A Star Trek Reboot Story (Kirk/Spock, Spock)

November 5, 2016

Thanks, @Aliena H.!! (I definitely could have done a better job of indicating the shift in tone before I went where I did, and I will now in the future! My apologies :blushing: , but I'm still so glad you're liking it!) :hug: !!! Thank you!

November 6, 2016

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

I hope this next bit does you proud! (Double-length post tonight just for you!)

I love it! And double! Happy dance!!!! :xmastree: It's Christmas!

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“C’mon Spock, just breathe you pointy-eared bastard, breathe it in.” Spock blinked tears out of his eyes, what exactly did McCoy think he was trying to do? There was certainly little else that his body prioritized at the moment.

LOL, poor Spock. I can imagine him thinking exactly that in his logical tone.

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Jim would not be pleased with him right now. But McCoy was not Jim, and Spock was not ready to let his guard down in front of anyone else if he could help it.

Oh dear!

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Your heritage isn’t something to be ashamed of, Spock. So you’ve got a few of the less lovely parts of being human, so what? It makes you unique and, hell, easier to relate to. As easy as relating to an emotionless, computer-brained hobgoblin can be, anyway. This ship is primarily run by a crew full of humans….We get it.”

Awww, Bones being all soft and sweet.

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Fear flooded through him and before Spock could make a move to master the reaction, McCoy chose that moment to hypo him in the neck. Spock felt the physical sting of the injection with a surge of spiteful anger, certain that the man had somehow known this would happen and was waiting for the moment when he could distract Spock enough that he would fail to gain control of the impulse. Unfortunately for Spock, it worked.

Sneaky Bones. He would do that. Poor Spock. It's for your own good.

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Something inside of Spock warmed slightly at that. It was one thing to have just inherited something human, it was another to have something so uniquely in common with his mother.

Awwwww, cute.

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

He couldn’t think of why, well maybe it had to do with that whole I-think-I'm-in-love-with-you thing he hadn’t gotten around to yet, but what he did know was that it all vanished the moment Spock’s eyes met his.

Awwww, Love!

20 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Hey,” he was pretty sure he was grinning like a crazy person, “how are you feeling?” Spock’s eyes shone warm and welcoming.

(Me reading this story, i.e. grinning like a crazy person in love)

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

He didn’t even have to try to project his feelings any more. They were right there on the surface. He felt Spock instinctively reach for him and readied himself for what he knew was coming next. Except that he didn’t know, because he was completely unprepared for the surge of affection and…love…that washed through him in response to his own. Jim was stunned. How had he not felt this before? He could sense it now fully, so deep and profound. He was sure he wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t even sure what breathing was at the moment.

This is so beautiful.

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Jim would deny it till the day he died, but he found these small almost cat-like sneezes irrationally cute. Spock would kill him if he knew. He felt Spock’s ire and amusement simultaneously as he realized they were still melded and felt thoroughly like an idiot. Well, nothing for it, you know now, he thought. Struggling not to laugh and failing slightly at Spock’s mounting frustration and disbelief through his furiously hitching breath.

LOL! Ooops!

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Spock glared up at him in what Jim deemed was disapproval for his entirely' illogical' level of mirth. This only caused Jim to laugh harder.

I can just see this.

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

It was amazing to experience and as Jim had feared, he was fast becoming addicted.

Totally addicting!

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

He closed his eyes and felt something akin to a smile cross his face. He hadn’t felt this cared for since his mother died and he hadn’t been sure he would ever be able to feel so again. Trust the man who didn’t believe in bad endings to be the one who proved him wrong.

Awww, Spock is happy and loved and it's all because of Kirk! Yay!

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Hold your horses, Jim. You can stay where you are. I told you, you two aren’t fooling anyone”. Spock determinedly avoided the doctor's eyes and Jim's face turned red as a beet. “Moving on from the fact that the bridge crew has had a pool going for months now about when you two would finally figure things out—pretty sure that Chekhov made out like a bandit, by the way, kid has a weird width sense about love.

This is funny! And I love that it's Chekhov that wins!

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

McCoy hesitated for a second and then settled on a compromise, knowing what this type of lock-down would do to Spock, and to his own sanity while the Vulcan was in-house no doubt. “You’re not getting anywhere near the actual stuff, of course, but whatever you think you can do off reports alone, once you’re significantly healed that is, I see no reason why not.”

Good compromise!

21 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Spock, don’t make me regret helping you breathe.

LOL!

This continues to be brilliant! It has the perfect balance of everything. Bones snarky caretaking, Spocks illness and epic fits, Jim and Spocks love and the mind meld which I love the way you are writing the connection. I love it so much! :2lovers: (You have me using emoticons now! It's gone that far!)

November 6, 2016

A/N: @AngelEyes Yay!!! :hug: You. Are. Awesome! Thank you so much!!!!! Here's the next part for you!

Part 10

The next two days went by much as the first, except that Spock’s condition continued to notably improve. His fever reduced to a mild one and his coughing spells were fewer and far between, with his last episode of hemoptysis nearly 12 hours in the past. He spent most of the day on his PADD, researching furiously with every new bit of information about the substance that came to him from the science labs. Jim had told Spock that as far as the crew were concerned, he had some Vulcan version of the flu and would be laid up for at least a week per the overprotective CMO. Even those in the science labs didn’t know the true reasons behind their research, only that the Captain had deemed it of paramount importance. Spock had been surprised at the subterfuge, though not altogether ungrateful since he felt rather discomfited to be ‘out of commission’, as they say, from a cleaning product. Jim had confided that although he truly believed the whole incident to be an unfortunate accident, he preferred to be careful and not provide anyone who might harbor a grudge against their First Officer with such dangerous ammunition. Having it put to him in such a manner, Spock found himself inclined to agreement. He was a rather stern First Officer and, while necessary, it was not without its drawbacks.

At the end of the second day Jim came by as usual but communicated his regrets that he couldn’t stay. He avoided meeting his Commander's eyes, “We're taking a landing party down to the surface of Calumet tomorrow morning, so tonight’s chalk full of last minute reviews and such, as you know.” Spock stiffened at the announcement. He had known that this was approaching but had been uncertain on what day the excursion would fall. He was not pleased to be left out of the venture.

“Spock, you know under any other circumstances you'd be by my side down there, but you’re still not well and we can’t risk you leaving this room until we know more.” He could see Spock gearing up for an argument so he headed him off. “Also the planet's uninhabited, so it’ll be a quick specimen retrieval with a stroll around and we'll be back.”

“May I remind you Captain of the last few missions to uninhabited planets and how those did not prove to be as devoid of danger as you had initially anticipated?”

“Spock, no one can foresee acidic grass…that’s hardly being fair.”

“Nevertheless Captain, I propose that this mission is likely to contain unknown dangers that you have not prepared for. I would prefer to be a part of the—“

As if summoned by noncompliance, McCoy burst into the room from the decontamination chamber, “Oh no you don’t, you ungrateful, green-blooded know-it-all. You aren’t fit for duty on the landing party and that’s final.”

“Doctor, have you not considered that fresh air may actually—“

“Yes I have and no, it won’t. The air in here is completely purified and free from contaminants and it’s still taking days for your lungs to recover. Running around avoiding whatever fanged thing Jim's going to stir up—“

“Hey!” Jim protested indignantly.

“Shut up, you know we’re both right about that and to be honest, under normal circumstances I’d want Spock by your side because you do have an unnatural knack for trouble,” he turned back to Spock, “but as much as I love Jimbo here not coming back with teeth embedded in his shoulder or blistering welts the size of Texas on his ass,” Jim once again made an outraged noise which McCoy promptly silenced with a raised hand, “they were huge and you know it.” He doggedly turned back to the matter at hand. “Despite that, and believe me it pains me to admit it, but Jim is capable of getting himself back alive for the most part,” Jim snorted in the background. “So you’ll serve this ship best by letting him do his thing and continuing to rest so you can actually get better.” McCoy leveled a sober gaze directly at Spock. “If I hadn’t gotten to you in time the other night I have no idea if you’d still even be here now. This thing was literally eating away at the tissue in your airway.” He heaved a long suffering sigh, “Going with him on this mission is in no way worth your life, so you’re going to stay here and do as I say or I’ll revoke your ability to use your PADD and take you off active duty until every single dangerous particle is off this ship!”

Spock knew McCoy was exaggerating, but reluctantly had to acknowledge that the man had a point. Spock did trust their security personnel…and of course he trusted Jim. In fact he’d reconciled himself months ago to the fact that it wasn’t always the Captain's fault he drew the misfortune that he did. Well, sometimes it was undeniably his fault as he was reckless and impulsive, but other times it truly appeared to be some form of cosmic misfortune or ‘bad luck’ as he termed it. However, when it came down to it, he just preferred to have Jim’s back himself because he knew what he would give for the Captain's safely and he could not make that claim for the rest of the crew. Although he did not doubt they would give everything they could, he didn’t know if that would be enough should circumstances ever call for significantly…more. In the end, despite great personal discomfort, his desire to show faith in the crew and his Captain won out.

“Very well, Doctor, Captain,” Spock acquiesced, “Jim, I wish you a successful mission with as little deviation from the anticipated course of events as possible.”

Jim beamed, “Why thank you, Mr. Spock!” Jim was reluctant to do more in front of Bones, so he settled for clapping Spock on the upper back and just managing to inch a few finger tips below the collar of his gown to brush pale flesh. The effect was instant once more and Jim reeled from the feeling of two universes aligning so perfectly, praying that outwardly his appearance had remained unchanged. He quickly gathered his wits and sent a burst of regret, appreciation, and assurance through the link before removing his hand.

