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Spock is woken up by the distinct feeling that something is wrong. Not with the ship, or his crew. But with himself. He felt cold, despite the fact that he was currently wedged between two very warm humans. And there was a discomfort in his stomach that stopped him from drifting back into his sleep. Nausea, his mind helpfully supplied. If he focused, he could feel pain radiating throughout his body. It’s a sensation he’d normally only associate with returning from an away mission gone wrong, but he knew that wasn’t the case this time. He’d listened to enough of Leonard’s rants this week to know exactly what was wrong with him. There had been many cases of stomach flu going through the Enterprise, but Spock had assumed he had nothing to worry about. His Vulcan biology normally made him immune, or at least more unlikely to catch illnesses such as these. And he had, at first, hoped the symptoms would just fade. But it seemed he was wrong. The symptoms did not fade; in fact, the more awareness came back to him, the worse he began to feel. And the nausea continued to grow. So he carefully extracted himself from the grasp of his partners. Trying his best not to disturb their sleep as he climbs over Leonard towards the edge of the bed.
If he had felt cold before, he was now freezing. And a violent shudder runs through him as he shuffles his way into the bathroom. The room wasn’t cold, he knew that; it was kept at the perfect temperature for humans, which meant it was only slightly cool for a Vulcan. He shouldn’t have been shivering. His lack of control should have bothered him, but right now, all Spock can focus on is not throwing up on the floor. Spock swallows against the sensation in his throat as he makes his way over to the toilet. Falling to his knees, his hands grasp the edge of the toilet as he feels the cramping grow worse. He doesn’t have to wait long for his nausea to hit its peak. And he lets out a violent gag before the contents of his stomach make their way up his throat and into the toilet below. Again and again, he coughs up the contents of his stomach until he has nothing left to give. And even then, his body tries to cough up some more. All the while, his stomach cramps and twists in a way that borders on agonising. The room is filled with the disgusting tang of vomit. He reaches up, flushing the toilet. He struggles to push himself up from the floor. But the cold floor of the enterprise is not where he wants to spend the rest of his night. Spock wraps his arms around his waist as he slowly makes his way back to their room.
Leonard had shifted so he now lay in the middle of the bed with his arm loosely wrapped around Jim’s waist. And he finds he doesn’t mind settling onto the edge of the bed instead of crawling back into his preferred spot in the middle. Spock doesn’t bother with lying under the blankets. He just carefully lies back onto the bed, hoping that he could slip back into sleep. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get himself to drift off. He’s too uncomfortable, he felt freezing, and his body ached. Worst of all was the nausea. With each minute he tried to sleep, the sensation of discomfort in his stomach only continued to grow worse. And soon it gets to the point where the nausea refused to be ignored any longer. Spock doesn’t even make it to the bathroom this time. He curls in on himself at the edge of his bed as his stomach once again heaves. But there’s nothing left in him. His body cramps in sharp, long jolts and he’s forced to bring up a few meagre mouthfuls of bile. It is agony. He can’t breathe whilst he gags, and he swears the edges of his vision begin to blur as he spits out the almost chemical tasting stomach acid in his mouth.
In the brief break he got in between his frantic gagging, a small whimper crawled its way out of his throat. There was movement from behind him, someone shifting in the bed. But he doesn’t have time to question what it was before he finds himself gagging once more.
“Shit.”
He hadn’t noticed Leonard waking up. But the next thing he knows, there's a warm palm against his forehead and an arm wrapped around his stomach as Leonard holds him through the latest round of vomiting. Leonard’s barely touching his skin, but through the small connections, he can feel waves of concern run through him. The familiar echoes of his partner’s mind creep into his own. It’s calming, and for a moment, he feels relief at Leonard's presence, but it’s quickly washed away as another cramp forces him to bend over so he can attempt to cough up something that’s not there again.
“Oh, Honey,” Leonard says in a tone Spock had never heard before.
It’s soft and sweet. And no matter how illogical it sounds in his head, it soothes over some of the pain that stabs through him. His partner holds him through each painful gag, showing no disgust at the watery bile that he keeps spitting up onto the floor. The hand on his head shifts so that it runs through his hair instead. It’s a nice distraction from the sharp cramping in his stomach. When he can finally take in a deep breath, he pulls his body up from its hunched position with the help of Leonard. He leans into the warmth behind him, not even bothering to hide just how tired he feels. He doesn’t get to relax for long, as soon Leonard is pulling away from him. He thinks he lets out a whine, and he’s certain that Leonard shushes him in response. But his partner doesn’t go very far. And it’s only a few moments until Leonard returns to him. A cold glass of water is pressed into his hands. He automatically grabs onto the cup with his shaking hands. For a moment, he fears he is going to drop it until he feels Leonard wrap his hands around his own. Supporting him as he brings the cup up to his mouth. The water flows into his mouth, washing away the sharp and bitter taste of bile from his throat.
“Don’t drink it, just rinse out your mouth.” Leonard takes away the cup before offering him one that is empty. “You can spit it out into this one.”
