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Chapter Text

Captain’s Log: Stardate 6301.11. Currently orbiting Luyten III. The colonists on the newly established planet have contracted a disease from an unknown source that’s quickly spread into an epidemic. The disease saps all the emotions out of its victim, to feed off the energy, leading to extreme mood swings and a penchant for honest, intense sentiment. It’s a fatal disease, killing those infected within forty-eight Standard hours. So far Federation scientists have only been able to find a treatment that makes the infection non-transmittable, but even with medication it is still deadly.

Dr. McCoy has been tasked with working with Luyten III’s medical institute to try and find a cure. In the mean time, Nurse Chapel is beaming down with a medical team to offer immediate medical aid while Mr. Spock and myself discuss resource relief with the head of government.

When they beam onto Luyten III, Kirk takes in their surroundings: colonists are quickly being shuffled this way and that, some on stretchers being hurried along by medical staff. Those prone have tear-streaked faces, are hyperventilating, or have broken down in shuddering, sobbing messes.

“Nurse,” Kirk says to Chapel as she adjusts her medical bag. “Mr. Spock and I will be beaming up within the hour; let the transporter chief know the second you or any of your staff need to come back aboard for any reason.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Captain.” Spock grabs Kirk’s arm and nods in the direction of a figure standing still among the chaos. The figure smiles, and raises a hand through the long robes obscuring his figure.

Kirk and Spock, dressed in biosuits to hopefully avoid contamination, make their way towards the representative.

“Commander,” Kirk greets.

“Captain Kirk,” the commander says, nodding his head. “It’s a privilege to have you here. Your First Officer?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock.”

“Commander.”

“Follow me, gentlemen.”

They make their way through the crowd, trying not to bump into absolutely everyone as they go.

“Tell me, Commander—” They skirt past a large wave of infected being brought past, as though this were a plague town in medieval Europe or twentieth century Rigel VII. “—Why do you keep your office here, in the main city, with the most contaminations?” Kirk asks.

They round a corner into a small, near deserted alleyway. The buildings here on Luyten III are mostly stone, but this walkway is the exception: while mostly grey and dark red slabs of rock mostly greet the trio either side, a little ways down the road is a small metal structure that could generously be called a small office space.

“I’ve been here since the colony began,” the commander says. They arrive at the metal building and the commander bends down to do an eye-scan for entry. The metal door creaks as it opens.

“But since the contamination—” Kirk says again.

The commander shakes his head as he walks into his office. “Captain,” he says. “It would be cowardly of me to run from what my people can’t.”

Kirk nods slowly. He can understand that point of view. “Still,” he says. “This isn’t an enemy in the same sense: there are no barricades you could enforce.”

“I beg to differ, Captain: what do you wear now?”

Kirk looks down at his and Spock’s biosuits, and nods in acknowledgement. “A fair point, Commander.”

“Shall we begin discussions?” Spock asks.

“Most certainly.” The commander takes a seat at his desk and gestures for his visitors to join him opposite.

Nurse Chapel examines the child with a feeling of dread. Disease in any strain is horrible, but to see children infected…

A local doctor clucks her tongue as Chapel examines the patient. “Poor thing. Parents got it, too; transmitted it to them herself.”

“They’re not here in the same ward?” Chapel asks.

The doctor shakes her head. “They died two days ago.”

“But…their daughter got infected first.” Chapel runs her tricorder again over the sleeping girl. “She must have a strong immune system,” Chapel finally says.

“I’ll say. Most of these people die with seven Standard days: Daisy’s had it for eleven.”

Chapel frowns up at the doctor, seeing through two layers of biosuit, her own and her companion’s, to her face, to try and see if there’s any understanding there of just how precious Daisy must be for the prospect of a cure.

The doctor sighs at Chapel’s expression. “We’ve taken blood samples, skin tissue samples, anything we can that wouldn’t endanger her too much. We’ve come up with nothing to explain it. Her symptoms aren’t even as strong as most.”

“What do you suppose is different about her?”

“Well, she’s one of the first of our people to be born on Luyten III.” Chapel opens her mouth, but the doctor shuts her down with, “But others have been infected who were younger than her, born here: they’re all either dead or progressing as normal through the illness.”

Chapel frowns down at the child. She looks so peaceful, lying there, when most victims, even in sleep, toss restlessly and have sweat beading up along their foreheads.

“Maybe she got introduced to the bacteria early somehow?” Chapel suggests. “A sort of natural vaccination process?”

The doctor shrugs. “It’s possible, but we haven’t seen any signs of it.

“Let’s just hope your Dr. McCoy can figure out a way to stop this thing. Even if Daisy’s made it eleven days so far, we’ve no idea if that streak of luck will continue.” She walks away to tend to other patients, leaving Chapel alone to examine those at her disposal around her.

Kirk, Spock, and the Luyten commander step out of the office.

“Thank you, Captain, Mr. Spock, for your aid. I can only hope that in time my planet can repay you.”

“We act for humanitarian reasons, Commander,” Kirk dismisses. “No repaying necessary. The Federation looks after its own.”

“Still, perhaps I can invite you gentlemen to dinner at my home—”

“A kind offer, sir, but we’ll decline: our ship needs us. If you’ll excuse us.” Kirk’s only just gotten the sentence out before a group of medical staff, wheeling a least a dozen sick and injured, rush down the alleyway.

Kirk, Spock, and the commander all flatten against the nearest wall in a bid to stay out of the way.

When the stampeded into the main street ends, Kirk dusts himself off. “You alright, Spock?”

“Fine, Captain.”