Bones rolled his eyes at the subtle contact but humungously obvious reaction between the two. Hopeless, he thought. Absolutely hopeless. He shook his head and turned to Jim. “You be careful tomorrow, you hear me? I’ve already got a hobgoblin with a martyr complex and trust issues to look after, I don’t need a Captain with delusions of immortality ending up on one of my tables as well.”

Jim smiled at Bones, clapped the man in a half embrace, and sauntered out the doorway.

“He’ll be the death of me. He really will.”

Spock found he could not argue with the doctor on that point as he believed there was a high probability that the Captain might indeed be the death of him as well. Be safe, Jim.

---------------------------------------------------

Spock was dosing restlessly when the news came, Bones the regretful messenger.

“How long has the Captain been captive?” He asked tersely; already out of the biobed and searching the nearby drawers for some blacks.

“Sulu and the others got back about 15 minutes ago with the report, but it took them a little over an hour to figure out where the natives were taking him and get back aboard without being noticed.” The doctor hesitated, “Spock…Ensigns Sil and Grexel from the science department were down to collect samples and were killed on sight. …I'm sorry.”

Spock barely halted in his dressing but did allow his eyes to close briefly in memory of the two young women from his division. He had not known Ensign Grexel well, but Ensign Sil was up and coming, excelling rapidly and assisting Spock with quite a few projects at present. They would both be greatly missed.

Dressed, Spock turned to face the doctor who had been watching him with a face twisted in what might have been indecision, but appeared almost indistinguishable from indigestion. “The Captain must be retrieved. I would like Lt. Sulu’s report on the Captain’s status in person.”

“Spock, I shouldn’t—,” the doctor growled, “I told him before he left I’d look after you and you really shouldn’t be up and around yet.”

“Be that as it may, Doctor, Jim’s safe return is of the utmost importance and as acting Captain I am the most qualified to lead the rescue. I feel that I am fit enough for duty in a state of emergency, so please com Lt. Sulu and have him report to me as soon as possible.”

McCoy sighed, scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face and nodded in defeat. He wanted Jim back in one piece and there truly wasn’t anyone else on this flying tin can that felt those feelings with remotely the same intensity as he did except for Spock. He didn’t spare the Commander a second glance as he resentfully left to comply with his orders.

Ten minutes later found a harried, apologetic Sulu filling Spock in on how the mission had progressed.

“All the data read as if the planet was uninhabited, but we were set upon as soon as we materialized. Ensigns Sil and Grexel were killed on sight. Spears through the heart, tipped with some kind of exploding material… there wasn’t…wasn't even a chance to try and provide medical support—” He broke off, head hanging slightly and avoiding Spock’s eyes.

“I am aware of the fates of my science officers. While deeply regrettable, further lament will not assist those who still remain in peril. In this case, the ship’s Captain.”

Sulu looked up sharply, reprimanding himself for his emotionalism in front of the Commander and steeling himself to proceed more clinically with his report.

“The coms weren’t working either for some reason and then Captain, Lt. Giotto, and myself were charged by about 20 natives. They were gaining on us until the Captain turned to fight them off so that we could get away.” He found himself vacillating between guilt and rage as he continued. “We would have fought with him if we’d known what he was going to do,” he defended, “but we were several meters away by the time we realized, and when we turned back he ordered us to keep going and find a way to contact the ship. We managed to hide in a safe location instead,” he met Spock’s eyes with a challenge now, daring the man to reprimand him for disobeying a direct order, but no reprimand was forthcoming. He took that for the gratification it was and continued, “We were able to see that once they subdued him they put a collar around his neck; it looked like the same iridescent, exploding material we’d seen on the spears.” He reached into his pocket and drew out what appeared to be a grayish chunk of rock with a slight golden sheen to it. “This.”

Spock’s eyes widened at the thought of an unknown, unstable substance aboard the ship, but Sulu was quick to reassure.

“We overheard them explaining the collar as they put it on the Captain. It kinda glowed for a second and looked like it—fused— itself on somehow. We couldn’t make out a latch of any kind. Apparently its explosive properties react to a certain frequency of radio waves and requires activation from a device. Ones that they all have of course. “ He handed the specimen to Spock and his gaze turned grave. “They’re xenophobes, sir. They freaked out when they saw us, I think it’s why they killed Sil and Grexel, they’re significantly less humanoid than the rest of us. And I could hear them raving about how they’d been found by ‘abominations from the sky’ when they should have been ‘protected’. They were humanoid themselves and spoke standard, albeit poorly, and told the Captain that he would need to ‘prove himself worthy’ to live upon their planet. Then they marched him away. As soon as they were out of sight the coms came back online somehow. I ran back to get a sample of the mineral from a spear they’d thrown that missed, and we beamed back aboard.”

Spock turned the mineral over in his hands and looked back up at the lieutenant. “Thank you, Lieutenant. How distinct from yourself were the inhabitants? Would you believe it possible to pass among them with minimal cosmetic alteration?”

Sulu mulled it over, “They appeared to be albino with black hair and small tusks on their upper lips…I think I could manage to pass a cursory inspection with the doctor’s help.”

“Very well. I am going to undertake an analysis of this mineral as it is their primary source of control over the Captain. Once you have been suitably disguised I want you to report back to me and I will give you further instructions about how we are to proceed in acquisition of the Captain.”

Spock gave Sulu a nod and strode past him to the doors of his room; he was in the antechamber when Sulu called out to him.

“Commander! Are you sure you’re well enough to leave Sickbay? Doctor McCoy didn’t tell me you were returning to duty and you look….” Sulu hesitated uncomfortably, “well, no offence, sir, but you look a little rough.”

Spock glowered at the lieutenant. “I am perfectly capable of performing my duties and restoration of the Captain to this ship of utmost importance. I’ll trust you not to question my judgment on such matters again, Lieutenant.”

Spock didn’t think Sulu appeared convinced, but then the man's eyes widened slightly and he smiled to himself. He shook his head as if in disbelief and headed from the room without any further protest. Spock was puzzled by this as he could think of no part of their present interaction that would be cause of either amusement or novel revelation, however, circumstances being what they were, he didn’t have time to dwell on mysteries unrelated to the Captain’s whereabouts.

He followed Sulu into the general medical bay and was nearly in the corridor when he heard the outraged roar.

“Just where the hell do you think you’re going, you pointy-eared ingrate?!”

Spock sighed softly before turning to face the doctor.

“I am going to the labs to process the sample Lt. Sulu brought back that is keeping the Captain in the inhabitants’ control.”

“Oh you are, are you? And I’m going to eat my hat and dance a jig with my dead Aunt Sally.”

“I did not know you were capable of the consumption of such a large inanimate object or indeed proficient in rural dances with the living, let alone with those who have passed on.”

The vein in McCoy’s temple pulsed, “Why you—“

“I thank you for your concern, Doctor, but as I have already assured you I am capable of conducting this mission, and should I become too ill to continue you have my assurance that I will return myself to your care.”

“Oh well, that makes me feel real warm and fuzzy as I’m sure we have the same definition of ‘too ill to continue’.”

Spock proceeded out the doors and into the corridor, McCoy’s shout following him away.

“I’ll be watching you! One hair outta place and I’ll have you locked away until you’re healthy enough to complete an Ironman race, let alone sit your butt at your science station!”

Spock continued on as if he hadn’t heard. He would deal with any consequences later. Right now he could breathe adequately, if not altogether comfortably, and he had a Captain to rescue.

November 6, 2016

More plot! Oh my! Exciting!

18 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“May I remind you Captain of the last few missions to uninhabited planets and how those did not prove to be as devoid of danger as you had initially anticipated?”

Very true.

18 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

As if summoned by noncompliance, McCoy burst into the room from the decontamination chamber,

LOL! He has a sixth sense about that sort of thing.

19 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Running around avoiding whatever fanged thing Jim's going to stir up—“

“Hey!” Jim protested indignantly.

“Shut up, you know we’re both right about that and to be honest, under normal circumstances I’d want Spock by your side because you do have an unnatural knack for trouble,”

He totally does!

20 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“but as much as I love Jimbo here not coming back with teeth embedded in his shoulder or blistering welts the size of Texas on his ass,” Jim once again made an outraged noise which McCoy promptly silenced with a raised hand, “they were huge and you know it.”

That is hysterical!

21 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Well, sometimes it was undeniably his fault as he was reckless and impulsive, but other times it truly appeared to be some form of cosmic misfortune or ‘bad luck’ as he termed it.

True to both.

21 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Bones rolled his eyes at the subtle contact but humungously obvious reaction between the two. Hopeless, he thought. Absolutely hopeless.

They are and I love it So So much!

22 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Spock found he could not argue with the doctor on that point as he believed there was a high probability that the Captain might indeed be the death of him as well. Be safe, Jim.

Awwww

23 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

McCoy sighed, scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face and nodded in defeat. He wanted Jim back in one piece and there truly wasn’t anyone else on this flying tin can that felt those feelings with remotely the same intensity as he did except for Spock.

I can totally picture Bones doing this, totally one of his mannerisms. And flying tin can. LOL, he would call it that. And he knows Spock loves Jim as much as he does and will do anything for him. Awww.

26 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Spock glowered at the lieutenant. “I am perfectly capable of performing my duties and restoration of the Captain to this ship of utmost importance. I’ll trust you not to question my judgment on such matters again, Lieutenant.”

Oooh, I love it when Spock gets all authoritarian.

27 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Oh you are, are you? And I’m going to eat my hat and dance a jig with my dead Aunt Sally.”

“I did not know you were capable of the consumption of such a large inanimate object or indeed proficient in rural dances with the living, let alone with those who have passed on.”

