Chapter Text
If he hadn’t been watching Spock’s face while pondering his next chess move, Jim Kirk would have missed the obvious signs - obvious to him at least. His first officer’s tells during play were subtle, almost unnoticeable on a Vulcan, except for someone who made it a habit to observe him as often as he could. It was part of Kirk’s nature; don’t be reactive, let the first impulse recede, observe for hidden motive and underlying intention and then act accordingly. All necessary qualities for both a starship captain and a formidable Tri-D chess opponent. But Spock was off his game tonight. He’d been acting out of character all evening, his focus turned inward - not distracted but not completely present.
He paused with his hand over his neutral level knight and flicked his eyes to Spock’s face, waiting for his reaction. But instead of a more habitual tell, Spock rubbed his nose briefly. Kirk frowned and placed his piece. That was a new one, what could it mean? And before Kirk could speak, Spock angled away from the board, only a slight movement of his head betraying the fact that he’d sneezed...twice. Both completely silent except for a weary sigh and a sniffle at the end. And at this their eyes met.
Kirk shook his head, feeling a brief ripple of frustration pass through him. Strange. He tried to rearrange his expression into one of sympathy and understanding. He knew it was best to make no comment.
Spock crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, his chin lifted, eyes focused on the opposite wall. Kirk knew this posture well. Spock was on his guard, steeling himself against any insults or cruel jokes. Kirk wanted to reassure him. It was only the two of them tonight, there would be no bridge bravado or mocking laughter at his expense, but he couldn’t quite put it all into words.
“Your move, Spock,” he said instead.
“I am aware.”
The bridge of Spock’s nose wrinkled and he took a deep breath as he leaned forward to consider his move. Kirk could study him at leisure now. Spock had not lost his rigid posture, but his shoulders sagged slightly, lips parted as he breathed, lines of fatigue etched into his face. He’d probably been pushing himself too hard, not taking regular meals or sleeping enough, as he tended to do. Spock gave a small shiver, then his eyes unfocused and he turned from the board again. It was a single sneeze this time, more forceful, that he tried and failed to stifle. He looked defeated somehow and more than a little miserable as he produced a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. Kirk couldn’t let it pass without comment.
“Under the weather tonight, Spock?” Noting his look of confusion, Kirk held off his inevitable question with an upraised hand. “What I meant to ask is, are you feeling ill?”
“Negative, Captain,” he said. “I feel quite well…” His breath hitched and he bent forward with yet another sneeze, this one unrestrained that triggered a small fit of coughing.
“Yes, you sound it,” Kirk said.
“My apologies, Captain,” Spock said, his words muffled behind the handkerchief. “It seems something is provoking this untoward reaction, perhaps an allergen of some sort.”
Kirk scoffed. Spock had near-perfect control of his emotions and his physiological reactions. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t sure he’d heard his first officer sneeze more than two or three times since he’d known him. There was more than dust getting up his nose this evening.
“Or perhaps,” Kirk said, pushing the board to one side, “And mind you, this is only a theory, but perhaps you’re coming down with something?”
He knew it was inevitable. During their stop at the Castian outpost the week prior, a science team boarded, bringing with them fifty years of combined experience in xenobotany and xenobiology and a virus that threatened to put a halt to the entire planetary survey of Trion IV.
As the illness spread unchecked, as mutated rhinoviruses always seemed to, Kirk watched miserable crew members slouch off duty shifts, he’d consulted with Bones in Sickbay where there seemed to be a steady stream of patients in and out, and each day the corridors grew increasingly empty and silent as more crew members stayed confined to their quarters. The last thing he’d expected was that his stalwart first officer would be the first of his senior officers to succumb.
“C’mon Spock,” he said. “I’d recognize one of McCoy’s handkerchiefs anywhere. You’ve visited sickbay recently because you’re ill. It happens to everyone, nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Embarrassment is a human emotion,” Spock said, managing to look embarrassed nonetheless.
“And you’re avoiding the question.”
“On the contrary, you have not asked a question.”
Kirk sighed and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Perhaps Vulcans couldn’t lie, but they could damn well equivocate when given the opportunity.
“All right then, I’ll be direct. You sound as if you have a cold. The same blasted cold that has taken down a third of my crew. Would I be correct in this assumption?”
“Vulcans do not catch cold.”