Kirk nods. “Thank you again, Commander. We’ll be getting to the beam up location.”

No one notices the tear on Spock’s biosuit, having been roughly dragged against a jagged stone wall.

Kirk and Spock beam onto the ship in the usual flurry of sparkles. Kirk is the first off the transporter pad, taking off the hood of his biosuit immediately. He’s always hated the stuffy things, even if he appreciates thier purpose.

“I’m going to go see McCoy before he beams down to get those lab samples. Will you relieve Scotty, Spock?” Kirk turns back around when no response is forthcoming. “Spock?”

Spock blinks back at his captain. His face is scrunched up in a very…emotional expression, even through the biosuit. A thin sheen of sweat has sprung to his suddenly flushed skin, and his breath is coming out harshly.

Kirk takes a single, hesitant step forward. “Spock?” His voice wavers a little uncertainly.

With no warning (but for a dramatic musical cue), Spock bursts into tears.

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyage of the starship Enterprise. It’s five year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.

STAR TREK

(FANFICTION)

CREATED BY

GENE RODDENBERRY

(would be) STARRING

WILLIAM SHATNER

(would) ALSO (be) STARRING

LEONARD NIMOY

AS MR. SPOCK

AND

DeFORREST KELLY

AS DR. McCOY

“THE CURSE OF ALETHEIA”

WRITTEN BY

SOLID MEDICAL ADVICE

(would be) DIRECTED BY

SOMEBODY, I’M SURE

Kirk comes out of the decontamination room—shirtless, of course—to see McCoy waving his tricorder over Spock. Spock, face tear-stained and chest heaving, shaking uncontrollably.

With a clenched jaw and a fairly shaky voice himself, Kirk demands, “Prognosis, Doctor?”

McCoy sighs, his tricorder falling to his side. “I’ve given him the treatment,” he mutters.

“Treatment? What treatment? The treatment for—”

“The bacteria, yes.”

Spock looks between them, sniffling.

Kirk looks down at his hands, resting on his hips, and finds them shaking. “How did this—”

“Doesn’t matter how he got it, Jim, the point is that he’s got it.” McCoy fiddles with his hands in front of him, chewing on his lip. “He’s not contagious with the treatment, at least, but the thing’s already in his body…”

“Am I—” Spock starts suddenly, deep voice twisted with a greif so plain it’s hard to believe. He stops and swallows loudly, lip beginning to wobble as he asks captain and doctor, “Am I going to die?”

“No,” Kirk says sternly, before McCoy even has his mouth open. “No, you’re not—Spock,” he says, and his voice cracks. “McCoy will find a cure. Th-that’s why we’re here, to find a cure.” He gives in and kneels down in front of Spock, sighing. “I should never have let you go down there…”

“Nonsense, Captain,” Spock says, hiccuping halfway through. “We were needed as senior officers of—officers of—of this vessel.” Once more, Spock bursts into tears, crying his eyes out and leaning forward onto Kirk’s shoulder.

“Bones,” Kirk says, looking up at McCoy, who stands tightlipped to one side. He wants to give orders, give directions, something, anything (or at least that’s what the stage notes say). He opens his mouth and then slowly closes it. He brings a hand up to Spock’s shaking shoulder and watches his first officer sob. “Find the cure.”

Chapter Text

Captain’s Log. Still in orbit above Luyten III. Having successfully discussed terms of resource aid with their head of government, Spock and I returned to the ship only to discover that he’s contracted the fatal disease currently plaguing the colonists on Luyten. He’s no longer contagious, and Dr. McCoy is working hard at a cure.

Spock is clinging to Kirk’s form, a shaking mess as he continues to cry. He mutters alien words again and again into Kirk’s shoulder, mostly a word that sounds like “ashayam,” whatever that means (in all likelihood, most of the words will not be what is technically canonically correct but the writer of this episode didn’t particularly care as long as it sounded good phonetically. But “ashayam”—“ashayam” is very purposefully correct.

(A “t’hy’la” is thrown in a couple times, too).

McCoy walks over. “Spock, I don’t think I have to tell you you’re off duty, but in case you needed verbal confirmation: you’re off duty.” He sighs and pats Spock’s shoulder (or at least what he can reach with the Vulcan all but plastered to Kirk’s front). “I think it’s best you go to your cabin.”

“He’s right, Spock.” Kirk staggers to standing, Spock still attached to him. “Um.”

“Well,” McCoy huffs. “Guess you’re going with him.”

A jaunty, cheeky little musical sting punctuates McCoy’s smug smirk and Kirk’s responding glare.

The new being seemingly formed off an emotional Vulcan and his captain only makes it halfway to the door before Spock throws out a hand and calls, “Doctor.”

McCoy glances over at him, frowning.

“I thank you for you kindness. For what is worth—” Spock is tearing up as he speaks. “I have faith that you will find the cure.”

McCoy is taken aback. He flusters a moment, then drawls, “Why, Spock, that almost sounded like a compliment!”

“It was, Doctor.”

McCoy’s mouth falls open a little.

Kirk nudges Spock again towards the door. “Come on, snugglepuss, let’s get you to your quarters.”

The next moment—through the movie-magic of editing—Kirk and Spock are approaching the science officer’s rooms.

“Al—umph—alright, then. Here we are.” Kirk tries not to drop Spock, the heavy weight that he is, as he punches the access code in.

“Jim.” Spock has finally stepped enough away from his captain that they may look each other in the eye.

“Yes?”