God I love these two! I love the phrases you come up with for McCoy, because they are so McCoy, and they crack me up. And Spock being all literal and deliberately not understanding.

29 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Oh well, that makes me feel real warm and fuzzy as I’m sure we have the same definition of ‘too ill to continue’.”

Probably not so much!

29 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Right now he could breathe adequately, if not altogether comfortably, and he had a Captain to rescue.

Go forth hero and save the day!

I can't wait to see what happens getting Jim back and what consequences there may be to Spock. :wub:

November 8, 2016

Yes, yes, yes!!!!! Plot + McCoy = :thumbup:

On 07/11/2016 at 0:18 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Oh well, that makes me feel real warm and fuzzy as I’m sure we have the same definition of ‘too ill to continue’.”

I love this sentence. Because how could they agree on such a definition? I'm quite afraid for Spock at the moment but now I'm prepared , so... I'm just waiting eagerly for the next part.

November 11, 2016

The plot thickens...I love where you're going with the story and your characterization is spot on!

November 11, 2016

This story is quite 'beaming'! Its definately got a lot of though and time into every detail and I can't wait to read more

5 hours ago, ichixshiro14 said:

The plot thickens...I love where you're going with the story and your characterization is spot on!

Also. Don't you mean, 'Spock on'?

November 12, 2016

A/N: @AngelEyes So glad you like it!! Consequences indeed.... :devil2: @Aliena H. Yay!! Glad you enjoyed!! (Although I'm afraid there's less McCoy in this next part :lol: and more of the rest of the crew, but he comes back a bit more towards the end!) Really though, thanks a ton to both of you guys for continuing to give me feedback and encouragement! :heart: @ichixshiro14 Thank you so, so much!! Branching out to a few other characters now, so hoping I can do them justice as well! (gulp) @Pyrus_Fangmon Thank you!! I'm so glad you're reading it and I hope you continue to enjoy!

Part 11

“huh-HIH!!” He pulled back from the microscope and clamped his fingers on his nose, sniffing in hard for the fourth time in the past 30 minutes. He released a relieved breath when the urge passed and none of the Beta Shift, skeleton science crew appeared the wiser. He was making headway with the composition of the mineral and could not afford distraction. However, he was finding himself dealing with these interruptions more and more frequently. Perhaps there was some merit to McCoy’s theory that his body was trying to expel the irritant and if he were to allow the reflex he would buy himself more time…

He bent back towards the microscope resolved to consider the matter at the time it once more became relevant, when he was again interrupted, but this time by someone instead of something.

“Kommender,” a young, timid voice intoned from the doorway to his left. Spock looked up startled. He was slipping, how had he not heard the Ensign approach?

“I apologize for disturbing you, Kommender, but I heard you were working on determining ze composition of the mineral imprisoning ze Keptin and I would like to offer my assistance.”

Spock raised an eyebrow surprise, sniffing lightly as he felt his nose begin to run. A thrill of fear shot through him as he wondered if it might again be blood. He sniffed harder. “Ensign Chekhov, I am surprised to find you out of your quarters at this hour.”

“I could not sleep, Kommender,” Chekhov’s face was open and earnest. “Not when I am knowing zat the Keptin is in danger and you are down here working when you are unwell. I know I am not a geologist or a chemist…but I would still like to help if I can.”

Spock considered the Ensign’s request for 2.58 seconds before nodding in affirmation, he would indeed be grateful to have a second keen mind on the task. “That would be greatly appreciated, Ensign.” Spock stood up from his station and gestured for Chekhov to have a look. He surreptitiously pulled a tissue from his pocket while Chekhov was occupied and dabbed at his nose. His heart sunk as he noted the dark green blotch on the right side of the white fibers. He quickly tore off a piece and discretely plugged the offending nostril, willing the quick fix to be enough for the moment. He needed to debrief Chekhov on his findings before he could conceivably step away and remedy the situation.

“Thus far I have been able to ascertain that the mineral does indeed emit a radio frequency as Lt. Sulu posited, and this appears to be the way the natives are manipulating the substance. I am presently trying to discover how to decompose the element with the least amount of detrimental effects as, per Lt. Sulu’s report, we may not be able to remove it from the Captain in any other fashion. I also believe that the element has the power to scramble our signals as the coms did not work when in proximity to it and we were unable to accurately scan the planet for life-hih-lifeforms.”

Chekhov looked up at the Commander, started by his gasp, and a look of concern quickly crossed his face.

Spock turned away rapidly and pinched his nose, but he hadn’t been fast enough to subdue the impulse. Not now not now not now! He thought. His nose was already bleeding, and this would only make it worse. He felt a burning sensation roar through his sinuses and knew there was nothing he could do, he tried in vain to also keep the burning from his cheeks.

“Ex-heh!-excuse me,” he gasped, heart rate accelerating, before hurriedly stepping away from Chekhov, pinching his nose even harder, trying think of Jim and not panic as he lost control and his body gave in.

“H’NKST! Hh'ngshh! h'gnxtTCHH! Gnx’tch! N’tch! Tch! h'GNXTSHH!"

He blinked as the fit ended and was startled to find he was nearly bent in half. He went to rise and the world swam before his eyes. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall and instead met warm human flesh. He winced as a barrage of emotions surged through him. Concernfearfrustrationworry— Spock pulled up his mental shields as best he could and reluctantly accepted the assistance Chekhov offered in once again regaining an upright position.

“Kommender, I am wery concerned zat you are not well enough to be out of Sickbay.” Chekhov quickly let go of the Commander once he appeared stable, respectful of the Vulcan’s aversion to touch.

Spock blinked several more times willing the world to come back into focus as he dismissed Chekhov’s misgivings outright. “It is of no consequence, Ensign. While I am not yet at 100%, I am still adequately able to assist in the Captain’s recovery. Particularly as a primary part of the solution is of a scientific nature. However, I appreciate your assistance and concern.”

Before Chekhov could resume his study and Spock could finally excuse himself, the lab doors swished open and a very pale and tusked Sulu walked in.

Chekhov choked in disbelief. “Hikaru?!”

“Not bad, eh?” Sulu gave a full turn so that the doctor’s work might be appreciated in its entirety.

He looked up at Spock, “Reporting at 0530, as requested, Commander.”

Spock nodded in approval. “Are you certain that you are still comfortable with our plan of action, Lieutenant?”

Sulu nodded, jaw set. “Yes, sir.”

“Then report to the transporter room and begin your reconnaissance. You should have approximately 1 hour and 30 minutes of twilight before the planet’s sun fully rises. Beam back to the ship with as much information as you are safely able to garner by 0700. Understood?”

“Understood, Commander.”

“Very good, if we have not huh-heard-hih HIH! “ Completely unprepared, Spock barely managed to twist away from Sulu and Chekhov in time to stifle two more powerful sneezes with his fingertips.”H’ngxt! Ngx’TSHH!”

He sniffed hard, head pounding, and turned his attention back to Sulu whose jaw was hanging open. Spock felt himself flush as he rubbed at his nose self-consciously, thoroughly embarrassed, but also significantly distracted by the worry that his bleeding might once again have become noticeable. He glanced quickly down at the back of his finger and was relieved to find it had remained unblemished.

Sulu finally seemed to regain himself. “Bless you!” He breathed, stunned by the display. He had never seen the Commander sneeze before. In fact, he hadn’t even known that Vulcan’s could sneeze. It looked like the Commander wasn’t as well as he insisted. He was also concerned by how Chekhov had immediately stepped forward to stabilize the Vulcan and Spock hadn’t even seemed to notice.

Spock proceeded to ignore the blessing. “Pardon me for the interruption”, he nodded to Sulu and sniffed gently once more before continuing, “as I was saying, if we have not heard from you by 0730 we will send down a team to assist with your extraction and if necessary, the Captain’s. However, it goes without saying that we would prefer to complete this mission with as little risk of harm to our people or the population as is possible.”

Sulu nodded.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Sulu turned to go.

“And—“, Spock halted him, “to borrow a Terran phrase...‘Good luck.’”

Sulu turned back, smiled, and saluted the Commander with a determined gleam in his eyes before once more spinning on his heel and heading out of the room.

Spock looked to Chekhov and Chekhov took his cue. “So, destabilizing ze element…”

0728 found Spock in the transporter room eagerly awaiting the Lieutenant’s return. Either Sulu was using every minute allotted to him or he had met with trouble and would be delayed. Spock checked the chrono again, 0733. Sulu was officially late, Spock was about to turn to go organize a rescue landing party when he heard the com call to beam up. He watched the transporter pad with hungry eyes; half hoping that Sulu had managed a miracle and would have the Captain with him. It was not to be.

Sulu arrived looking none the worse for wear, which was encouraging. Spock summoned the entire bridge crew and all department heads to the Captain’s ready room immediately for his report. 30 minutes later they were all left with this pressing information: the mineral did indeed block the use of their coms and scanners (Sulu could only call them once a significant distance from their town) and Jim was alive and well enough, but not for long.

“A trial by combat!?” Scotty shouted in disbelief. “What type of society is this? They have knowledge of space travel and are capable of scrambling our signals, but still believe in fights to the death to determine the 'will of their gods'?”

“Sulu already told us they’re highly Xenophobic,” Nyota cut in, pulling her gaze briefly from where it had been resting since the meeting began, on Spock’s pallid form. “This is likely the only way they can reconcile accepting someone so foreign. If they leave the judgement to something outside of themselves, they don’t have to take responsibility for the results.” She finished pointedly and then covertly resumed her analysis of their present ‘Acting Captain’. None of them had seen him since he’d left the bridge 4 days ago with some Vulcan version of the flu, McCoy had said. Nyota could certainly believe that as the Vulcan looked far from well. He was paler than usual, the edges of his nose tinged a light green, and had a slight flush to his cheeks that she could swear had increased since the meeting began. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him knuckle his nose and then sniff; closing his eyes in what she was sure he would defend as a blink, but was just slightly too long not to have been a deliberate closing of his eyes. These things might not be a big deal were anyone else in the crew to behave this way, but not Spock. Spock didn’t show discomfort unless it was serious. She now gave up all pretense of pretending not to watch him and stared at him outright. Challenging him to acknowledge her and deny her assessment, which was that he was absolutely, unequivocally not well enough to be here.

