When Jim woke up, his head was killing him. He rolled out of bed and somehow managed to stumble the three metres to his en suite before hacking up his guts. Mostly in the toilet. It wasn't his fault he happened to be incredibly talented at projectile vomiting through his nose. The excessive force of each heave left Jim's body aching in a decidedly unpleasant way. It was enough to seriously consider never drinking again. Or never trusting whatever Gary was bringing him. A hangover had never been this bad.

Jim flushed the toilet and looked at the mess he'd made. Life sucked. Just seeing it made him feel like vomiting. How did parents deal with sick children? It made sense now that his mother used to insist he and Sam look after their own messes despite the nausea she knew it invoked. Humans were gross.

He groaned and turned on the cold water, cupping his hands and scooping it into his mouth to wash away the disgusting taste. Jim forced himself to repeat the action a few times before sucking the water in through his nose. There was little worse, in Jim's opinion, than having muck up your nose and in the back of your throat. It burned and having chunks of god knows what where it really should never venture was horrid. The water was only marginally better. More often then not, Jim managed to breathe in too deeply. Which would usually start a coughing fit. Which would led to some impressive heaving. And he'd vomit all over again.

Once he was done in the bathroom, Jim wandered back into his room. Saturday mornings were generally a peaceful time in the Embassy. Spock had a twice monthly morning meeting with Captain Pike and a few professors. He'd explained that they were thinking of writing up a series of optional short courses for students. Something about dealing with telepathic or empathetic races. Spock and the Betazoid professor, Dr. Elbrun were collaborating with some of the medical staff to write the curriculum. It was taking longer than expected to compile all the necessary information. Bonds were held in an almost sacred, secret regard to most telepathic species. No one was willing to come forth and offer their personal insights. Additionally, there was currently only one Human who experienced contact with Vulcan telepathy on a daily basis. Spock was more than a little uncomfortable questioning his mother about such an intimate act.

Jim looked at his bed with a lost expression. He wanted to go back to sleep. But he knew he should eat something, get a drink of water and try to distract himself until the nausea cleared up. Until then, he was going to just end up hurling with only the slightest provocation. Including, but not limited to, loud noises, bright light and sudden movement. What a great beginning to the weekend.

Jim munched on buttered toast so as not to upset his precarious stomach. Today was not going the way he wanted. Sure, he'd been meaning to catch up with the guys, since he and Spock had been spending all their free time programming the Kobayashi Maru in secret. He wasn't planning on getting off his face, black out drunk. He could vaguely remember bumping into some guy before they'd found their booth and Phil and Jose went off to dance. Gary had been asking him questions, weird questions Jim needed more alcohol to answer truthfully. Gary had gotten another round, they's talked a little about the academy and whoever had the latest claim to Jim Kirk's growing number of made up sexual escapades. The sort of shit people made up about him. Their glasses had emptied and everything else was blurry.

"Jim?" Spock walked into the room wearing a silver sweater his mother made him. It was hideous but somehow Spock made it look charming. How that worked, Jim had no idea.

Jim just grunted in response, choosing to lay his head down on the table to stop the room from spinning. Gentle fingers stroked through his hair. He hummed like a contented kitty. The tingling feeling Jim associated with Spock's telepathy was nice, easing away his headache.

"I have read that the most effective way to get rid of the lingering effects of alcohol consumption is to 'sleep it off'." Spock murmured, hands still carding through Jim's sun bleached strands. It felt so nice. On both a physical and emotional level. Jim felt loved and protected. Cared for in a way he hadn't thought possible. Not for him. Not with such a gentle touch.

"Mk. I'll sleep in a minute." Jim trailed off, feeling himself losing the battle to stay conscious while Spock kept up his relaxing ministrations. He felt strong arms pick him up and he snuggled into the soft warmth of Spock's sweater. Spock smelt nice. Jim let himself drift off.

The next time he woke, it was already early afternoon. The afternoon sun slanted in through the crack in the curtains. Jim turned and spotted Spock sitting on his rug, deep in meditation. From his vantage point, Jim watched the Vulcan. He was completely still, face relaxed in a way Jim hardly ever saw. Spock's lips were slightly parted, accentuating the pretty bow shape so often hidden by his non-expression. The creases on his forehead and between his eyebrows were absent, reminding Jim that Spock was only three months older than himself. It was easy to forget, despite years of knowing one another. Spock had always been so far above everyone else, smarter, stronger, more mature. It kind of hurt to see just how different he was, when he wasn't holding himself up to some unrealistic expectation.

"Captain Pike wished to inform you that you will receive a summons to see Admiral Archer, sometime today." Spock spoke up without opening his eyes or changing his breathing pattern.

"Do you know where my PADD is?" Jim asked as he stretched. It appeared that the nap had done him good. He felt refreshed, albeit a little slimy. Apparently he hadn't had a shower when he got home last night. Which was strange. Normally he hated going to bed without showering. Call it a leftover from living on a desert planet. And he was wearing his pyjamas, rather than the black shirt and jeans he'd definitely been wearing at the club.

"You left it on the desk." Spock replied, blinking his eyes open and arching an eyebrow. The PADD was clearly in direct eyesight of the bed. Oh. Maybe Spock always looked so uptight because he was constantly surrounded by such illogical Humans.

Jim sighed and grabbed the PADD, electing to sit on the floor next to Spock rather than sit back on the bed. The Vulcan watched him as he went through his emails, deleting anything he deemed unimportant and flagging the two messages from Gary to read later. After he'd procrastinated enough, Jim tapped the Starfleet insignia and quickly scoured the short message. The message din't contain any reason why Archer wanted a chat, only that he had, Jim glanced at the time, just under two hours to get there. Wonderful.

Jim jumped up, a little too fast, and scurried into the bathroom, stripping down in record time and entering the cubicle. At least sonics were good for something. It might not be as invigorating as a water shower but, thy were fast.

"Hey, did you clean the bathroom?" Jim shouted as he tied his towel around his waist whilst trying to brush his teeth.

He ventured back into his room to find it empty, the door sealed tight. Jim shrugged, ignoring the flare of disappointment and dropping the towel. He grabbed the closest clean pair of pants and a blue t-shirt and managed to dress himself without serious injury. Between putting on his shoes and packing his PADD back into his bag, Jim managed to brush his teeth and put on deodorant.

Slipping out of his room, Jim ran down the hall and out into the summer air. His feet pounded down the stone stairs as he rushed out of the house. He had just over an hour to make an hour and a half walk. Some days Jim was sure the world was out to get him.

Just as Jim reached the gate, the garage doors opened.

"You are aware we have the use of a hovercar, correct?" Jim could just about kiss the smug bastard.