Work Text:
“Damn it all,” Kirk curses, smacking his comm in frustration.
“Captain, abusing the technology will not make it work any faster,” Spock intones from his position against the tree.
Kirk resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I am well aware of that, Spock.” He looks up at the sky peevishly. “I wonder what’s causing the interference.”
“I believe it is the electronic waves in the atmosphere I detected from the ship,” Spock says. “I did not previously calculate that they were strong enough to cause our communicators to cease working, but it seems to be the case.”
“Seems to be,” Kirk grumbles, fruitlessly turning the dial to find a better connection. “Well, let’s hope Scotty is having a better time locating us from the ship.”
Spock peers at his tricorder. “I deduce that the intensity of the electrical current ebbs and flows. If my calculations are correct, there is a 46.78% chance that Mr. Scott will be able to locate our coordinates in no less than 24 hours.”
Kirk sighs. “24 hours, Mr. Spock? That’s your most optimistic approximation?”
Spock says, with a nod, “Unfortunately, Captain.” He pushes himself from the tree he was leaning against and sways momentarily. He stares at the ground, frowning.
Kirk becomes alert and sits up straighter. “What’s wrong, Spock?”
“Negative, Captain. Simply a momentary loss of balance.”
Kirk narrows his eyes suspiciously. He’s never seen Spock ‘lose his balance’. Or do any action that wasn’t completely in his control. But he knows better than to push the Vulcan on semantics. “We should find shelter,” he says instead. “In case the elements are against us.”
Taking his pack off his shoulder, Spock says, “I took the liberty to fully equip my pack with the necessary equipment for hazardous travel before departing the ship. This includes, fortunately, a tent that we can pitch.”
Kirk laughs. “Why, Spock, you never cease to amaze me. How did you know we’d be stuck in this situation?”
Spock’s lips twitch; the closest thing he usually does to a smile. “Call it a feeling, Captain.”
Kirk helps Spock with the tent, trying hard not to let his horrible mood show. He protested exploring this planet in the first place, but Starfleet command had pushed it insistently, calling it “diplomatic outreach”. Kirk knew better—the planet was rumored to have an abundant supply of oil, a resource that has been rapidly depleted on Earth.
However, there was a reason that no one ventured to the planet, a reason that Kirk and Spock were experiencing now: the abundance of ion storms, making communication and any technological use chaos. They barely had time to beam up the rest of the landing party before the storm hit.
Kirk bites out a curse when a sharp part of the tent pole hits his hand, startling him from his reverie. Spock looks over in concern. Kirk waves him off.
Once the tent is pitched, Spock opts to sit on a boulder nearby, fussing with his tricorder. Kirk sits across the way and pokes at a pile of sticks, contemplating if he should make use of his Boy Scouts days and build a fire. He looks across the way at Spock. He has a more pale complexion than most humanoids aboard the ship, but somehow he seems paler than usual. His eyes are pinched around the corners, too, in a more severe way than his usual face of concentration.
“Spock?” Kirk calls. Spock raises his head. “Any significant readings on the ion storm?”
“Negative, Captain.” Spock’s voice sounds a little scratchier than usual, like it’s been overused. “It would interest you to know, however, that night falls on this planet in approximately 2.34 hours. Temperatures drop below freezing during this time, due to the absence of the sun.”
Kirk claps his hands together. “Well, that decides it. I’m making a fire.”
“Not advisable, Captain. We do not know what predatory creatures dwell on this planet, and if our fire would attract their unwanted attention.”
“So you suggest we freeze to death, instead?”
In response, Spock picks up his pack and holds it aloft in the air. “Negative. I have brought thermal blankets.”
Kirk resists an eye-roll. It’s almost irritating , how good Spock is at his job. “Of course you did.”
The next few hours to nightfall passes in silence. Spock stays, rather stubbornly, sitting on his rock and staring at his tricorder. Given how he offers no updates on his investigations, there can’t be anything that fascinating on it. But there he sits, as the sun disappears behind the horizon, looking more and more hunched over with each passing minute. Spock is a rather still and quiet person—but this quiet?