She wasn’t alone in her distraction; McCoy was leaning against the wall in the corner of the room and had eyes only for Spock as well.

Spock on the other hand was too caught up in his own internal plight to notice the unwelcome attention of the others. He had been listening to the discussion when he felt his nose begin to run again with an itchy sensation accompanying it and could not help the surge of anger and frustration at the traitorous weakness of his body. He knuckled it firmly but as subtly as he could, debating whether or not he would have to excuse himself to take care of it. He sniffed softly in defiance and was suddenly assailed by a wave of dizziness. He closed his eyes briefly as he attempted to steady himself, hands braced on his knees under the table. When he opened them he immediately felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up and became aware that he was the object of the undivided attention of at least two individuals in the room. Two very stubborn individuals who tended to be extremely opinionated when it came to issues of his wellbeing…. That wouldn’t do.

He cleared his throat gently to gain the attention of the group and had to smother a brief moment of alarm when it immediately tried to turn into a full blown cough. He managed to control it quite quickly, but was certain he’d seen McCoy lean forward off the wall at his slip. Spock pushed onward, trying to ignore the way the doctor’s eyes continued to bore into him as if attempting scan him for the true state of his being despite the absence of a tricorder.

“Now that we have confirmation of the disruptive properties of this mineral, I propose we take measures to rid ourselves, and the Captain, of the impediment. Time is also of the essence as we know that by sundown tonight he is to be engaged in a battle to the death.”

Chekhov, eyes tired but bright, brought his typical optimism to the table. “Ze Keptin is a wery good fighter, zough. Is it not possible zat he might win?”

Spock shook his head slightly, “If Lt. Sulu’s assertions about the degree of their xenophobia are correct, it is unlikely that they would present the Captain with a task that provided him with any real chance at success. It is more likely than not that, as Nyota has stated, this is purely a way to rid themselves of beings they do not wish to acknowledge without having to take responsibly or feel remorse for the out—cough—outcome.”

Spock just managed to catch the light cough in his fist and found himself hoping that the wet, rattling sensation that had accompanied it was only perceptible internally. He did not glance at McCoy, but he could clearly see in his periphery that the man was definitely leaning towards him now and frowning. He needed to end this quickly if he was going to save Jim in time and avoid being declared unfit for duty by their overprotective CMO.

“Ensign Chekhov and Mr. Scott are to remain in order to further discuss how we are to dissolve this mineral and return the Captain to safety. The rest of you are dismissed to resume your duties until we are ready to proceed with a plan.”

Papers rustled and chairs scraped as those not named proceeded to vacate the room. McCoy made a point of walking close to Spock, pausing until Spock met his eyes which seemed to say, ‘I’m watching you’, and then proceeded from the room.

Someone else paused behind him on their way to the door and he felt cool, delicate fingers brush his neck—worryfrustrationangerfearconcerntenderness— and then the contact broke as Nyota too headed out the door.

Spock blinked hard for a second trying to once again anchor himself in the present as the wave of her emotions dissipated. He appreciated her discretion despite her concern for him and would have to communicate that to her once this whole situation was resolved.

He turned his attention back to Chekhov and Mr. Scott who were conversing quietly over documents across the table. Spock stood slowly, and when he was sure the room had remained properly oriented, proceed to cross to them, papers of his own in hand. He stepped between them as they rolled their chairs apart to make room. He laid his data out above Chekhov’s and addressed them both. “From our studies of the mineral we have ascertained that a sulfur based solution will be sufficient for safe decomposition.” He gestured to Chekhov’s data and then leaned over to his own, indicating a specific location on the maps he had provided. “I have located a section of the planet not far from where they are holding Jim that appears to have a heavy concentration of the organic sedimentary rock, coal, that will—.”

“Kommender!” Chekhov’s shocked voice cut him off. He turned to the young man, concerned by the alarm in his voice and became aware of two things simultaneously. One, that his nose felt cool and damp and two, that the map he was pointing to was rapidly being decorated by a splattering of green droplets.

He nearly growled in frustration as he pinched his nose rather aggressively and tilted his head back.

“Jesus! Get him into a chair lad.” He felt hands on his shoulders guiding him to a chair and then saw Scotty’s crouched figure in front of him holding out a handkerchief.

“Here, Commander.” He held the white cloth up to Spock’s nose and allowed the man to take it quickly before resuming compression. “And dinnea put your head back like thay. It’ll only turn your stomach and doesnea do anything more to stop the bleeding.” Spock adjusted as advised. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough bloody noses down in engineering to last me a lifetime. Nothing for it but to wait it out.” He paused and then as an afterthought, he turned to Chekhov, “Actually, replicate a wee ice pack for the commander, will ya lad? That sometimes speeds things up.”

Spock had his eyes closed again, fighting off another wave of dizziness along with one of humiliation, when he felt something cold being pressed across his nose and cheekbones. He reached up to take the soft pack off Chekhov about to tell them that their assistance was appreciated but so much fuss was unnecessary, when the inhalation caught in his throat and launched him into a spectacular coughing fit. He turned abruptly away from the men, ice pack falling forgotten to the floor, and bent in half, the cough wet, harsh, and rasping. He managed to cover his mouth with what was left of the handkerchief whilst maintaining a tight pinch on his nose. This was beyond ridiculous. How was something as innocuous as a cleaning product doing this to him? Over the noise he was making he managed to catch Scotty ordering Chekhov to fetch the doctor and he shot up, struggling to regain his breath and control.

“No! cough—No—coughcough—I am recovering adequately, this –cough— is just residual irritation from the illness” he lied. “I will be fine in a moment, just allow me to catch my breath.” He searched the men’s eyes, chest heaving and swallowing compulsively to quell the irritation in his throat, willing them to believe his words. Chekhov hovered by the door, looking rapidly from him to Scotty, clearly distressed but uncertain as to how to proceed. Scotty, on the other hand, was staring straight at him regarding him as one might a man who had taken leave of his sanity. “I am truly alright.” He reassured, and then he played a last desperate card, “The doctor would not have released me from Sickbay if I was not sufficiently recovered. I only need a moment.”

Scotty narrowed his eyes and still did not appear entirely convinced, but he gestured for Chekhov to sit back down and produced another handkerchief from somewhere to dab the blood off of the maps. Spock was mortified. He sat up straighter trying to regain as much of his composure as he could while keeping a bloody cloth pressed to his face, “I will see to—“

“No,” Scotty cut him off, “with all due respect, Commander, you willnea see to anything but yourself in that chair for the next few minutes. I’m sorry to speak to you that way sir, but no matter what ya say you’re not in good health and although it’s not my place to question the good doctor, I’m not all that certain that he made the right call in this instance. So, you’ll catch your breath for a wee bit while the young lad and I start working out how to do the impossible.”

He gestured Chekhov over and the two of them doggedly bent back over the maps. Both men continuing to watch Spock out of the corners of their eyes for any further signs of distress or discomfort.

Spock closed his eyes and sighed heavily to himself. The next several hours before sunset were going to be a challenge and he needed as much control over his body as he could get. He took a few minutes to wrangle his breathing into a more even rhythm and placed himself in a brief, light meditative state that would allow him to reassert some of his control. He would make it through the day he and he would see Jim back safe and sound. He would do this. He could do this. He would not accept any other alternative.

November 12, 2016

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God... This is absolutely great! No McCoy but more Chekhov (I love Chekhov too, he is so cute) and Uhura and Scotty? That's perfect for me. (In fact, my less favourite character is Jim so his absence doesn't really bother me... :rollhmm: Please don't kill me now!) This really is a wonderful story.

59 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“I could not sleep, Kommender,” Chekhov’s face was open and earnest. “Not when I am knowing zat the Keptin is in danger and you are down here working when you are unwell. I know I am not a geologist or a chemist…but I would still like to help if I can.”

I just melted. Great characterisation here.

59 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Ex-heh!-excuse me,” he gasped, heart rate accelerating, before hurriedly stepping away from Chekhov, pinching his nose even harder, trying think of Jim and not panic as he lost control and his body gave in.

I feel so sorry for Spock... And I love the way you describe his thoughts (and feelings).

59 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

Someone else paused behind him on their way to the door and he felt cool, delicate fingers brush his neck—worryfrustrationangerfearconcerntenderness— and then the contact broke as Nyota too headed out the door.

Spock blinked hard for a second trying to once again anchor himself in the present as the wave of her emotions dissipated. He appreciated her discretion despite her concern for him and would have to communicate that to her once this whole situation was resolved.

Once again, Spock's thoughts are amazing.

59 minutes ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

with all due respect, Commander, you willnea see to anything but yourself in that chair for the next few minutes.

Scotty is not my favourite, but I liked this line.

Thank you for the update!

Edited November 12, 2016 by Aliena H.

November 15, 2016

OMG! Chekhov and Scotty! You did them Perfect! Totally Awesome!

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“I could not sleep, Kommender,” Chekhov’s face was open and earnest. “Not when I am knowing zat the Keptin is in danger and you are down here working when you are unwell. I know I am not a geologist or a chemist…but I would still like to help if I can.”

Awwww, what a sweetie!