Spock carefully brings his hand up. His first two fingers graze Kirk’s cheekbone lightly, emphasized by the close-up and dramatic lighting. And once again, the music—this time a painfully wistful, almost romantic twist of the theme—seems to know something Kirk doesn’t, for he glances at the hand beside his face and Spock, both, with confusion.

“Spock?” His voice is a little unsteady, but only just; the sort of line-read you’d get in sentimental episodes only.

“Please be careful,” Spock says, his own tone softer than usual. Then he looks away and backs up, his clinginess all but evaporated. “Goodbye, Captain.” He’s walked behind the doors, and they close in Kirk’s face, ending their strange conversation abruptly.

On the surface of the planet, shown by a stunning drawing of the ravaged city, Chapel is still buzzing between hospital beds.

There’s a groan from a nearby bed. Chapel starts and makes her way over to the patient: Daisy.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Chapel says as the child’s eyes open blearily. Chapel runs a tricorder over the girl’s forehead, then her chest, saying softly all the while, “How are you feeling?”

Daisy only shakes her head. With big, watering eyes, she asks quietly, “Who are you? I haven’t seen you here before, miss.”

“My name is Christine.” Chapel puts away the tricorder. “And you name’s Daisy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Your doctor told me. It’s a lovely name.”

“It’s not my real name, you know.”

“Oh?” Chapel asks, smiling down at her.

“Nuh-uh. My parents found me lost in a flower field when I was four. I’d wandered off. They started calling me Daisy after that.” A frown appears on her face. Her eyes close slowly, woozily. “I miss them…”

Chapel frowns too.

Daisy’s head lolls to one side, and she’s asleep.

A sharp chirp rings out, followed by a voice calling, “McCoy to Chapel.”

Chapel comes out of her musings and grabs her communicator, managing to open it through the clumsy biosuit gloves. “Chapel here, Doctor.”

“Any findings so far, Nurse?”

“None, sir. On your end?”

Back on board the Enterprise, in his office and leaning over a chemistry set, McCoy sighs. “Nothing.”

“Actually, sir…”

“What?”

“Well, there’s one patient who’s contracted the disease without nearly as intense the symptoms. We haven’t been able to figure out why—yet—but…I’ll keep you updated.”

“Do. And stay safe down there, Nurse. McCoy out.” McCoy stays in that same, leaning position for a moment, chewing on his lip. Then he shakes his head with a sigh, glaring down at the tests tubes laid out before him. “What’s the key to you, you devil?”

On the bridge, Kirk is sitting in centre seat. He seems rather disconcerted.

“Captain?” Uhura stands from her station and walks towards him.

Kirk glances up. “Hmm?”

“Are you all right, sir?”

Kirk manages a smile, though it seems a little off. “Perfectly, Lieutenant.”

“Alright, sir.”

“Oh, um, Ms. Uhura?” He reaches out a hand as she turns away, and Uhura dutifully turns back, blinking at him expectantly. “You don’t…happen to have any books on Vulcan, do you? Translations to Standard? I had a…” Kirk huffs and furrows his brow, in search of the right term. He rubs his thumb over his bottom lip and mutters, “An interesting conversation with Spock earlier…I’d just like to look up a few things.”

Uhura nods. “I think I can find something, Captain.”

“Thank you.” Kirk is part-way turned around in his chair when Uhura asks, “How is he?”

Kirk opens his mouth, then slowly closes it. He fiddles a moment with the cuff of his uniform sleeve. “As well as can be expected.” When he looks up, Uhura is close to tears. “He’ll be fine. McCoy’s performed miracles before.” Kirk stands up and tugs down his tunic. He grasps Uhura’s forearm and squeezes gently. “Send me the book when you find it, Lieutenant. You have the con.”

Kirk enters sickbay. “Bones.”

McCoy is still hunched over vials upon vials of liquids, watching them with a stern gaze.

“Any progress?” Kirk comes to a stand still at the end of the long table sporting the equiptment McCoy is regarding.

“Well, I think I’ve managed to isolate the bacteria in a form that might—heavy emphasis on the ‘might’ there—be any good as a vaccine.” McCoy stands up straighter and looks right at his captain. “I just got news that a hundred more people’ve died, Jim.”

Kirk swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it, eyes sliding to one side. Kirk makes a loop around the table—camera following him—to stand next to McCoy. He plants his hands onto the tabletop and tries again: “I can’t let Spock be in the next hundred.”

Chapel is knelt over a man who is twisting violently from side to side, covered in a sheen of sweat made harsher by the eery lighting, thumping his fists against the ground. Chapel presses a hypospray to his neck and after a moment, he stills, slumping into his bed.

A hand appears behind Chapel, small and outstretched. It touches her arm: she stands and whirls with a gasp.

“…Daisy?”

Sure enough, the small child is standing before Chapel, no sign of the illness in sight.

Chapel slowly comes down the girl’s level. “Daisy, what are you doing out of bed?”

“I feel better, Miss Christine.”

“You feel…better?” Chapel takes up her tricorder, slung around her shoulder still, and subtly turns it on. “How much better, dear?” She begins to, as nonchalantly as she can, check Daisy’s signals.

“Entirely better!” Daisy chirps.

Chapel gulps as she looks at her readings. “Yes,” she breathes. “Well, you should be.”

The doctor of the previous scene enters the room in the background and comes running to the foreground when she sees Daisy up and moving.

“Daisy! Nurse Chapel!” She chides, about to scoop Daisy up and place her back in bed.

Chapel places a hand on the doctor’s arm. “Doctor,” she says. “Daisy no longer presents any signs of the illness.”

“What?”

Chapel shakes her head. “She’s completely healed.”