Kirk, unable to take the silence any longer, finally stands and goes to his friend. “Spock.” No response. Kirk puts a hand on his shoulder. “ Spock .”
Spock, as if startled, looks up at Jim. “Captain.”
Kirk raises an eyebrow. “It’s freezing. We should take shelter.”
Spock nods. He rises to his feet; only to crumple down to the ground moments after. Kirk, being so close, is able to catch his friend before he hits the grass.
“Spock! What is it?”
Spock is breathing heavily, and now that Kirk is close enough, he can feel the extreme heat seeping through his shirt. “I will be fine, Captain.”
“Tell me what’s the matter with you, right now. That’s an order.”
Spock attempts to straighten, but instead winces in pain. He doubles over and clutches Kirk’s arm for support. “I believe it is the flu, Captain.”
“The flu ?”
“Or,” Spock sighs, as if he’s simply irritated with the whole situation, “something akin to the flu. The symptoms are quite similar.”
Kirk suppresses another curse. A strange planet they know nothing about and a sick first officer. “All right, Spock,” Kirk prompts, gently pushing him toward the tent. “You get inside. I’ll get the blankets.”
Spock nods slowly, and unsteadily makes his way through the tent. Kirk follows close behind with the pack, watching Spock lay on the ground and close his eyes tightly, as if in pain.
“Tell me what hurts,” Kirk implores, digging in the pack for the thermal blankets. He finds one and covers Spock’s body with it, tucking it in under Spock’s legs and arms.
“A tightness in my chest,” Spock says. At Kirk’s expression of alarm, Spock quickly adds, “It is a common symptom for Vulcans. The flu devastates our respiratory system. It makes it very difficult to go into a healing trance, for fear of not circulating enough oxygen.”
“Oh.” Kirk gently lifts Spock’s head and puts the pack under his neck to act as a pillow. He sits back on his heels. “So, what is the cure?”
“No cure. Simply time.”
“That sounds miserable.”
Spock even looks miserable when he nods his head in agreement. “I am sorry, Jim,” he says. “With this illness, I am of not much use to you.”
Resting a firm hand on Spock’s arm, Jim urges, “Don’t think about that. You just worry about getting some rest.”
Barely having to be told twice, Spock’s eyes drift closed.
Jim decides to keep watch outside of the tent. Wrapping himself in the second thermal blanket they have, he sits on the rock that Spock previously sat on. He peers into the utter darkness, keeping careful watch for any movement. They have not encountered any species on this planet; nor did their sensors from the ship detect any. It didn’t hurt to be cautious, however.
Jim simultaneously racks his brain for memory of any of Doctor McCoy’s rants on Vulcan physiology. He’s always complaining how their temperatures run far too cold; so, it is probably an issue that Spock felt so hot when Jim was holding him up for support. Bones was always going on about his slow pulse, too—’almost like the damn fool is a zombie walking’, Bones always hollered. Jim made a point to check Spock’s pulse next time he went to the tent.
Jim pulls the blanket tighter under his chin. He tries, unsuccessfully, to stop worrying so much about Spock. If things got worse, and he died, on this planet…
Jim immediately cuts this line of thinking. That sort of attitude will get him nowhere but an unnecessary panic attack.
His eyes are beginning to close, feeling sleep pull him down, when he hears from the tent: “Jim!”
Jim throws off the blanket and sprints to the opening of the tent. He fumbles with the zipper and bursts through the half-open flap. He sees Spock, sitting up, wildly looking back and forth and tangled up in the blankets.
“Spock!” Jim goes to him, puts hands on both his shoulders. “Spock, what’s wrong?”
“I won’t let them take you, Jim,” Spock says, as panicked as Jim has ever seen him, clutching his arms. “I won’t .”
Jim shakes his head helplessly. “Who, Spock? I’m right here, I’m fine, it’s—”
“They try to take you from me,” Spock continues in that unfamiliarly agonized tone. “Every day, Jim. They tell me to let you go, to dismiss your existence. I won’t let them, Jim.”