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He blinked as the fit ended and was startled to find he was nearly bent in half. He went to rise and the world swam before his eyes. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall and instead met warm human flesh. He winced as a barrage of emotions surged through him. Concernfearfrustrationworry— Spock pulled up his mental shields as best he could and reluctantly accepted the assistance Chekhov offered in once again regaining an upright position.

Poor Spock. Don't worry, Chekhov will look after you while Jim's gone.

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“And—“, Spock halted him, “to borrow a Terran phrase...‘Good luck.’”

LOL

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

She finished pointedly and then covertly resumed her analysis of their present ‘Acting Captain’.

He's not fooling her!

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Two very stubborn individuals who tended to be extremely opinionated when it came to issues of his wellbeing…. That wouldn’t do.

Oh dear.

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He needed to end this quickly if he was going to save Jim in time and avoid being declared unfit for duty by their overprotective CMO.

He's only overprotective because he cares, not that he'd admit it.

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Here, Commander.” He held the white cloth up to Spock’s nose and allowed the man to take it quickly before resuming compression. “And dinnea put your head back like thay. It’ll only turn your stomach and doesnea do anything more to stop the bleeding.” Spock adjusted as advised. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough bloody noses down in engineering to last me a lifetime. Nothing for it but to wait it out.” He paused and then as an afterthought, he turned to Chekhov, “Actually, replicate a wee ice pack for the commander, will ya lad? That sometimes speeds things up.”

I adore how you wrote his accent! It's perfect!

On 11/12/2016 at 9:37 AM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“No,” Scotty cut him off, “with all due respect, Commander, you willnea see to anything but yourself in that chair for the next few minutes. I’m sorry to speak to you that way sir, but no matter what ya say you’re not in good health and although it’s not my place to question the good doctor, I’m not all that certain that he made the right call in this instance. So, you’ll catch your breath for a wee bit while the young lad and I start working out how to do the impossible.”

This is so absolutely spot on Scotty.

So much love!

November 16, 2016

Oh my goodness gracious, I just started reading this yesterday and I am absolutely obsessed!!! I absolutely adore sick Spock and protective Kirk, and the plot is just outstanding! Your characterization is on point and I am just so in love with this fic! Cannot wait to hear more :notworthy:

November 17, 2016

A/N: @AngelEyes Thank you, thank you! I was a bit nervous going into some of the other characters, so I'm glad you enjoyed!! Also- I wanted to ask, since you've been so insanely awesome and truly kept me going on this, if you have a sort of fantasy moment/desire that I could try to work into the sequel I'm dreaming up for this. I'm thinking all of this stuff leaves Spock super sensitive to irritants and such :devil2: , but I already played out my own dream scene when Jim taught Spock to sneeze through the meld, and I'm struggling to come up with other tantalizing moments... So, if you have circumstances or a moment you'd like to see played out, please let me know and I'll do my best to write it in!

@Aliena H. Yayayay!! So glad you liked it! (No worries, I won't kill you for disliking Jim if you don't kill me for liking him and Spock together. ) Thank you so much for sticking with me! :heart: (I do want to warn you though...it gets a bit rough again ahead. :radiation: ! But Spock can handle it! )

@stifledsneezelover Thank you so much for your review! Just 2 more posts until the end, but I'm working on a sequel. :devil2: I'm really pleased you're enjoying it!

Warning: SDS ahead!!! (aka - Seriously Dubious Science) There's a tiiiiiny bit of research behind a part of this, and none at all behind the other. So, for any science brains reading this and thinking I'm ridiculous...you're absolutely correct. :lol: Apologies and I beg you to just roll with me on this one if you can! Thank you!!

Second to last part...only one more to go!

Part12

Spock strode onto the bridge at 1600 and quickly made a beeline for the Captain’s chair. He sunk gratefully down into it with such relief that he was uncertain, for a brief moment, that he would indeed be able to rise again when the occasion called for it. He sniffed lightly against the congestion of dried blood in his nose and reminded himself to take every small victory as a win. His nose had stopped bleeding roughly 15 minutes after it had begun and he had continued to aid Chekhov and Scotty for the next several hours by clandestinely concealing the reality of his symptoms. As long as he made a point of coughing into the already blood-stained cloth, no one was the wiser to its continued saturation from a different source. However, he was not going to be afforded that luxury on the bridge.

They were ready to put their plan into motion and time was of the essence. Per Lt. Sulu’s report, Jim’s fight would be at sundown which on this planet would be approximately 1.5 hours from now. An hour ago Lt. Sulu, a security officer, and a geologist who considered herself a demolitions expert were all disguised by a particularly disgruntled McCoy and beamed down to the surface with armfuls of explosives and a containment device that Scotty's engineers had rigged up over the last 7 hours.

Spock was on the bridge now because he was expecting to hear from the team at any moment that they were ready to move onto phase two: detonation. As if in response to his thought the bridge com pinged.

“Sulu to the bridge.”

“We read you loud and clear, Lieutenant, please proceed.” Nyota commed back.

“Commander? We have the explosives set at the coordinates you indicated, the containment unit, directional guide, and dampener have been activated and we are ready to proceed with detonation.”

“Re—cough—retreat to a safe distance and proceed with detonation, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, sir! Sulu out.”

There was a tense silence as they waited on the bridge, a magnified view of the region they were targeting on screen. ...And Spock was miserable. He was rapidly coming to the unfortunate conclusion that speaking would need to be minimized at all costs from this point on as it seemed to unerringly provoke a need to cough. And now was not an acceptable time to cough. So he sat in silent paroxysms, stabs of pain radiating through his chest, fist pressed tightly to his lips, willing the impulse away. Mercifully, the crew’s eyes were locked on the screen waiting for confirmation of Sulu’s success, so no one appeared aware at the moment of their Commander’s distress.

A large area of the screen went up in a silent puff of smoke and the bridge erupted in cheers championing Scotty’s team's brilliance. Spock pressed his lips into the cuff of his sleeve and seized the opportunity to give in, as reservedly as he could, to the impulse to clear his lungs.

It was a mistake.

The amount of blood that bubbled past his lips was of such a volume that he nearly choked on it. The area of his sleeve by his mouth was soaked, as were his lips, and his lungs felt wet and heavy. Fortunately, the shock he received after the first initial hard cough was enough to rid him of the tickle for the moment. He spent the next 7.67 seconds wiping off his mouth as thoroughly as he could on the opposite cuff and then proceeded to turn both of them up to hide the stain before anyone had a chance to notice. He spared a moment to wish vainly for water to relieve him of the cloying, coppery taste in his mouth, but instead found that as an unfortunate side-effect of that thought, he was forced to add the desire to retch to the long list of impulses he was trying to suppress.

“Sulu to the bridge”

“Bridge here.” Nyota confirmed once more.

“Phase one was a success and we are proceeding with phase two.”

Nyota looked to Spock for his response, but he uncharacteristically nodded to her to continue.

“Um, great news, Lieutenant, please proceed and keep us updated on your progress. Uhura out.” She turned back to Spock, her expression somewhere between approval seeking and looking as if she had just been given a challenging puzzle to solve.

He nodded to her once more before looking straight ahead and swallowing hard, fighting another wave of nausea. The nausea was an annoyance, but the coughing was a concern. He knew he could control his stomach, but he had not yet had much success with controlling his lungs. However, at present, he found that if he kept his breathing shallow he could not sense the fluid in his lungs as keenly, which significantly diminished the urge to cough. Although the pressure in his chest was much more noticeable this way, under the present circumstances, he would take the trade.

He eyed the screen, blinking past the pounding in his head, and was pleased by the increase of smoke that was visible. Once their impromptu mine was in an incendiary state and the nearby underground reservoir steaming, they would be ready for the Enterprise’s part in the plan and, following that, they would retrieve Jim and Spock would rest.

Phase two would take approximately 1 hour, leaving them with a very narrow window of 30 minutes for phase three. The probability of the success of their endeavor was 78.3% which Spock found grating, but adequate under the circumstances.

Spock hauled himself effortfully out of the Captain’s chair and was forced to pause once on his feet to allow the world to settle. Upon reflecting, he found was not certain how long he was forced to linger before he felt comfortable enough to move, which was disconcerting. He walked slowly and deliberately to Chekhov’s side and pointed on his console to the position the ship needed to be in when the time came, indicating for Chekhov to go ahead and plot a course. Chekhov nodded and wordlessly complied. Spock gave him a grateful look and went to turn back to the Captain’s chair when the last thing he wanted to happen, happened. Was he not already compromised enough?! His nose burned and he spared one moment to rage at his circumstances, one moment to consider a course of action, and one moment to come to the conclusion that preventing a coughing fit in front of the crew was paramount. If he were to stop a sneeze his typical way it would not only result in immense pain but would be more likely to result in a cough at this stage. He would just do best to diminish the reaction as much as possible.

“Hih...” He pinched his nose and closed his eyes, imagining he was back in his room with Jim and not in front of the entire bridge crew. He then stepped as far away from Chekhov as he could without losing the ability to support himself on the nearby console, and hesitantly gave in.

“hih....hih-h’ngxt! Ng’TCH! Huh…hih-HIH! H’NGXT! N'tch! Ng'tch! Gnx’tch! …sniff! Hihhhhh… hih-HIH! Huhhh…”

He felt the sensation and the deep need to relieve it still present, but found that it somehow appeared to be insufficient to trigger the reflex, leaving him in a maddeningly unfulfilled and awkward state. His head was swimming but his desperate mind managed to dredge up a memory of Jim, during one of his many allergy attacks, directing his gaze at the ceiling towards a lighting fixture to aid with such a circumstance. As Jim seemed as much of an authority on the subject as anyone could be, Spock, unable to continue be anything other than miserable and mortified in his present state, felt as if it was worth a try. He lifted his head, squinted his eyes open and—

“Hih-HIH! ...HIH! hu’ngx-NGTSHHH!!”

