Title: Things Unspoken
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Rating: K
Word Count: 1179
Summary/Warning: End scene from The Omega Glory.

"You'll live," McCoy drawled, taking great glee in the Vulcan's discomfort over the flurry of attention following his collapse off the Transporter platform and subsequent rush to Sickbay. "Any human would've been dead by now from trauma – I mean your heart did stop for a few seconds, although I wouldn't've believed you had one – and then y'had to go and spend all the rest of your energy on mental voodoo..."

Spock decided responding to each link in the chain of insults would expend more energy than would equate the balance of his satisfaction, and so only wearily rebutted the last. "As the resident expert in dubiously qualified and obsolete medical practices, I shall accept your limited scope of perception regarding my abilities, Doctor."

From the other bed, being forced to remain awake due to the effects of his concussion (or concussions, McCoy hadn't decided which), a half-drugged captain growled testily and hunched into his blanket like a cat hiding from a rainstorm. "Knock it off, you two."

"You keep quiet there, Captain sir. One cranky patient's enough for any old man's blood pressure – I don't need your flak in addition to Spock's."

The reply, muttered ferociously into the crimson pillow, was audible only to Vulcan ears, and the owner of them was not about to repeat to McCoy just exactly what the Captain wanted him to do at the moment.

"The only thing I don't understand," the CMO mused aloud, checking on the First Officer's healing injuries, "is how you managed to sprain all these muscles in your arms and shoulders, Mr. Spock. Y'had to have noticed you were hurtin' yourself."

A placid blink. "I assure you, Doctor, the condition has no pertinence to this conversation."

Kirk had slouched up on one elbow, glaring at his First Officer in that particular hypo-induced lack of tact that made McCoy throw data-PADDs and the nurses giggle privately during their coffee breaks. "What the heck were you doing, and when did that happen?" he demanded crossly.

"Which of those questions shall I answer first, sir?" the Vulcan inquired calmly.

"Spock…"

"The condition developed while I was imprisoned on the planet's surface." Spock's eyes narrowed, stabbing irritatedly at the physician who was hovering too close for comfort to his head. "Doctor, is there a problem, besides your obvious?"

Kirk snickered drunkenly into his sleeve, but hastily turned it into a cough as McCoy turned a glare his direction. "Um…right, well…but when during our jail term?" he asked, frowning again.

For the first time, the Vulcan hesitated and looked awkwardly at his hands, clasped over his chest in repose. There was no dignity in refusing to answer, however, and so a moment later he glanced back up to meet Kirk's patient gaze. "During the seven hours and eight minutes which you spent in unconsciousness, Captain."

"SEVEN HOURS?"

"Bones…" the Captain moaned, clutching his head.

"You didn't tell me it was seven hours! How the blue blazes were you walking around afterwards?" The physician loomed threateningly over the cringing occupant of the bed, stabbing an accusatory finger toward the center of Kirk's head.

"You're changing the subject, Bones," the Captain said defensively, pointing the attention back toward his silent Vulcan friend. From the peeved expression hidden behind the dark eyes, said Vulcan would have been quite content to allow the converse to drift away from his own condition. "What happened while I was out, Spock?" he asked worriedly. "Did Tracy come back for you?"

"Nothing so crude, Captain. I was merely…unable to remove the bars from my cell window, and…expended an injurious amount of energy in trying."

McCoy did a double-take, putting both hands on either side of the Vulcan's arms on the mattress and leaning over him with a wide smirk. "You don't mean to say you were that worried when he wouldn't answer you, Mr. Spock? To the point of injuring yourself in an effort to escape? Hardly logical, wouldn't you say?"

"On the contrary, Doctor, it was a quite logical course of action," came the cool reply. "The Captain is the only person who is able to withstand your mental disturbances, and therefore is more valuable to this ship than I – no one else could save unsuspecting crewmen from your predatory clutches in situations such as this, for example. Logic dictated retrieving him as rapidly as possible in order to prevent your drawing us into more trouble than we already found ourselves."

The physician grinned, the words having no noticeable effect but to amuse; he'd been inoculated against Spockian insults months ago. "And so you hurt yourself tryin' to bust out and get to him."

"Emotionally stated and with considerable grammatical inaccuracy, but essentially correct, Doctor."

"Of course, bein' worried had nothin' to do with it," McCoy pressed ruthlessly.

A pillow suddenly hit him in the back of the head; he caught it with a grunt and Spock raised an amused eyebrow. "Leave him alone, Bones," Kirk ordered, while trying to hide the fact that he was laughing in his blankets. Only succeeding in a strangled choking fit as a result, he ducked as the pillow was brandished threateningly at him.

"Only reason you aren't gettin' this upside the head is because of that concussion, Jim," the CMO grumped, pushing the welcome softness back behind his superior's aching head.

"Thanks," came the sincere, if laughing, reply. "When can I get out of here, Bones?"

"Not until I say so, which won't be until tomorrow morning at least!" the physician snapped in warning as the token protest rose and then died a painful death on the captain's lips. "Now shut up, both of you, and get some sleep!"

"But –"

"Doctor, really –"

The feral growl that sounded as the lights dimmed silenced both protests as the two commanding officers looked warily at each other across the small table that separated their bio-beds.

Spock raised an accusatory eyebrow. "He is rather what I believe you humans call 'grouchy' this evening, is he not?"

"Quite," Kirk agreed solemnly, eyes wide. "Do you suppose it's catching?"

"I do not believe so, although the condition does appear to be progressing steadily," the Vulcan observed sagely, pulling the thermal blanket up to his chin with difficulty due to his sore arms.

"Pipe down over there," the CMO bellowed from across the ward, though he was hiding his laughter behind the computer monitor; no sense in letting them know he was so relieved the nightmare was over that he was close to tears.

And when he heard the stealthy whisper of "Do you think we can make another jailbreak if he dozes off, Spock?" before quite serious discussion of the logistics involved in deactivating the sensors in their monitors without setting off the alarms, and making it through the corridors in Sickbay scrubs without being recognized ("We'd have to take the Jefferies tube down to Recreation Programming to throw Security off, you know"), he barely made it to his office before he collapsed with laughter.

Just another mission, another Stardate…