Daisy grins up at the two adults, unaware of the ominous music that surrounds them.

Chapter Text

Captain’s Log: Stardate 6301.13. We are currently orbiting Luyten III, a planet ravaged by a bacterial disease that my First Officer, Mr. Spock, has somehow contracted. Chief Medical Officer McCoy is currently searching for a cure. The disease has been fatal in every case but one: a Luytenian child, Daisy, who has miraculously healed from it.

Nurse Chapel has brought the child aboard the Enterprise so that McCoy can examine her.

Daisy is sat on a bed in medbay, obediantly still as McCoy runs a tricorder over her and looks up at the biometer above the bed from time to time. Chapel is standing just behind him, out of her biosuit. They’re situated just beside the test-tubes McCoy’s been seen working with in previous scenes.

McCoy steps back as soon as the “Captain’s Log” is done, and shakes his head. “Nothing abnormal far’s I can see. If anything…”

“Doctor?” Chapel prompts.

“If anything, she’s the healthiest human I’ve ever come across!” McCoy glances between his tricorder and Daisy. He kneels down in front of her to be eye-level. “How old d’you say you were again, darlin’?”

“Eight and half standard years, Mister!”

McCoy shakes his head and stands. “Hell if I know—” He starts to mutter, and Chapel glowers at him, grabbing his arm.

“Doctor! The child!” She chides.

McCoy spares a look at Daisy and appears only slightly sheepishly. “Er, right, yeah.

“Nurse? I’ve some hypotheses I’d like to run by you. Daisy, you stay here and be a good girl, alright? We’ll be back in a minute.” He leads himself and Chapel out of the patient’s wing, offscreen.

As soon as the medical blue is out of sight, Daisy’s expression shifts. Through a freeze-frame of her eyes and elaborate, colourful visual effects, some un-defined change takes place within her.

When Daisy gets up from the bed, she moves with an calculatedness not to be expected of a child—at least according to the ominous music and the slow pan of the camera as she makes her way towards the test-tubes beside her.

There are several vials in the chemistry set, all filled with odd coloured liquid. But Daisy heads for the petri dish on the far end. She reaches out her hand, and the music swells. She’s about to take the lid off—

McCoy grabs her arm and steers her away. “Young lady, do not touch that!” He barks.

Daisy conforms back to her earlier behaviour instantly. “I-I’m sorry, Mister!”

“As you should be. I told you to stay put.” McCoy hauls the misbehaving child back to the bed, and frowns at her in a well-trodden “disapproving father” manner.

Daisy puts her opposite hand on McCoy’s, resting on her arm. Keen-eared viewers will notice the similarity of the sound that plays to that in the Naked Time, a sort of “there’s a rattle-snake in my hand, be very afraid” noise. “I’m sorry, Dr. McCoy. I won’t do it again.”

McCoy sighs. “Kids on starships. Just not a good mix.” Distantly, some poor Next Generation fan—or possibly Wil Wheaton himself—is screaming. “Alright, Daisy, let’s find you something to occupy yourself with, hmm?”

Kirk is alone in his quarters, staring at a tri-D chess-set. The room is entirely silent save for his slow, deliberate breathing. A single tear rolls down his cheek cinematically.

The buzzer for his cabin rings out. Kirk starts, standing up. He walks over to a wall-comm. and presses its button. “Yes?” He wipes the heel of his hand quickly under his eye.

“It’s McCoy.”

“Come in, Bones.” Kirk holds down the little button, and the doors to his cabin open.

McCoy enters.

“Any news on the girl?” Kirk asks.

“None. I just can’t figure it, Jim: she’s as healthy as anybody I’ve ever examined. If anything, she’s too healthy! And just a few hours ago, Chapel was telling me—”

“Go back: too healthy?” Kirk crosses his arms over his chest.

McCoy articulates sharply with his hands as he explains, “As far as most things go, she’s at the regular levels for a child her age, but—damn it, Jim, I don’t know how else to explain it, that kid has a fully developed immune system! The type I haven’t seen in anybody but an overtly health-conscious Vulcan. And considering that she was down on that planet, sick as a dog, only earlier today… Captain, sir, I’ve absolutely no idea what we’re dealing with.” McCoy huffs, and wipes at his forehead. “D’you turn the thermostat up in here? God, I’m sweltering.”

“I haven’t touched the environmental controls,” Kirk informs him. “I think you just worked yourself up, doc.”

“Hmph. Maybe. It’s no picnic doing this work, I tell ya.” He pauses, mid-anger. “How’s Spock doing?”

“Haven’t seen him since this morning,” Kirk admits. “I keep thinking if I see him, I’ll see how bad he’s doing and… Bones, I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do here, is there?”

McCoy offers a sad, sympathetic smile. “ ’Fraid not, kid.”

“Yeah. I hate that.”

Spock is sitting in his bed, wrapped in blankets and sniffling. His face is tear-stained and he’s shaking.

The buzzer sounds.

“Come.”

Kirk enters the room, hunting for Spock’s figure until he sees him on the bed. “Spock?”

Spock sits up and throws off the blankets. “Jim!” He exclaims, and rushes towards the captain. Kirk is pulled into an intense hug that knocks the breath out of his audibly.

“Hello, Spock,” Kirk wheezes.

“Am I hurting you?” Spock moves back quickly, holding Kirk at arm’s length to observe him.

“Maybe a little,” Kirk says, laughing lightly. “But, um, that’s alright.” He pats Spock’s arm gingerly, and the Vulcan grins at him. “So…how are you?”