He felt his body wrench forward with the force, sending a powerful stab of pain through his chest. He quickly straightened, panting in shallow, sore breaths and gripped the console tightly, completely in denial about what had just happened in front of the crew and how wretched he now felt in the aftermath. The silence on the bridge was so profound it was almost loud. He raised his chin and looked straight ahead as if the world wasn’t tilting on its axis and muttered “Excuse me” with as much dignity as he could muster.

He heard a soft voice by his side and once again noticed that Chekhov appeared to have help stabilize him with a hand clasped firmly on his bicep.

“Bood' zdorov, Kommender.”

Spock flushed, nodding his thanks, and with great care for his lack of balance moved gingerly back to the Captain’s chair and sat down.

Suddenly, a tissue appeared in his line of sight. He followed the delicate hand presenting it up to Nyota’s stunning face. He blinked dazedly up at her for a moment giving her a small raised eyebrow in response, but quickly abandoned the pretense and followed it with an earnest, grateful nod. This seemed to prompt a transformation of her pursed lips into a genuine half smile. As he lifted the tissue from her fingers he became aware that his nose felt wet once more and was very likely bleeding again, but not badly he determined, by the fact that he did not yet see any such evidence on his clothing.

“Bless you,” she said, kindly. Then under her breath with all the affection and frustration in her heart clearly evident in her voice, she added, “Idiot.”

Spock looked up sharply at that, but felt his irritation dissipate when he caught the briefest glimpse of anguish in her eyes before she promptly turned away and went back to her station. Spock was stunned. It was not like Nyota to ignore protocol when glaring evidence was present. She clearly saw that he was bleeding just now and he knew she was aware he was unwell, but she was willing to disobey directives and put herself in a compromising position for his— for his what? Clearly not for his health. For his heart, then? Could she be aware of his feelings for the Captain? He watched her retreating back and for no reason he could ascertain, felt certain that she must be. Matters of deep emotion were the only things that Spock could believe would cause Nyota to, to coin a Terran phrase, 'turn a blind eye'. In this moment he greatly appreciated it, but being her First Officer was somewhat loathe to recognize that this also meant he couldn’t reprimand her for it when his condition improved.

He pinched his nose in the tissue as covertly as possible for the next few minutes, but did not delude himself that all of the crew weren’t aware. His short, quick breaths sounded loud in his ears and a certain amount of dizziness appeared his constant companion now.

Suddenly, Chekhov’s console chimed and he let out a whoop, “Instruments are reading a high enough concentration of sulfur and cloud presence in ze atmosphere to proceed with phase three, Kommender!”

Spock nodded to Chekhov and caught Nyota’s eye.

“Enterprise to Lt. Sulu” she commed.

“Sulu here.”

“How are things going down there?”

“Surprisingly no trouble, is it time to beam up and get the Captain back?”

“Yes, please signal transportation that you’re ready and once you’re back on board we’ll begin dropping the dry ice.”

“Aye, aye, Lt.Sulu out.”

9.58 seconds went by before Scotty commed “Scott to the bridge”

“Go ahead, Lt.Scott” Nyota chimed in instantly.

“I’ve got them all back and am ready to begin phase three on the Commander’s go ahead.”

Spock looked to Chekhov who indicated that they were in position. He checked the Chrono, 1651. They would be able to start slightly sooner than he had anticipated. He eagerly pressed his com, swallowed hard, took a quick short breath and responded, “Lt. Scott….we are in position…please proceed.”

“Aye, Commander. Makin it rain!”

Spock allowed an eyebrow to arch at the joy in the Chief Engineer’s voice and for several seconds he forgot his discomfort as chuckles rumbled across the bridge. They had a truly brilliant and dedicated, if young and rambunctious crew. They could make this work. As he waited for confirmation that the drop had been made successfully he found himself struggling against the urge to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair. He subsequently rebuked himself for the senseless nature of the desire. It was a completely pointless physical manifestation of an internal state of anxiety. Too small of an activity to promote the burning off of excess cortisol. The Captain, himself, had a rather bad habit of— The com pinged again. Spock started slightly and his brow furrowed, completely baffled by how thoroughly he had lost track of his attention.

“Dry ice successfully dropped into the atmosphere, Commander.”

Spock looked to Chekhov. “I expect with ze amount of dry ice released we will hev to wait approximately 30 minutes for moisture to accumulate and become heawy enough to result in precipitation.”

Spock winced slightly at the narrow margin, but nodded. He pinged Scotty again, “Good work…Lt. Scott.”

He slowly but deliberately pushed himself up from the Captain’s chair and somehow made his way to his science station without any significant mishaps. He sat and leaned into his viewfinder to monitor the readings of moisture below. A few more uneventful minutes passed and he was beginning to feel buoyed at the prospect that he may have regained control of things when black spots started to dance across his vision. He realized all at once that the reason nothing had happened was due to the fact that he had been holding his breath. He closed his eyes, reprimanding himself for the slip, and carefully drew in a very slow and metered breath. Too soon he encountered that feeling of fullness and pain in his chest and found himself once again panting heavily in order to re-oxygenate his system. 25.5 minutes. He could make it. He focused on the readings and allowed himself to slip once more into a light meditative state where he could slow his heartrate, regulate smaller breaths, and more effectively suppress natural reflexes. He set an alarm on his console to alert him when the concentration of molecules reached the point viable for droplet formation and allowed himself to be swept away from his physical discomfort into the familiar world of data analysis.

------------------------------------------

His mind registered the information on his read-out at the same time that the alert sounded. His awareness crashed gracelessly back into his compromised body and he gasped at the shock. This unfortunately launching him directly into a desperate battle not to cough. He fought with the impulse for longer than he would have liked, but eventually managed to regain control. He blinked his eyes blearily and struggled to force his scattered thoughts into some kind of order. The phrase ‘like herding sheep’ came to mind. He believed he’d heard that from McCoy… Were McCoy’s ancestors shepherds? Perhaps McCoy himself, in his youth...? He could certainly picture the man on a farm.... Perhaps that was where his loudness came from?

Several minutes ticked by before he finally felt confident he that could maintain his focus and control for at least as long as it would take him to get to the transporter room and supervise Jim’s return. He rose shakily, exhilaration and anxiety swirling his thoughts with such intensity that he could no longer tell if the dizziness was in his body or perhaps just in his mind. He placed a hand on the wall to stabilize himself and with a significant amount of concentration began to make his way towards the turbolift. Just a little while longer and Jim would be back with them safe and sound. Just a little while longer. Just a little while longer...

November 17, 2016

Oh my goodness another amazing update!!! Your writing is so well done I'm in love!! Poor Spock, his Kirk better come back in one piece to help take care of him <3 I'm so sad that there is only one more update left, but am also super excited for a sequel!! I love these two and can't wait to see how you progress their relationship. Keep it up!! :thumbs_up:

November 17, 2016

Once again, THANK YOU!!! This was GREAT. I held my breath when I read it - yes it was a bit rough but I really liked the whole part. I definitely love your Spock (always in control AND so vulnerable) and I definitely adore your Uhura.

12 hours ago, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Bless you,” she said, kindly. Then under her breath with all the affection and frustration in her heart clearly evident in her voice, she added, “Idiot.”

I melted here, as I did for Chekhov in the previous part.

[I'm psychorigid about pairing when I write, but I have absolutely no problem reading Kirk/Spock, let alone when the story is great, just as yours is!!!]

November 18, 2016

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Warning: SDS ahead!!! (aka - Seriously Dubious Science)

LOL!

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

As long as he made a point of coughing into the already blood-stained cloth, no one was the wiser to its continued saturation from a different source.

Oh dear!

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

An hour ago Lt. Sulu, a security officer, and a geologist who considered herself a demolitions expert were all disguised by a particularly disgruntled McCoy and beamed down to the surface with armfuls of explosives and a containment device that Scotty's engineers had rigged up over the last 7 hours.

Disgruntled McCoy is the best!

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He spared a moment to wish vainly for water to relieve him of the cloying, coppery taste in his mouth, but instead found that as an unfortunate side-effect of that thought, he was forced to add the desire to retch to the long list of impulses he was trying to suppress.

Poor Spock!

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He pinched his nose and closed his eyes, imagining he was back in his room with Jim and not in front of the entire bridge crew.

Yay for Jim! But poor Spock! I feel so bad for him.

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

As Jim seemed as much of an authority on the subject as anyone could be, Spock, unable to continue be anything other than miserable and mortified in his present state, felt as if it was worth a try.

An authority indeed.

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Clearly not for his health. For his heart, then?

Awwww!

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Spock allowed an eyebrow to arch at the joy in the Chief Engineer’s voice and for several seconds he forgot his discomfort as chuckles rumbled across the bridge. They had a truly brilliant and dedicated, if young and rambunctious crew.

I love this! They are the best!

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He blinked his eyes blearily and struggled to force his scattered thoughts into some kind of order. The phrase ‘like herding sheep’ came to mind. He believed he’d heard that from McCoy… Were McCoy’s ancestors shepherds? Perhaps McCoy himself, in his youth...? He could certainly picture the man on a farm.... Perhaps that was where his loudness came from?

Definitely not well if his mind is rambling like this. McCoy as a shepherd though, LOL!

On 11/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Just a little while longer. Just a little while longer...

You can do it!!!

I'll send you a private message with an idea but since you're still validating I'm not sure you get them yet. If not I'll add it on my next comment. A sequel! And you want ideas from me! I'm flattered!

