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"Visiting hours are over, Mr Spock."
"Doctor." Spock doesn't look away from Jim's still form on the biobed, but he can feel McCoy's gaze on him regardless. "Has there been any progress?"
McCoy sighs. "Nothing. Whatever this is, even the best of the best on my team can't figure it out."
Spock glances up, and actually looks at the doctor for the first time since he arrived in Sickbay at the end of his shift three hours ago. McCoy looks drawn, the shadows under his eyes and the droop to his shoulders betraying a week of minimal sleep – if any at all – and near-constant work.
"I have every confidence in your ability to find a cure, Doctor."
McCoy dips his head in what could either be a nod or an expression of defeat. "Hm. You've not come up with anything in that brilliant mind of yours, by any chance?"
"Regrettably not. My meditation is proving unhelpful."
The doctor doesn't say anything, so Spock looks back at Jim.
His captain looks so… small, lying on the bed as he is. He could be sleeping, if not for the greyish pallor to his skin and the sweat on his forehead. The steady beeping of his pulse from the monitor above the bed is a small comfort.
Spock almost reaches out to brush a damp strand of hair from Jim's face, but remembers his company. When he turns back to McCoy he finds that he's being watched closely.
"Doctor?"
"Go back to your quarters, Spock, get some sleep. You look exhausted."
Having been unaware that he was slipping, Spock schools his features back into his usual impassive expression. It feels more tiring than it usually does.
"You needn't worry about me, Doctor, my meditations are sufficient."
McCoy scoffs. "For a while, yeah, but even your Vulcan superpowers will stop working after a while. You're no good to help Jim if you end up on a biobed yourself."
"I might say the same to you, Doctor. Since the captain was taken ill eight-point-six-two-nine days ago, you have been researching a possible cure almost constantly, without the use of any such superpowers, as you call them."
"Touché. But so have you, you're up on the Bridge when you have to be and down here any other time."
Spock doesn't know how to respond to that, because it's the truth, and there's no use repeating what he's already said about the doctor, so he stays silent.
McCoy's expression softens, and he runs a hand through his rumpled hair. "You know what he'd say if he could hear us right now, don't you?"
"I believe I do."
"Go back to your quarters, just for a few hours. You can still get back here before your shift tomorrow that way."
"I -"
"If anything happens you'll be the first person I call, okay?"
"And what about you, Doctor?"
"I'll take a break in my office, and I'll sleep when you're back to watch him. That way you know there's no way you can miss anything happening."
Confused and yet touched by McCoy's thoughtfulness, Spock finally nods. It is logical, after all, that the two of them may succeed in finding a solution once they're better rested.
McCoy must interpret his lack of an answer as skepticism, because he holds up his hands. "I swear to it, Spock. I know my word probably doesn't mean anything to you, but -"
Spock allows his own expression to relax, just a little. "You do yourself a discredit, Doctor."
McCoy's lips twitch upwards into the briefest of smiles. "I'll see you in the morning."