“Better now that you’re here,” Spock says, and immediately looks away. There’s a cut to Kirk’s reaction, and the cut back to Spock shows a heavy green flush the make-up team has not pulled out for earlier episodes.

“Well,” Kirk hedges, his own cheeks coloured, though through non-artificial means. “I can’t say I’m glad you’ve caught this, but your reactions are certainly—”

Spock frowns at him (the blush has been removed) and Kirk stops talking. Kirk gives his classic smirk and rolls his eyes. “Charming, Spock, I was going to say ‘charming.’” He claps his hands together. “Actually, I came in here wondering—”

“Yes?”

Kirk pauses at Spock’s uncharacteristic interruption, looking genuinely surprised (it’s still unknown whether or not this was an intentional part of the script or a spur-of-the-moment flub kept in for authenticity, though many fan wikis claim the latter). “If you wanted a game of chess. I can’t imagine being stuck in here all day’s been much fun. We certainly missed you on the bridge.”

Spock nods enthusiastically. “I’d be glad to, Captain,” he says, formal in contrast to his exuberant energy.

Kirk tries to stifle a smile and fails. “Good.”

Sulu is walking down an unspecified hallway. McCoy comes around the corner, grumbling to himself.

“Hey, Doc, how’s it—”

McCoy, despite the greeting, doesn’t seem to notice where Sulu is going, and runs right into him. They both stumble back.

“Watch it!” McCoy snaps. “You’re a damn health hazard! Shouldn’t you be on the bridge, anyways!? Loitering around the ship like a no-good!” He shoves Sulu’s shoulder again for good measure and stomps off. The rattle-snake-in-my-hand noise returns.

Sulu steps onto the bridge, looking dazed and slightly teary-eyed.

“Mr. Sulu.” Uhura turns around in the captain’s chair, smiling at him pleasantly. “How was your meeting with…” She trails off as Sulu walks numbly towards his station. “Mr. Sulu, are you alright?”

“Huh? What?” Sulu holds a hand to his head and shrugs. “Uh, I’m fine, Uhura. Perfectly fine.” But a close up shows there’s an obvious line of sweat along his forehead.

The chess game in Mr. Spock’s quarters has progressed nicely. At the very least that’s what one’s supposed to think when looking at the board arranged in randomly scattered pieces, because they probably don’t know how to play tri-D chess.

Spock is smiling at Kirk softly as the captain moves a bishop. Kirk looks the slightest bit disconcerted by Spock’s expression, glancing up at him in puzzlement thrice while he places his peice.

“An excellent move, ashayam,” Spock says in a wistful tone, his attention now on the board.

“That word,” Kirk mutters.

“What was that, Jim?” Spock places a pawn.

Kirk gestures to Spock with a flailing hand. “You’ve called me that word, that ‘ah-sh-ai-um’ thing that you were calling me in sickbay.” His brow is drawn low over his eyes as he ponders.

Spock doesn’t move his fingers off his peice. “Does it…bother you, Captain?” He sounds sad, voice wobbling at the end.

“…No,” Kirk finally says, shifting uncomfortably. “Not—no, I'm not bothered, Mr. Spock. I just wish I knew what it meant.” He flashes a grin. “Though I’d doubt you’d be the type to insult me, stripped down to your honesty.” He sighs and stands. “I’m sorry, Spock, I’ve lost my gusto, and you’ve just cornered me with…”

“Check in three moves,” Spock says. “Checkmate in five if you use your usual strategy.”

“Ah, well. I’ll leave that for tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Spock.”

As Kirk turns to the door, Spock suddenly stands too and calls out, “Captain!”

Kirk turns around. “Yes?”

The lighting has shifted drastically for a single shot of Spock’s intense expression. He’s almost marbled by the shadows, harsh accents making him look ethereal like every love-interest-of-the-week.

“Captain,” Spock says again, and walks towards Kirk slowly. He raises a hand up to Kirk’s face, and lightly runs his thumb over his upper lip. Kirk’s eyes flutter shut, face scrunched in confusion.

“May I kiss you?” Spock asks with a swell in dramatic, woeful music.

Kirk’s eyes flash open alongside a sharp “dun-dun.” He stumbles back out of Spock’s grip. He’s breathing heavily.

Spock’s hand is left floating in the air a moment. Then he squeaks and catapults himself back to his bed. It’s a little difficult to see him in the shadowed alcove, but it looks like he’s huddled himself under a bunch of blankets.

Kirk takes one hesitant step forward. Spock shouts, “Go away!”

Kirk stares back at him, jaw slack and looking utterly perplexed. Then he turns and high-tails it out of the cabin.

Chapel is sitting with Daisy in medbay. McCoy comes stumbling in. He’s even sweatier than before, and he can’t quite seem to walk right. Chapel stands upon his entrance.

“Doctor—?”

“Ch-Chapel, get me—get me,” he starts, and abruptly bursts into tears.

Chapter Text

Captain’s Log: Stardate 6301.13. While searching for the cure to a fatal illness, McCoy has contracted it himself. The disease proves lethal quickly—with McCoy and Spock both sick, we’re working against the clock. Our only link to a cure is a child who miraculously recuperated from the disease and whom has been brought on board to be studied.

Meanwhile, Spock has become increasingly…emotional.

Kirk is sitting at his desk. He sits up and swallows. “Personal Log,” he starts, hesitant. “Spock…asked if he could kiss me—”

The cabin door buzzes. Kirk all but jumps from his seat, shouting, “Come in!”

The doors open to Uhura, holding a book in trembling hands, her face hidden by shadow.