November 18, 2016

Ok, turns out you can't get messages yet. I'm sad this story will be over! It was so amazing! But a sequel!!!! Yay!!! I was thinking, I love your mind meld scenes. What if Jim is having an allergy attack and Spock tries to comfort/calm him through their meld, but ends up triggering a reaction of his own. And McCoy is all, OMG, you two are impossible! Just a thought. If it doesn't work for you I'm excited to see anything you come up with!

November 19, 2016

A/N: @AngelEyes Ooh! I love it!! I think I can totally work something like that in. (I'm gonna admit though, I'm not as into Jim sneezing as I am Spock, but if you don't mind a hair of a tweak... I'll have something decently similar in there for you!)

@Aliena H. AHHH!! Yay!! I'm so glad you liked it so much! :wub: Hopefully this last part will do the same. (Fingers crossed!)

@stifledsneezelover Thank you thank you thank you!!! I really appreciate the encouragement! (Sequel up and comin for ya! Which is thus far shaping up to have a heck of alot more sneezing in it. :devil2: ) I hope you enjoy the last part of this one, though!

Part 13

The next thing Spock was fully aware of was being in the transporter room standing at the console next to Scotty. He couldn’t recall getting there nor did he find he really wanted to try. All he knew was that he was being consumed by an overwhelming heat, so much so that the collar of his shirt was soaked through and sticking uncomfortably to his skin. His hands felt numb, detached. He was staring down at the console, fingers flying, and people were shouting. Scotty was next to him cursing loudly. Suddenly the last few minutes came back to him with a jolt.

It was past sunset, the rain hadn’t started yet, and he was rechecking his calculations because Jim was in mortal danger. He looked down at his readings and blinked in shock as they promptly changed to indicate an active weather pattern. He made eye contact with Scotty who budged him over to have a look himself and subsequently whooped with joy. A large amount of the distress evident in those present for the Captain’s rescue, namely the bridge crew, dissolved at the announcement, but not all. Not only had the last phase taken longer than they’d hoped, but from the outset they’d been relying on Sulu's accurate reconnaissance of the arena for the plan to have any viability at all. They were relying on quite a lot of things from Sulu’s report alone, actually…

Spock’s head began to spin. Would Jim even be outside right now and exposed to the acid rain that would set him free? They might have moved his trial. What condition would he be in? Suppose something had happened and he hadn’t been well enough to fight at sunset? Suppose he had been well enough to fight and they’d moved the battle up so that now they were too late? He could be gravely injured and bleeding to death on some hateful, xenophobic planet while they all were safely—

“I’ve got him!” He vaguely heard Scotty crow in the background.

But Spock couldn’t stop. His white knuckled grip on the console the only thing keeping him upright as his thoughts continued to spiral out of control.

What if Jim was already gone and he hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t felt the loss of him as he was sure he would. What if he—

“Get Dr. McCoy!” someone shouted. Spock snapped his eyes up at the transporter pad and saw a figure struggling to materialize on the ground. On the ground. Spock’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might explode. But it if did, then he'd be with Jim, if Jim was…. Oh please, Jim. His vision was fading and the pain—he was sure his heart was breaking. Was broken. Nothing else could explain such agony. He couldn’t breathe it hurt so horribly. He couldn’t—

Suddenly the molecules stopped pulsating and Jim finally rematerialized. He was on the ground, covered in dirt and not a little blood, with his arms raised over his head defensively. It appeared they had managed things none too soon.

Spock had tunnel vision for Jim only. His eyes raked over the man's body to locate the sources of the blood and to ascertain the severity of the harm done to him. Jim looked around, startled, and upon realizing where he was, began to laugh with relief. He struggled to push himself up onto his feet, Sulu and McCoy rushing to his aid should he require the support, but he waved them off. Then his eyes locked with Spock’s and an instantaneous smile split his face.

“Spock!” he exclaimed. He was so overjoyed at seeing the Vulcan again when he had just been seconds away from what he'd been sure was his demise, that it took him a second of looking at Spock before he realized something was off. Spock was staring at him so intently, almost hungrily, with a rigid intensity that Jim had only seen once before, when he had emotionally compromised him after he'd lost his mother to Nero’s attack. If that wasn’t alarming enough, he thought it looked as it Spock’s hands were trembling and there appeared to be a faint sheen of sweat on his face—Shit! It all came back to him in a rush. He’d been looking so much better when Jim left that he’d convinced himself that Bones would find a counter-agent and Spock would make a full recovery. It hadn’t occurred to him that the stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot might abandon his own rehabilitation in favor of seeing to the possibility of Jim’s.

“Spock!” Jim shouted again, this time his voice filled with disbelief, concern, and not a little anger.

Spock had seen and felt the warmth of Jim’s smile as they'd locked eyes. As such, he also saw and felt the moment that Jim realized what he had done, heard it in his voice, and in that instant it all came back to him as well. He remembered that he couldn’t breathe. More specifically, why he couldn’t breathe. Feeling completely outside of himself and as if everything were progressing at half its usual speed he brought his fist up to his mouth, turned aside from the console, and for the first time in hours allowed himself to respond to his body’s need to cough. He was as stunned as anyone would have been when all he could manage was a kind of small, wet gurgle as blood dribbled out of his mouth onto his hand.

The room had gone deadly silent at Jim’s second shout. Jim watched as Spock turned stoically to the side and coughed, or tried to cough, to be more accurate. Nothing happened. He saw a flash of alarm cross the Vulcan’s face an instant before he started to sway, and Jim was running towards him.

He wouldn’t be fast enough.

“Scotty, catch him!” The engineer started and looked confused for a second before Spock began to sag. His eyes widened and he quickly jumped to Spock’s side to comply with the order. Getting an arm around his waist just in time he quickly lowered the heavy Vulcan to the floor, McCoy and Jim arriving at his side simultaneously.

“Spock!” Jim fell to his knees at Spock’s head, making sure to be out of McCoy’s way.

“Goddamn idiot, I knew this would happen. Promised he’d tell me if he got any worse my ASS.”

Jim ran his fingers through Spock’s sweaty hair with one hand while feeling desperately for a pulse with the other. He was burning up. McCoy was trying for a similar maneuver, stethoscope head under one hand and Spock’s brachial artery under the other. He found what they both were looking for first.

“His heart’s still beating, but it’s faint. No breath sounds.”

Jim’s head snapped up at that, eyes wide with panic, but McCoy was all business and didn’t appear to notice.

“We need to get him to Sickbay now, I’ve got to drain his lungs and stop the bleeding. He has minutes at most.” The eyes that finally met Jim’s were furious and grave. Jim swore he could feel the anger radiating off of the man, but knew him well enough he could also read the concern and fear underneath. Jim’s heart was in his throat at the doctor’s words, but he squeezed Bone’s shoulder in encouragement and moved away as the med team that had been on standby for him swooped in and stole his First Officer away instead.

Jim didn’t even spare a second glance around the room before he sprinted off after them in a daze. Don’t you dare bring me back from the brink just to die on me, Spock. Don’t you dare…

Spock was choking, drowning, dying. He couldn’t breathe...and breath was life…so therefore he must be dying. The realization hit him with a wave of icy dread and he suddenly found himself fighting the acknowledgement for all he was worth. Willing, pleading with his body to work again with every last ounce of energy and self-control that he possessed. Jim was back and he…

“Shit! He’s waking up. Hey! Get your heads out of your asses and get him back under now! He’ll rip out the ventilator!”

Jim was back and he had to see him at least one more time…

Blackness overtook him once again and Spock knew no more.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Crying. He could hear…feel?...crying. Waves of pain and sorrow and fear. He was unraveling in it. He struggled to hold onto himself but found he had neither the strength nor the knowledge of how to do so. Out of self-preservation he tried to pull away—and instantly felt the shift. Shockremorseaffectionlove. ...Love. He could let himself be unraveled by love. ...And he did.

A soft female voice. So sad…. Should never be that sad. He couldn’t…what was she saying? What was she….

“…sure he can…ear me?....ock?(sniff)....er all praying…or you…just….et well, okay? ….ease, please get…etter…”

“'…wonder how many miles I hev fallen by zis time?’ she said aloud. `I must be getting somewhere near ze center of ze earth. Let me see: zat would be four thousand miles down, I think–‘ for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of zis sort in her lessons in ze schoolroom, and though this was not a WERY good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as zere was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it ower`–yes, zat’s about ze right distance–but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve got to?’ (throat clear) Alice hed no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude eizer, but thought zey were nice grand words to say…'”

He knew this somehow… Didn’t he? His mother? But she was gone. And he could discern the voice of a young man… '…Curiouser and curiouser….'

“Spock? …Spock! Can you hear me? Bones says if you’re going to come out of this you need to wake up soon, so no more of this coma shit, ok? I can’t… I can’t do this without you. (sniff) God! I haven’t cried since I was 12 and you’ve had me bawling like a baby…. Just—this is insane! You can’t— ...Spock, I need you to wake up for me, please. Please? For me. Just—Wake. Up!”

There was a loud thump like something hitting the side of the bed and Spock surged back into his body as if he’d been flung at great velocity. In fact, he felt sure he must have been because everything was spinning. He tried to open his eyes and found he could not. He tried to draw a breath and…also found he could not. His fingers spasmed as his chest heaved against some invisible barrier. He was drowning again…in a sea of dark green…he was sure of it.

Jim had smashed his fist on the bed in a fit of desperate frustration and almost lost his footing in shock when Spock’s body jerked. The Vulcan’s eyes started to roll wildly under his lids and his fingers scrambled for purchase on the blankets. Jim couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. That is, until he realized that Spock couldn’t seem to either and snapped back into action.