“But humans do, with annoying regularity and you are--"
“--half human.” Spock finished Kirk's sentence with a sigh. “A fact of which you frequently remind me.” And then leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table, head bowed, all pretense gone.
Kirk rearranged the chess pieces on the bottom board with an audible clink, if only to give himself something to do.
“I’ve got a good mind to park the ship,” he said, staring at the top of Spock’s head. “Just keep her in orbit for a week until this virus burns through the whole crew. We’ve spent hours reshuffling duty rosters because we’re running out of personnel who are healthy enough to go planetside and now-”
He stood, slamming the flat of his hand against the table as he straightened. Spock reached out to keep a piece from falling over.
“-and now if my science officer is down for the count? We might as well scrub the whole survey.”
Kirk pressed his fingers to his lips to prevent himself from saying anything more. He’d started his rant in a teasing tone but found his frustration grew as he spoke.
As Kirk watched, trying to calm himself, Spock took his time rising from his chair and straightening to his full height. He stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back. The effort it was costing him was noticeable in his quivering shoulders. A tiny movement, but by this point Kirk was so attuned to Spock's body language that it was all he could focus on.
“Captain, I must apologize,” he said.
Well, he hadn't been expecting that.
“Apologize? Whatever for?”
“It is obvious from both your demeanor and your statements toward me that you are angry. I can only assume it is my illness and the resulting dereliction of duty that has upset you. I accept full responsibility for the failure of our mission and I will do whatever is in my power to salvage it.”
Spock swallowed noticeably a few times and then gathered himself again. It was a long speech for someone not feeling well.
“At ease, Spock.” Kirk walked around the table to stand in front of his first officer. “Yes, I was angry, I admit it. But I'm not angry at you, it’s the situation we’ve found ourselves in. You can't help it if you're sick.”
He clasped his first officer’s shoulders in a display of support. The tension in Spock’s body eased under his fingers, and then his trembling intensified to a constant shivering. What was it Bones had told him once? That anger is a secondary emotion and if you examine it closely enough, there is always something else lurking underneath? And right now, the something else he was feeling was a deep, unsettling worry for Spock.
“You look terrible.” The soft tone of Kirk’s voice softened the bluntness of his statement.
“I was not aware of a change in my appearance.”
“Trust me,” Kirk said. “You don’t look well. Now, please, sit back down.”
“I am returning to my quarters,” Spock said. “And I would advise you to see Doctor McCoy as soon as possible to ensure you have not been infected due to my inexcusable lack of control tonight.”
“You're staying right where you are,” Kirk said. “I’ve had most of the crew coughing in my face for three days, I’ve already been infected, believe me.”
Spock's brows drew together in concern. “Are you feeling unwell, Jim?"
Kirk quirked a fond smile at the sound of his first name.
“Don’t worry about me.”
Spock started to speak but did not finish as he ducked his head and tried to twist away, stifling two more sneezes. He remained bent over, pressing a clasped fist to his nose. Kirk wordlessly guided him to the edge of his bed and helped him sit. He unfolded a blanket and draped it over his shoulders. Spock huddled into it, clasping the blanket closed with one hand. His eyes closed as he gave up all illusion of control.
"You need to rest," Kirk said as he rested his hand briefly against Spock's cheek. He wasn’t certain of the exact location of his psi points and didn’t wish to add to his discomfort. Spock met his eyes, a question on his face.
“What are you doing?” His teeth chattered as he was overcome with a wave of chills.
“Checking for fever.”
“It seems a m...most inefficient method of assessing core temperature.”
“Indulge me,” Kirk said, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.
And there it was, the sick twist of worry in his gut. He didn’t know the normal body temperature for a Vulcan, but Spock, whether the contact had been incidental or intentional, had always been cool to the touch, cool to match his calm demeanor. But tonight he felt too warm. Whatever he was suffering from, it appeared to be more serious than a simple head cold. How long had he been suppressing his symptoms?
Kirk knelt by him, eased off his boots and lined them up neatly. Spock asked no questions and made no protest. He collapsed to the surface of the bed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as a low sound of discomfort escaped him.
“Headache?”
Spock remained silent for a moment as a hard shudder shook him and then he sighed.
“Affirmative.”
Kirk lowered the light and nudged up the temperature in the room.
“Lie still, Spock,” he said. “I’m going to contact Bones.”