“Lieutenant.” Kirk tugs down his ever-riding-up tunic and moves towards her. “Is that the Vulcan to Standard dictionary I was asking about?” He reaches her by the end of his sentence.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Uhu—” Kirk frowns as his eyes catch the camera’s sight-line. “Lieutenant, are you alright?”

Uhura’s face is fully lit now. She gulps, biting her lip, and starts sobbing. She drops the book into the captain’s hands—he stumbles back in surprise—and bolts.

Kirk staggers against the doorframe, staring after her. He breathes in heavily once, twice, three times, then marches back to his desk and thumbs at the P.A. button. “Kirk to medbay, Kirk to medbay.”

“Captain! We’ve got reports of the illness from all decks, sir. Nurse Chapel is currently heading a team administering the anti-contagion and a knock-out drug to all those she can.”

Kirk sighs sharply, his head falling. “Damn. McCoy?”

“Dr. McCoy’s sick too, Captain.”

Kirk’s shoulders tense visibly. “…Damn,” he manages. “We need that cure!

“Kirk out!” He slams off the link and grabs at his hair. He stares a moment, breathing heavy in time with the intense soundtrack. Then he nods to himself. “Spock.”

Kirk rushes through the doors to Spock’s quarters, heedless of announcing himself beforehand. “Spock!”

Spock is sitting not on his bed, but on the floor next to it, weeping.

“Oh, Spock.” Kirk comes closer, but he stops just outside the alcove. He slowly sinks to the floor, sighing as his back hits the wall. “Spock, we need you. I need you. McCoy’s sick and Chapel’s running herself ragged trying to stop this disease. I’m not a scientist, and all our best ones are trying to stop the others from getting it, too. I can’t do it, Spock, I can’t. Please.”

Spock slowly looks up, though his face is still partially shadowed by the grate that divides him from the light.

“I know that big Vulcan brain of yours can solve this,” Kirk says, and grins softly at him. He stands up. “With me, Commander?”

Spock stands with a stagger. “Y-yes, Captain.”

Kirk leads the way out of the cabin.

Chapel is on the bridge in a biosuit, in the middle of hypo-spraying Sulu, who is sobbing while she administers the medicine. Sulu shuts his eyes and falls back, limp, when the hypospray leaves his neck.

Chapel leans up from her task and suddenly wobbles. A single tear cascades down her face and she sniffles.

“Oh no,” she says to herself, and gasps around a sob.

The doors to the bridge open. Daisy stands in their wake. Her gaze finds Chapel immediately, and with a determined glower, she utters a single, strong, defiant, “No.”

Chapel’s sniffling desists immediately. There’s a harsh musical swell as she observes Daisy with slowly widening eyes. “How did you…how did you do that?”

Daisy walks down the steps towards the captain’s chair. “I made them stop,” she says. “I didn’t want you to get sick.”

“Made…made what stop, Daisy?”

“Us.” Daisy’s eyes once again play a strange visual affect, colour and light obscuring them (it’s clear the VFX responsible for Where No Man Has Gone Before were a large source of inspiration). In a voice that isn’t quite hers, something with an echoey sound affect added, and a nasal voice-over reading alongside, Daisy says, “We found her when she was a little girl.”

Chapel stares at her, wide-eyed. “W-we?”

“You creatures,” “Daisy” sneers. “You came to our world and started…building, disrupting. All we ever wanted as a species was for our planet to be a beautiful paradise. And you Humans, you come and you destroy all that, don’t you?” Daisy is coming nearer Chapel, circling her slowly. “You lie and you steal and you hate. When we first made contact with those on the planet, we did not quite know yet how to communicate, how to Intertwine with your bizarre little bodies. So what did you do? You killed us. So we decided, if you would take our planet and our lives, we would at least take the second from you, and this thing you call ‘dignity’ that you cherish so much while we do.” Not-Daisy sighs, eyes slipping shut. “We have only ever found one—one innocent and sweet and honest enough to spare. One we can Intertwine with.” Her eyes open. “We found her in a flower field.”

Chapel chokes out a frightened gasp. “The,” she starts, then swallows. “All the readings said Luyten III was void of intelligent life when the colony began ten years ago.”

“Your readings,” Not-Daisy says. “So you are a victim of your own hubris: how sad.”

“You have to stop this,” Chapel says, more assertive now. “We didn’t know! And those people down there—the children—how could you do this to them?”

“Stop this?” Not-Daisy asks. She shakes her head. “No. These people must learn.” She shoots out a hand towards Chapel, and the nurse flinches, cowering in on herself.

The hand jerks back suddenly. “No!” Daisy says, with only her own voice. “Not her.”

Chapel slowly opens her squeezed shut eyes, staring up at Daisy in horror.

“She likes you,” Not-Daisy says, and smiles down at Chapel, as though amused. “If she likes you that much, you must be worth saving.” Daisy’s eyes clear and in her quiet, unassuming voice, she says sweetly, “You’ll be my new mommy.”

Kirk and Spock are in the hallway just outside of Spock’s quarters. From the P.A. system comes a slightly shaky Christine Chapel saying, “Captain to bridge.” They look at each other quickly, and Kirk nods, the two dashing away offscreen.

They arrive on the bridge immediately after (the editors know how to pace these things), and as soon as they survey the situation, Kirk is running towards Chapel.

“Nurse—” He starts.

“Stand back,” Not-Daisy warns.

Kirk blinks at her. He slowly backs up as Spock comes to stand behind him (Spock is still crying, but it’s only slightly, and silently at that, the only major sign being the wobbling of his chin).