Jim feels on the urge of desperation now. “ Who , Spock—”
“Sarek,” Spock hisses out. “T’Pau. Any Vulcan ancestor that has ever frowned at me for my Vulcan impropriety.” He reaches out and cups Jim’s cheek in his hand. His eyes are infinitely sad. “For all my human errors, you are the most egregious, Jim.”
Jim feels his whole body trembling—not just from the cold. “Why, Spock?” he whispers.
Spock blinks. Takes his hand away and shakes his head .”You would not understand.” As if it never happened, Spock lays back against the pack and closes his eyes. If possible, he’s paler than before.
Jim stares at his sleeping friend, at a loss. If Spock was hallucinating, and losing his defenses against his human emotionalism—then things could perhaps be more dire than he previously thought. Jim fumbles with his belt, getting out his communicator, and desperately attempting to find a channel to contact the ship.
There is only static.
It’s another hour before Spock stirs awake again. Jim has decided to stay in the tent, cognizant that danger is far more imminent inside the tent rather than out in the ominous dark.
“Jim,” Spock says; but not in the same panicked tone as before. His voice is deep, scratched; quiet.
Jim crawls to where Spock lies. “Yes, Spock, I’m here.”
Spock moves, uncomfortable. “I… apologize for my behavior before. When I am ill… my controls—”
“You don’t have to explain, Spock,” Jim says gently. “It’s common to become agitated during a fever, say things we don’t normally mean.”
Spock closes his eyes, his face twisting in pain again. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he says, almost imperceptibly soft.
There is a moment of silence. “You should drink some water,” Jim says.
“I will be fine, Jim. Keep the water for yourself. Our supply is not abundant, and Vulcans do not require as much water as humans.”
“What about sick Vulcans?” At Spock’s tense silence, Jim grins and hands the water bottle to him. Spock dutifully drinks a couple of gulps. Jim tries not to watch the muscles in his long, elegant throat ripple from the motion.
“Thank you,” Spock rasps as he hands the bottle back to Jim.
Jim holds out a hand. “Can I feel your forehead?”
“I don’t think—” Spock begins, looking a little flustered.
“Just for a moment, Spock. I want to see how warm you feel.”
Spock hesitates for a moment before leaning his forehead toward Jim. Jim puts a hand on the Vulcan’s sweaty forehead. It’s hot to the touch.
“Spock, you’re concerningly hot.”
Spock almost shrugs. “There is not much to be done about it.”
Jim, feeling a swell of anger, hits his fist against his knee. “ Damn it,” he says, finally letting his anger take charge. “We are stuck on this damn planet—and you—” Jim rises to his knees and knows that he needs to leave the tent, to have his fit of anger away from Spock, who has enough to worry about.
Spock stops him with a surprisingly strong hand on his arm. “Jim,” he says. Jim stops and looks at him. “I am not in danger of dying,” he insists. “This flu is common for Vulcans. Many live through it without medical assistance.”
Jim raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I think you are just trying to placate me, Spock.”
Spock shakes his head. “I am not. I have had this flu before; when I was a child. I simply needed a few days rest, and I was fine within 72 hours.”
Narrowing his eyes, wondering whether to believe Spock or not, he lets himself relax back to a sitting position beside Spock. “I’ll bet Amanda never left you alone,” he says.
Spock tries to huff a laugh; it comes out as a very frightening cough instead, which makes Jim tense all over again. “Affirmative; she never left my side.” There’s almost a mischievous look in his eye when he adds, “She hovered over me just about as much as you are doing now, Captain.”
“I’ll stop hovering when you don’t look like you’re on your deathbed,” Jim says with a wry grin.
“I assure you that this is not my ‘deathbed’, Captain,” Spock says, “especially considering that this is not even a properly defined ‘bed’.”
Jim barks out a laugh. “All right, Spock. I’ll believe you. Dying men don’t often crack jokes.”
Spock’s eyes flicker away before he attempts a smile. “Indeed, Captain.”
The rest of the night passes uneventfully. Spock sleeps—as well as he can with that rattle in his chest—and Jim manages to close his eyes for an hour before jolting into awareness at the sound of Spock’s coughing. It sounds like he can’t catch his breath.
Jim stays awake for the rest of the night, after that.
