Title: Shift of Focus
Characters: Spock, McCoy
Rating: K
Word Count: 653
Summary/Warning: Small scene after the end of The Paradise Syndrome.
Upon opening his eyes, the first officer immediately observed two things: one, his stomach was in absolute turmoil – McCoy's medications, no doubt – and two, that the man in question was hovering over his head, a finger pressed against shushing lips.
At his inquisitive eyebrow, the finger moved downward, to where a figure was half-slumped across the side of his bio-bed, head pillowed on gold-clad arms and emanating silent snoring.
He raised both eyebrows.
"Y'know, if I didn't know better I'd think you staged that whole collapse just to freak Jim out," McCoy was whispering, inspecting the readings above the bed. "I've been trying to snap 'im out of that depression for three days, and all you have to do is faint on the Bridge and suddenly he stops thinking about himself and starts worrying about you."
"Doctor, I assure you I could procure several considerably less…debasing methods of attracting the Captain's attention than collapsing at my station," he returned dryly, but in a tone lowered so as to not wake the man sleeping near his head.
He glanced downward at the haggard face, relaxed in restful sleep for the first time since their return from the planet where his wife and unborn child had been killed, and decided this benefit to the Captain's well-being and health was worth his inexcusably human lapse in controlling his exhaustion and inanition.
"Embarrassed, Mr. Spock?" McCoy needled with a grin.
"Embarrassment is an emotion, Doctor. I merely regret the inconvenience caused to the Bridge crew, and have no desire to answer an onslaught of paranoiac questions upon my return to my post."
"Yeah, well, I told you, even you can't refuse to sleep and barely eat for two months and expect your body to not shut down and call it quits for a while. And don't give me any of that 'I am Vulcan and can control starvation and exhaustion with my enormous willpower' nonsense." He expertly hefted a hypospray, checking the dosage of vitamins he'd been regularly injecting the Vulcan with.
"Doctor, I wish no more of your potions; were you not just yesterday attempting to provoke me into admitting to a greater appetite? A condition which I should never reach when you insist upon unsettling my stomach with your medication."
The physician snorted, tapping the hypo against his left hand. "Your stomach's doing somersaults because you haven't eaten solid food in days, not because of anything I did. This's a mix of nutrients, that's all. Nothin' for you to get so worked up over."
"Doctor, Vulcans do not 'get worked up' over anything."
"Yeah, sure, Mr. Spock. Keep telling yourself that." He administered the hypospray, ignored the glare from his patient, and then bent to check that the Captain was still resting normally. "Now try to let 'im sleep for a few more hours, will you?"
"I have every intention of doing so, Doctor. Though I do wish I could extricate my arm, as my hand has developed a certain numbness..."
"Better than the pain in the neck Jim will have in a few hours," McCoy replied, grinning at the Vulcan's experimental wriggling out from under the Captain's limp head.
"Are you referring to the consequences of sleeping in such a position, Doctor, or the fact that you will be no doubt hovering nearby when he awakens?"
The physician spluttered, prowling around the room for a few seconds, the sleeping man being the only reason he did not immediately retaliate with a (slightly crude) response. Finally he swung back around toward the bed, intent on revenge, but stopped when he saw the Captain wasn't the only one asleep now.
Sighing, he ran one final scan and put the equipment away, then stood for a moment looking down at his patients.
"Vulcans don't smile, my eye," he muttered, finally grinning at the parting shot he'd received from the one in question. "Computer, lights to five percent."