping up his neck; he wonders if this is the human action of blushing.
"All I'm sayin', Commander," McCoy continues, blithely ignoring his growing discomfort, "is that if you intend to make a friend out of Jim Kirk, then you've got some things to learn. And, I'm not gonna stand by and let him burn himself out tryin' to make one out of you, if you aren't willing to return the favor."
"Doctor, as you said moments ago, this does not fall within your purview as Chief Medical Officer," Spock manages to say with a perfectly calm expression, a remarkable feat.
"So transfer me," McCoy retorts, with very little sincerity. "Love to see how you explain that command decision to your precious captain when he wakes up."
Spock feels a twinge of human frustration – this human is particularly adept at producing that annoying emotion – and quashes it in favor of ending the conversation with less embarrassment than has been elicited from him thus far.
"What, precisely, is your point in this highly emotional conversation, Doctor?"
McCoy jerks a thumb over his shoulder, smirks at his growing unease. "Suit up, and get your green-blooded behind in there, Commander. Rule Number One: Jim hates isolation, including quarantine. It'll give him nightmares when he has a fever even more than the drugs will. And friends, Mr. Spock, do what they can to make unpleasant situations bearable."
"You are implying that –"
"C'mon, Spock, I am way too tired to start one of your Vulcan-in-denial conversations. I said get in there, and don't think I won't know if you weasel your way out of it. 'Night, Commander."
Spock stares, dumbfounded, as McCoy flips him a terribly sloppy salute and leaves the room, yawning. Obviously the doctor thinks he has finished this conversation, and is intent upon returning to his quarters.
He exits the office as well, noting that the nursing staff eye him warily – no doubt under orders from their peculiar Chief – and peers for a moment into the isolation ward, at the solitary figure sleeping restlessly within, brow wrinkled with pain and fatigue. If McCoy is correct (and, however annoying the man may be, he is certainly more well-informed of the captain's personal information than Spock himself is, at this time), then there is only one logical course of action.
The EV suit is bulky, and not constructed for someone of his height and slender build, and it is nearly impossible to work the tiny buttons of a data-padd using the insulated glove attachments. The inability to perform at peak efficiency, as he had hoped to do by bringing paperwork into the isolation cubicle with him, becomes more apparent as the hours pass. He will be quite far behind, by the time this day is over. (Not to mention that he must finish the captain's work as well, since Kirk is going to be totally incapacitated for at least forty-eight hours.)
However, the look of bewildered delight on Jim's face when he wakes up, to find his First Officer silently completing belated crew evals next to his bedside, does make the illogical action a somewhat equitable trade.