“So you’re the captain of these things,” Not-Daisy drawls, beginning to crowd in on Kirk.

Kirk glances at Chapel.

“I-it’s the bacteria, sir,” Chapel tells him. “The—the bacteria infecting people. They’ve…” She gulps as she looks at Not-Daisy. “ ‘Intertwined’ with the girl. They said they wanted to talk to the captain.”

Kirk blinks in stupor some more, but, like every episode, he takes strangeness in stride. “You’re the one infecting my people, then?”

“We’re only giving them honesty. And they just happen to being dying in the process.” A little smirk appears on Not-Daisy’s face. “It’s hardly our fault your weak little systems can’t handle it.”

“These are innocent people,” Kirk says, a bite to his words. He spreads his arm wide to encompass the bridge, where everyone else is unconsious. “You’re hurting them. If you have any care for other living beings in you at all—”

“Care for other living beings? You hypocrite! Why should we listen to leader of such lying, selfish creatures? That’s all you really are! Scum, that deserve to be wiped out lest you infect the rest of us with your disgusting ignorance of others.”

“That isn’t true,” Kirk says, shaking his head. “We’re not purely lying, selfish beings. We’re not.”

“How can you say that? You lie to each other, we have seen it. You kill those you call your brothers, sisters, family. You destroy each other in a search for more resource. We have seen you fight in the streets over lovers!

“You came to our planet, you took it. You didn’t heed our warnings, you didn’t even bother to try and hear them! And when we tried to communicate with you, Intertwine with you, you tried to kill us!”

Kirk looks shocked, maybe even horrified, if the music is anything to go by.

“We’re not,” he says again. “All lying, selfish creatures, I promise you. And those good ones are the ones you have to stop this for.” He glances at Spock, at first perhaps looking for back-up, then pauses, and his expression becomes almost sad. “Some of us are…are the farthest from humanity and the greatest example of its beauty.

“Some of us,” he continues, looking only at Spock now. “Are selfless and brave. And care about other people. Even when they pretend they have no emotions.” Kirk turns to Not-Daisy with a determined grimace. “You want honesty? Here’s honesty!” The camera follows Kirk now, as he leads it in his own circle around Not-Daisy, facial expressions wild and hand gestures perhaps more-so. His speech flies with staccato urgency. “I have been terrified and horrified out of my mind watching my Chief Medical Officer crawl to find a vaccination for this infliction you’ve set upon us! To find a cure, because I know that innocent people will die if he doesn’t, and I know that—” Here he truly pauses, hesitates, and then barrels forward: “That my First Officer will die if he doesn’t. I have lost a lot of good people on this ship and in my life, but Spock is not going to be one of them if I have any say in the matter. I am…desperately, completely in love with him—I don’t think I’ve ever loved another person more—”

Spock’s mouth slowly parts in shock. “Jim…”

Kirk ignores the soft call in favour of his continued spiel/beg/monologue. “And you’re trying to take him away from me, so if you want honesty, there is my honest truth! You say we’re selfish monsters, but the—” He searches for the word a moment, his hands vibrating, open-palm and in front of him, as they struggle to convey what he wants them to. “—Weakness in humanity—my weakness—is caring and loving each other.” He whirls now, and comes face to face with Spock. The fight leaves him slowly, a righteously indignant face falling to despair. Kirk swallows and gently shrugs. “I love you,” he says. Then he grabs Spock’s face and kisses him.

It’s big and sudden and there is no music, only the gasp that barely gets out from Spock as two hands frame his face (actually they partially hide it from the camera) and lips cover his own. Spock’s eyes slowly close, his brow furrowed as though in concentration, as he tilts his head to farther contrast Kirk’s, deepening the embrace. Kirk’s hand that covers Spock’s face trails back to his neck and despite their height difference Kirk leans into him as though to dip him backwards.

They part with the final beginnings of a music sting, but it’s so quiet and the scene so intense most wouldn’t notice. Kirk lets out a stuttering breath and starts crying. Big, heaving sobs. He turns away dramatically and falls in on himself, crouching on the ground as he weeps.

Spock stands stock-still, staring at the air where Kirk once was. He turns to Not-Daisy.

“You seek…revenge,” he says slowly. “For what you see humanity has taken from you.” He nods to himself, considering. “I have often had my doubts about Humans, but while they can be violent and brutal, they can also be intelligent, thoughtful beings, when they want to.” He kneels down to be at height with Not-Daisy, and stretches out his hand. “My species is telepathic,” he explains. “I do not believe I have given my plea for humanity yet. If I may?”

Not-Daisy stares at Spock in confusion, head cocked and wearily eyeing his hand. She glances behind him; Chapel nods.

Not-Daisy leans into Spock’s hand.

“My mind to your mind,” Spock begins. “My thoughts to your thoughts.”

It’s only a few seconds before Not-Daisy rears back with a jerk. “Oh,” she says, awed. “Oh, we see… we have miscalculated.”

Kirk’s breathing slowly normalizes, and his crying slowly stops; Sulu sits up, blinking in the bright lights; Uhura, previously unseen sitting on the ground by her console, comes to as well, a hand on her chest in surprise.

“Those who were sick,” Not-Daisy says, to Spock and Chapel. “They are better now. We are sorry.” The colourful effects that denoted Daisy’s change appear again, and in her own voice she says nervously, “This isn’t medbay, is it, Ms. Christine?”

Chapel laughs as she stands, wiping her face of tears. “N-no, dear, it isn’t.”