“How many hours, Spock?” Jim asks when morning breaks and Spock is awake.
“Nine, approximately,” Spock says, coughing through the words.
It’s the lack of decimal point approximation that worries Jim.
They sit beside each other, slowly eat granola bars from the pack as a breakfast. “How often do Vulcans get sick?” Jim asks.
“Not often,” Spock replies. “The dry, desert heat makes citizens more prone to dehydration or sun damage rather than airborne illnesses.” He clears his throat. “Additionally, Vulcans have excellent immune systems, if given the correct nutrition regimen.”
Jim leans back and puts his quarter-eaten granola bar on the ground. “I used to get sick all the time when I was a kid,” he says, trying to keep his tone sounding light. “To the point where when I came home from school sick from another bug, Mom would just send me to bed and not even act worried about it.”
Spock looks alarmed. “She did not tend to your illness?”
“Oh, of course she did. It was just rote by that point. My brother Sam, he was the healthier one; my father used to joke that I absorbed all possible illnesses for the both of us.”
Spock looks down at his granola wrapper. It must be the sickness that causes him to be free with information about his childhood, because he says, “Vulcans do not often get sick, but with my physiology, I often did.” He smooths the blanket across his lap. “It was illogical, how displeased my father became whenever I fell ill.”
There’s something in Jim’s chest that becomes tight from Spock’s words. Jim reaches out a hand to Spock’s shoulder. “Nothing wrong with getting sick, Spock,” he says. “It’s human nature.”
Spock looks at him with ironic and sad eyes. “Precisely.”
Jim starts to get really worried about him when Spock’s hallucinations come back.
“Jim,” Spock says, holding out a hand and patting the space next to him, as if looking for his captain.
Jim, from where he was sitting in the corner of the tent, goes to him. “I’m here, Spock, what is it?”
Spock’s eyes search for him; once they capture his, Spock’s face breaks into a sunny smile. “Oh, Jim. There you are.” He blinks for a few moments. “You have the most gorgeous eyes, did you know?”
Jim tenses. He must be getting worse. “Spock… go to sleep. Please.”
Spock shakes his head and sits up, taking Jim’s hand. “You must let me tell you. I’ve been meaning to tell you, all these years—your eyes. They sparkle like the stars.”
Jim resists groaning out loud. How long has he waited for Spock to say these sorts of things to him—and here he is, saying them when he’s feverish and out of his mind with the illness. “Spock,” he says firmly, placing Spock’s hands upon Spock’s own chest and gently pushing him back into a supine position. “You must sleep.”
Spock continues to stare. “Just let me look at your eyes, Jim. Before I go.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jim says, anger rising into his throat, making him almost choke with it. “We can communicate with the ship in 6 hours; I order you to last until then, do you hear me?”
Spock just smiles dreamily; it makes Jim’s chest constrict in fear. “Yes, Jim,” he almost sing-songs back.
Jim sits back, eyes closed, running a hand across his forehead. He knows in that moment, that for the first time since he’s known him, Spock lied to him earlier.
It’s two hours to beam up—Jim is desperately, obsessively tracking the ion storm on the tricorder—when Spock speaks for the last time.
“I feel the influence of my father, even today,” Spock says, shattering the quiet.
Jim whips his head around, jumping in surprise. He could have sworn Spock was asleep. “What?” he says back, dumbly.
Spock is looking up at the tent’s ceiling, face hard as stone. “Even lying here, with this illness—” he pauses to cough, “—that I know may not end well for me. I still cannot bring myself to say it.” He closes his eyes, expression twisting. “I am a coward.”
Jim reaches out; he’s close enough that he can simply put a hand on Spock’s chest. “You are not .”
Spock opens his eyes and looks up at Jim. His eyes are glossy and his cheeks are flush with fever. “Even now, I cannot bring myself to tell you.”
Jim’s hand spasms, clutching Spock’s sweat-soaked shirt. “You don’t have to tell me anything , mister. Because you’re going to be fine , and you are going to beam aboard on that damn ship with your heart still beating and Bones is going to take care of you. And then, maybe, when you’re better, you can tell me. But only then.”