He follows the instructions. Spitting out the water into the cup. And the cup is swiftly taken from his hands and placed beside the other. But still, his partner does not stop shuffling around. A soft beeping fills the air, meaning that Leonard had somehow grabbed one of his medical recorders in that brief gap of time. Or perhaps that gap had not been as short as he had believed. The beeping stops, and Leonard lets out a small hum of discontent.
“I’ll be right back.” Leonard presses a kiss to his forehead, helping Spock to lie back down on the bed.
He knew he wouldn’t stay in the position for long; he could already feel the nausea making itself known. But it feels nice to not have to support the exhausted weight of his body. He closes his eyes, taking time to focus on the brief moment of respite he’d been offered. He feels colder now that Leonard is not pressed up against him, and his body shudders again. He felt strangely alone. Although the feeling doesn’t last long, as there’s movement beside him once more. But not from the same direction as earlier. Leonard must have woken up Jim before he left. There’s a warm press of lips against his shoulder as Jim shuffles closer to him. Those familiar calloused hands slide under his shirt so they can smooth over his stomach. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just using the heat of his hand to try and soothe some of the cramping. Another soft kiss is pressed against his neck as Jim ever so carefully pulls him closer. Spock is met with the solid warmth of Jim’s body against his own, and he leans back into the heat with a whine.
“I know, Hun. Don’t worry, Bones is gonna make you feel better.”
He must have looked worse than he realised if Jim was resorting to that pet name. It was one that felt strangely intimate compared to all the others the captain had picked out for him. Only a few minutes pass before the nausea becomes too much for him to manage. He jolts away from Jim with a groan, shakily pushing himself up into a sitting position. He feels movement behind him. Jim leans past him to him, stretching his body to grab something from the floor. He pulls a bucket up from the floor (Leonard must have left it there earlier), bringing it onto the bed and into Spock’s lap. There’s a hand in his hair as he grips tightly onto the edge of the bucket. He didn’t want to throw up; he was tired of the way his stomach cramped around nothing as he brought up nothing more than bitter mouthfuls of bile. It was an illogical choice to try and fight back against it. But it was the choice he made. He swallows against the sensation, his muscles tensing as he tries to fight through the waves of nausea.
“Spock? Hun, what’s wrong?”
He can’t speak. He doesn’t even want to try risking it; all he can do is shake his head in an attempt to communicate with his partner. Spock didn’t want to; he refused. It hurt, and he was tired. And his mind felt fogged over with exhaustion.
“I know it hurts, doesn’t it?” Jim sighs, soothing a hand over his stomach. “Don’t fight it.”
He feels the fight slip out of him at those words. They may not have been an order, but it’s enough for his mind in that moment. He couldn’t refuse an order from his captain. Spock hunches forward once again, curling in on himself as he gags. Coughing up burning bile between desperate gasps of air. When the last wave of nausea makes its way through him, he finds himself panting for air, the sting of tears present in his eyes. He couldn’t tell if these moments were getting longer or if he was just becoming more exhausted with each round of vomiting. Spock leans back into Jim and is immediately met by an arm wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
“You think you’re done for now?”
He nods, his breathing settling into something calmer.
“Alright.”
He feels Jim shift behind him. Taking the bucket from his hands and placing it on the floor. He’s once again offered the glass of water, and he repeats the routine Leonard had made him go through moments ago. The acidic taste washed free from his mouth in an instant. Jim shuffles around as he places the glasses back on the table before he grabs a hold of Spock. Manipulating his body until Spock is lying on his chest, Jim’s hand rubbing up and down his back as his partner hums a meaningless tune. His eyes slowly drift shut as he feels the soft vibrations running through his body. He must have drifted off as he’s suddenly aware of Leonard and Jim whispering to one another above him. The bed dips beside him, jostling him to the side. He lets out a small groan as his stomach is aggravated by the movement.
“Shh, Hun. Bones has brought you something.”
Someone pulls his arm from beneath his body, twisting it away from him. And then there’s a sharp pinch of what must have been a hypospray. Followed by another. Then the hand holding onto his wrist moves up to rub gently over the injection site.
“Those should help with nausea and with the pain.”
Spock isn’t sure if Leonard is talking to him or Jim. But he lets out a hum to let Leonard know he understood either way. His arm is shifted back to its original position, and there’s movement on the bed beside him as Leonard wraps his arm around Spock. Bringing the blanket back over him before he lightly drapes himself across Spock’s back. The hyposprays were already beginning to work, his nausea settling into something much more manageable. And he finds himself drifting back into sleep once more. There’s a hand running a hand across his back and a kiss pressed against his hair. Keeping the lingering remnant of discomfort at bay.
“I’m putting you on sick leave for the next three days. And I’m not going to listen to any arguments about it, so don’t even try.”
Spock didn’t think he was capable of talking right now, let alone arguing. He nuzzles closer into Jim’s chest as he allows his exhaustion to overtake them. He’d argue with Leonard in the morning.