Title: Priorities
Characters: Kirk, Spock
Rating: a very fluffy K
Word Count: 1021
Summary: My fill for my hc_bingo card spot of minor illness (cold or allergies). Schmoop because I'm tired, cranky, and out of sorts myself, and wanted to inflict it on someone else and have virtual warm fuzzies.
The twenty-third century and its wonders of technological and medical progression were absolutely worthless, in James T. Kirk's opinion, if they had not yet produced a cure for the common cold.
He was sick, plain and simple. Not sick enough to justify lazing in bed and simply being miserable for a few days, and too sick to even feel like holding his aching head up. Not sick enough to beg for sympathy or company, and too sick to care if he looked pathetically lonely sitting alone in Officers' Mess. Not sick enough to have Bones attack him with a hypospray of Vitamin C concentrate, and too sick to tolerate the doctor's well-intended hovering.
Not sick enough to ignore the fact that Spock was spending all his free time with that visiting scientist from the Vulcan Science Academy, and too sick to care if his petulant jealousy was showing in front of his subordinates.
He sneezed into his soup bowl, not caring if the germs were simply getting transferred out for a small shore leave before re-entering his mouth as he mechanically consumed them, and ignored the murmured 'bless you, Captain's that trickled from the surrounding tables.
Solvak was, Kirk had to admit, one of the few Vulcans he had met that he didn't instantly dislike. The guy appeared to truly embrace the ideology of IDIC, and instead of taking the usual disdainful attitude his contemporaries did toward Spock of the Enterprise, the scientist appeared to legitimately respect the fact that Spock possessed not only Vulcan intelligence but also the capability to understand human leaps of faith instead of logic. Both elements were crucial to experimental science, and Solvak seemed to realize this, eagerly spending numerous hours in Spock's company comparing notes on the theories they were studying.
Kirk had seen Spock slowly, guardedly, unbend a little under Solvak's easy acceptance as their voyage continued, this leg of which consisted of taking the visiting scientist to his destination, a lecture tour on a new Federation observation colony in the Beta Quadrant. Spock was intrigued by the metaphysical theories being presented, and had gradually eased into spending most of his free time in conversations with Solvak that left the captain – even though the two Vulcans graciously attempted to include him part of the time – completely lost in the mathematical intricacies of relativistic physics.
He'd discreetly excused himself more than once when the two simply forgot he was present, and had finally given up trying to understand or even participate in their conversations. Spock had begged off from seven chess matches, pleading that he would shortly lose the opportunity to avail himself of Solvak's knowledge and information – and who was he to tell his First Officer that he was going to play chess with his captain, darn it all, and he could tell Solvak where he could stuff his beautiful companionship and intelligence?
Even sick and miserable, he wasn't that petty.
At least not anywhere but in his own mind.
Solvak was sitting across the room now, eating some disgusting-looking vegetable and mushroom medley and poring over a half-dozen PADDs with the eager attention of Spock.
His Spock.
The throbbing behind his eyes increased as he sneezed for the third time in as many minutes, only repressing the moan that rose with the flare of pain because he would die before making such a pathetic noise in a room containing two Vulcans.
If he'd gotten more than an hour's worth of sleep last night due to an upset stomach and not being able to breathe, he might have been in a better mood. As it stood, he was thoroughly out of sorts, bored, lonely, and more than a little depressed.
He rubbed his gritty eyes, and wondered half-heartedly if finishing the soup was worth the promise of nausea (what medicinal properties did physicians see in chicken noodle anyway?), and should he surrender and ask Bones for something to clear his head for a few hours at least. His sneezing had driven any intelligent companionship away, and his admittedly active temper had finished the job, he knew well.
And if Spock was still going to stay buried in research with his new Vulcan groupie for the rest of the day then he might as well go to bed, anyhow.
A spike of pain through his temples sent him dropping his spoon in resigned despair. Massaging slowly at the ache, he closed his eyes for a moment and sternly told himself to straighten up and grow up, because this was getting ridiculous.
A gentle hand on his back startled him a moment later, sending his already-jumbled thoughts scattering like leaves in an autumn wind. He jumped, opening bleary eyes to the sight of a warm cup being pushed into his hands.
Vulcan herbal tea. It burned like paint thinner, but was in the end more soothing than the richest gourmet cocoa.
He blinked in muddled surprise, and then looked up to the blue-sleeved arm connected to the hand on his shoulder, on up to the dark eyes showing a hidden glint of concern as their owner bent slightly down toward his huddled figure.
"Jim, you are unwell. Please go see Doctor McCoy." Spock's voice was quiet, but the use of his name instead of his title in a crowded place like Officers' Mess warmed him more than the steaming mug in his hands.
He sneezed again, a deep and painful shudder running through him as it seemingly shook the entirety of his insides loose. "Maybe I will," he managed after choking down a mouthful of the awful and yet calming brew. Better not fight him on it, he reasoned uneasily, casting a glance at the curious Solvak watching from across the room. Bad enough he's having to coddle his captain while another Vulcan watches the 'emotional display.'
Spock's hand abruptly tightened on his shoulder.
Right, touch-telepath.
Oops.
It might have been the strange properties of the herbal tea, but he would swear he could barely hear a faint defiant echo steal gently through his mind.
Let him watch.