“I don’t…” Daisy shakes her head, holding a hand up to it. “I don’t know what…”

“It’s alright, Daisy.” Chapel takes her hand and starts to lead her towards the turbolift. “Let’s get you some water, my dear.”

Just as they near them, the lift doors fly open. McCoy steps out, watching Daisy and Chapel in confusion, and then runs towards a slowly staggering up Kirk and a still sitting, almost frozen in place, Spock.

“Jim!” McCoy exclaims, running towards him. “Jim! It’s incredible!” When he reaches Kirk, he grabs his biceps tightly. “One minute I was feeling this awful… I don’t even know, and the next I’m fit as I ever was, I—Jim, what happened?”

Kirk laughs, shaking his head. “I-I’m not even sure myself.” He turns towards his First. “Spock?”

Spock is still crouched in position for the mindmeld. “Fascinating,” he murmurs.

“Spock,” McCoy says. Around him, Uhura and Sulu are standing to come closer to the trio and get in on an explanation. “What happened?”

“Fascinating,” Spock repeats, coming to standing. “Captain, it appears this was all a case of…rather intense cross-cultural miscommunication. The bacteria works as a collective mind, similar in form to your Earth bees. They communicate with other species by, for lack of a better term, infecting them and speaking directly through one of them to others, a thing they call ‘intertwining’; it’s entirely harmless to the individual they use. But with Humans they could not Intertwine to tell us they were there and all other forms of communication they tried to use where not understood by us. In fact when they did try to Intertwine with the colonists, the colonists saw it was a bacterial infection that should immediately be eradicated less it cause any damage. And in the process of forming the colony, the colonists on Luyten III severely damaged the bacteria’s natural habitat—no, their…civilization.” Spock shakes his head, still astounded. “The bacteria took all this as a form of attack, and when they tried to reason with us, they saw what they considered barbaric and unjust disputes amongst each other coming not only from the colonists but from their media records.”

Kirk nods slowly. “Killing brothers, sisters…”

“Tapes of your World Wars, Captain.” Spock raises one eyebrow. “A truly unique species.”

“Who,” McCoy says. “Us or them?”

Spock does not deign a response to that.

Kirk laughs and says, “Yes, but, Spock, how did you manage to convince her—um, it—them—”

“I merely performed a meld showing them my own experiences of…” Spock searches Kirk’s face carefully. “The goodness of humanity that I have experienced in my lifetime, most instances from right on this ship.”

Kirk flusters, looking down at his shoes and placing his hands on his hips. “Well,” he says. “It seems to have worked.”

“Indeed.” Spock settles his hands behind his back, glancing sideways at his captain. “They had some very intriguing powers as well, sir. The ability to draw emotions out of their victims, and to make them unable to lie.”

Kirk peers up at Spock and then abruptly away, cheeks colouring red. He coughs into his fist. “Intriguing,” he agrees.

McCoy looks between the two (Spock is starting to smirk a little, the usual not-quite-there smile when he’s just proven a point he’s rather proud of, usually against humanity). “I feel like I missed something.”

The scene fades into Kirk and Spock walking, in formal uniform, to the transporter room. Kirk stops them just as they near the door.

“You know,” he says, as he runs a hand up Spock’s forearm flirtatiously. “I happened to have time earlier today, so I took the chance and looked up what it was you were calling me that whole time you were ill.”

Spock straightens himself, pursing his lips.

Kirk grins up at him. “ ‘Beloved,’ hmm?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Spock bluffs. “I believe I did refer to you as ‘ashayam’ on a few occasions. The closest Standard translation would be…beloved.”

“A few occasions? Please, Spock, it was practically every other word out of your mouth.” Kirk glances around the hall, then leans up and kisses Spock’s cheek quickly. “Admit it,” he teases quietly. “You love me.”

Spock fixes Kirk with an intense look. “ ‘Desperately’ and ‘completely,’ Captain.”

Kirk tilts up his chin, smug as can be.

They walk into the transporter room to find McCoy already waiting for them, also in dress uniform.

He rolls his eyes when they enter. “As a couple you’re even more insufferable,” he complains, then starts to climb onto the transporter pad.

“Ah, come on, Bones,” Kirk says, hopping up next to him. “A little love never hurt anybody.”

“Mmm. I guess not,” McCoy grumbles; Spock is coming up beside Kirk now. “It was kind of nice seeing old stoic face blubbering and clinging to you. Didn’t know he had it in him.”

“I was diseased, Doctor,” Spock reminds him sharply. Kirk frowns at Spock and Spock quickly says, “Not that I do not…it was an honest disease,” he finally settles on.

“Honest, hmm?” McCoy crosses his arms. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you complimenting me when you were down, Spock. Admit it,” he continues. “You like me.”

Spock begins examining his tricorder. “I will admit nothing of the kind,” he replies icily.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Kirk placates. “We’ll be late for the celebratory ceremonies and the territory negotiation. Let’s be cordial witnesses to the treaty signing.” He nods to the transporter operator. “Mr. Kyle, energize.”

The trio sparkle out of existence and the room fades to black as the ending credits song begins.

PRODUCED BY

NOBODY, UNFORTUNATELY

(would be) FEATURING

MAJEL BARRETT…………………………………………CHRISTINE CHAPEL

NICHELLE NICOLS………………………………………………………UHURA

GEORGE TAKEI…………………………………………………………….SULU

WITH

SOME KID……………………………………………………………………DAISY

SOME LADY…………………………………………………LUYTEN DOCTOR

SOME GUY……………………………………………LUYTEN COMMANDER

SCRIPT CONSULTANT

I DON’T HAVE A BETA