Spock’s expression softens. He reaches to pat Jim’s hand. “All right, Jim.”
Jim feels himself break a little—feels himself realize the gravity of the situation. “Spock.”
Spock hums in reply.
He clutches Spock’s hand tighter. “I’ve loved you—since I saw you in the transporter room. I’ve loved you.”
Spock opens his eyes. They’re cloudy with sleep, but focused on Jim. He says, “I know.” He turns his head away from Jim. “That is why I am a coward.”
McCoy is there when Jim finally gets a signal from the ship, when he shouts urgently in the comm their coordinates for beam-up. Jim knows what he must look like upon beam-up; knows that the rumors will be circulating for weeks at what sort of state the captain was in when he and Spock were finally found on that planet.
When he and Spock finally materialize in the transporter room, Jim locks eyes with Bones’ shocked gaze. Jim is clutching Spock to his chest as he has been for hours. “ Bones, ” he says helplessly, his voice cracking, “help Spock, please.”
Bones gapes at him for only a moment more before springing into action. Jim follows the stretcher with Spock on it as far as he can, before the sickbay doors on him close, with Bones gently pushing him out of the room.
The first thing Spock sees upon waking is the hideous, familiar white of the sickbay ceiling. Where he would normally be irritated with its existence, he is instead happy to take this as evidence that he is still alive.
He turns his head; to his left is Jim, slumped in a chair with his arms crossed, chin on his chest, softly snoring. With his disheveled hair and curled-up posture, he looks younger. Spock wants to reach out and touch him; convince himself that he’s real.
The shifting of Spock in the bed makes Jim stir. He opens his eyes; they’re unfocused for only a moment before shining brilliantly at Spock. “You’re awake,” he says, sitting up in his chair.
“Affirmative,” Spock says, unable to help his lips from twitching up in a smile of his own.
“You gave me quite the scare down there,” Jim laughs, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Bones said you were far from death, though. Just the symptoms of the Vulcan flu can be more… intense than human symptoms.”
Spock says, with a touch of humor, “I tried to tell you, Captain. You would not listen.”
Jim waves a hand in a gesture. “Well, with how much you were saying—” Jim stops and looks down at his hands. “It just seemed… pretty bad, Spock.”
The jolt of shame that runs through him causes Spock to sit up straighter in his biobed and fold his hands on his lap. He says, with all seriousness, “Captain. If my feverish ramblings embarrassed you on the planet—I apologize. I did not intend to make things awkward between us because of flippant words.”
Jim looks up at the last part of his speech; something flickers in his eyes for a moment, then it’s gone. “You haven’t made things awkward between us,” he says softly.
Spock clears his throat. “I am pleased to hear it.”
They sit in silence for a moment, staring at their hands. Jim says, cautiously, “You know… I said things, too. I don’t know… if you heard them…”
Spock says, almost too quickly and too earnestly, “I did.”
Nodding, Jim continues, “And I…” He runs a hand through his wild hair, making it wilder. “Well, Spock, I can’t really say that I didn’t mean them.”
Spock raises his eyebrows, letting hope course through him. “Indeed?”
Jim seems like he might retract his statement, for a moment; but then he straightens and looks at Spock straight on. “Yes, Spock. Indeed.”
Spock meant what he said on the planet. Even about what his father would say—what his Vulcan heritage would say—if he were to fully embrace his love for this human. He finds in that quiet moment, lying on the biobed with a frantically hopeful Jim sitting next to him, that he does not care.
He reaches out; as usual, Jim reaches back. They clasp hands and Jim leans forward to put a hand against Spock’s face. As is so many things, they have reached an unspoken truth together.
“Spock,” Jim breathes, face breaking into a smile.
“Jim,” Spock replies. He is unable to keep his expression from mirroring Jim’s own.
Kissing Spock’s hand where it joins his, Jim says with a coquettish smile, “Do you think we can avoid you getting sick on an unknown planet in the future? For my sanity?”
Spock nods. He trails his fingers up and down Jim’s arm, still disbelieving that this man is here; is his. “I will endeavor to do my best for you, Jim.”