“Shit!” He scrambled for the mask and nebulizer, ranting senselessly from a strange combination of exhilaration and panic as he poured the medicine in the cup with shaking hands. “I beg you every day for two weeks to wake up and you finally do it when I’ve convinced Bones to go eat. What the hell, Spock?! This better work like he said it would or I’ll kill him. I swear if he left me alone with you and I get this wrong I’ll kill him…”

He strapped the mask over Spock’s now slightly rust colored lips, Oh God oh God oh God, and hit the switch on the machine. His hands gripped the rail of the biobed with white knuckled intensity and he held his breath as he waited, half torn between waiting to see if it the treatment was working and running to com Bones to get his ass down here this instant. In the end he found he couldn’t tear himself away, not while these few moments had even a remote chance of being Spock’s last... He told me this would work. C’mon you stubborn bastard… C’mon you stupid-ass machine! Help him breathe! WORK!!

Suddenly he heard a wet, ragged gasp and he nearly collapsed with relief.

“Spock….thank GOD. Jesus, I thought I’d killed you by being here instead of Bones just now. …Spock?”

Spock’s face had abruptly twisted, eyes squeezed tightly shut, head straining away from Jim as if in pain.

“Shit! Spock! What is it? What’s wrong?!” Jim looked around wildly and not seeing anyone about to help him checked the biobed life signs. Spock’s heart rate was accelerating and his breathing was becoming even more uneven. Completely uncertain as to what to do Jim took a chance and quickly pulled the mask off Spock’s face for a better look and to see if the Vulcan could communicate anything further about what was wrong.

The second he removed the mask Spock froze, face contorted in apparent agony and time, for Jim, stood still, until—

“ITSHHH! Tshhh! Tch! Tch! Tch! Hih-h’TCHH! ISHH!”

This time Jim did collapse, he knees buclking in relief and his ass falling hard in his chair. He closed his eyes listening to Spock sneezing in reaction to the medication and thought he’d never heard a sweeter sound in all the world. He was sure he was grinning like an idiot and was fleetingly grateful that no one else was there to witness it. He opened his eyes once the fit died down and found Spock sniffling and blinking blearily at the ceiling.

If it was possible, Jim’s smile widened even further. “Hey.”

Spock started and looked toward him, appearing confused for a second before dazed eyes began to clear and Jim could see the moment that recognition dawned. Jim knew he had thought it before, but it didn’t make it any less true. The intelligence and warmth those eyes locked right into his soul. It felt like a hand clasp of brothers in arms after a harrowing battle, it felt like coming home.

Spock opened his mouth to speak and only found himself coughing instead. Jim jumped up and held a glass of water to his lips for him to sip. Spock drank gratefully and greedily and soon the glass was empty. Jim set it down and looked back at Spock, still smiling. When Spock opened his mouth to try again Jim shushed him.

“You were intubated for over a week in order for your lungs to heal. Bone’s said your throat will be sore and that you shouldn’t try to speak for the first day or so.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose at that.

“I know, I know,” He put his hands up in surrender, “but you know how Bones is, just give him 12 hours of compliance and you’ll be able to do whatever you want with the rest.”

Spock appeared to see the logic in this compromise and nodded slightly as he tiredly leaned his head back onto the pillows and closed his eyes.

Jim leaned forward and grasped Spock’s hand tightly. Conveying more in that squeeze than he ever could in words. The brief meld feeling so natural now it hardly shocked him at all.

Spock returned the squeeze and sighed, his breathing slowly beginning to even out into the cadence of one falling asleep.

Jim let go of Spock’s hand and was about to softly announce that he was going to let Spock get some rest when he saw the Vulcan’s nose twitch. Oh, that’s right… He smiled mischievously and leaned in towards the bed once more.

“Hey, Spock.” He called softly. He watched the Vulcan struggle valiantly to open heavy eyes at his call and Jim’s heart swelled with love. Yeah, he could do this relationship stuff. He could do anything as long as it was Spock by his side.

He waited 1.5 more seconds, Spock would be proud, until he was sure his timing was right.

“Bless you.”

Spock looked at him as if he’d spoken complete non-sense for half a second before—

“Hih-hih! HIH!” He threw Jim a damning glance as if he clearly was at fault for what was about to occur and snapped a fist up to his nose, barely managing to twist his body away in time for his now trademark double.

“h’eshhh-ESSHHHU!”

Jim threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly. Oh, yeah… Everything was going to be just fine. He reached back towards the bed still chuckling and twined his fingers with Spock's. He smiled at the clearly miffed Vulcan and couldn’t stop the contented sigh that escaped him. Yeah. He was home.

~Fin~

:heart:

November 21, 2016

Oh my gosh my heart is swelling right now!!! I was so scared for Spock, but I knew the love between these two would bring him back. I absolutely LOVED this story and it captivated me the entire time. I especially loved the ending with Kirk's "bless you" and Spock's sassy look in response :laugh: I cannot wait to read your sequel, if it's half as good as this one I will be in love with it too! Very well done and thank you for sharing this with us! :wub: :heart:

November 21, 2016

Your writing is really excellent, I love the precision you've captured with this.

November 22, 2016

On 19/11/2016 at 11:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He remembered that he couldn’t breathe. More specifically, why he couldn’t breathe. Feeling completely outside of himself and as if everything were progressing at half its usual speed he brought his fist up to his mouth, turned aside from the console, and for the first time in hours allowed himself to respond to his body’s need to cough. He was as stunned as anyone would have been when all he could manage was a kind of small, wet gurgle as blood dribbled out of his mouth onto his hand.

OH NO! Now I can't breathe either.

On 19/11/2016 at 11:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Promised he’d tell me if he got any worse my ASS.

Of course. What did he think? You're really naïve, Leonard.

On 19/11/2016 at 11:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He closed his eyes listening to Spock sneezing in reaction to the medication and thought he’d never heard a sweeter sound in all the world. He was sure he was grinning like an idiot and was fleetingly grateful that no one else was there to witness it.

I was grinning like an idiot when I read this.

On 19/11/2016 at 11:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He threw Jim a damning glance as if he clearly was at fault for what was about to occur and snapped a fist up to his nose, barely managing to twist his body away in time for his now trademark double.

I loved these lines.

Thank you for this story, it was really great to read it! If you're inspired feel free to write anything Star Trek related (Spock sneezing/ill/coughing for instance is perfect :rollhmm: )!

November 23, 2016

OMG! I love you so much! I have literally just had the shittiest 3 days of my life. And then there's this. And it's like pure blissful heaven. Brilliantly amazing. An absolutely perfect ending. And I'd be sad it was the end, but you are a goddess and there will be more! So it's exquisite. I may be a bit drunk, but that does not make this any less sincere. LOL In fact I think I'm going to go back and read the entire thing again just to make life ok for a little while.

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Get Dr. McCoy!” someone shouted. Spock snapped his eyes up at the transporter pad and saw a figure struggling to materialize on the ground. On the ground. Spock’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might explode. But it if did, then he'd be with Jim, if Jim was…. Oh please, Jim. His vision was fading and the pain—he was sure his heart was breaking. Was broken. Nothing else could explain such agony. He couldn’t breathe it hurt so horribly. He couldn’t—

I don't think I was breathing for the whole first part of this section.

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Spock had seen and felt the warmth of Jim’s smile as they'd locked eyes. As such, he also saw and felt the moment that Jim realized what he had done, heard it in his voice, and in that instant it all came back to him as well. He remembered that he couldn’t breathe. More specifically, why he couldn’t breathe. Feeling completely outside of himself and as if everything were progressing at half its usual speed he brought his fist up to his mouth, turned aside from the console, and for the first time in hours allowed himself to respond to his body’s need to cough.

I think I might have died a little here.

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“Goddamn idiot, I knew this would happen. Promised he’d tell me if he got any worse my ASS.”

Totally McCoy!

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Jim didn’t even spare a second glance around the room before he sprinted off after them in a daze. Don’t you dare bring me back from the brink just to die on me, Spock. Don’t you dare…

Poor Jim!

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“'…wonder how many miles I hev fallen by zis time?’ she said aloud. `I must be getting somewhere near ze center of ze earth. Let me see: zat would be four thousand miles down, I think–‘ for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of zis sort in her lessons in ze schoolroom, and though this was not a WERY good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as zere was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it ower`–yes, zat’s about ze right distance–but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve got to?’ (throat clear) Alice hed no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude eizer, but thought zey were nice grand words to say…'”

God I love Chekhov! You have him perfect!

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

“I beg you every day for two weeks to wake up and you finally do it when I’ve convinced Bones to go eat. What the hell, Spock?! This better work like he said it would or I’ll kill him. I swear if he left me alone with you and I get this wrong I’ll kill him…”

LOL! Of course!

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He closed his eyes listening to Spock sneezing in reaction to the medication and thought he’d never heard a sweeter sound in all the world. He was sure he was grinning like an idiot and was fleetingly grateful that no one else was there to witness it.

LOL!

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

It felt like a hand clasp of brothers in arms after a harrowing battle, it felt like coming home.

Awwww! I love this!

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

Yeah, he could do this relationship stuff. He could do anything as long as it was Spock by his side.

Awwww!

On 11/19/2016 at 4:34 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He waited 1.5 more seconds, Spock would be proud, until he was sure his timing was right.

“Bless you.”

Spock looked at him as if he’d spoken complete non-sense for half a second before—

“Hih-hih! HIH!” He threw Jim a damning glance as if he clearly was at fault for what was about to occur and snapped a fist up to his nose, barely managing to twist his body away in time for his now trademark double.

“h’eshhh-ESSHHHU!”

Jim threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly.

Freaking LOL!!!

November 24, 2016

@stifledsneezelover Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! :heart: Your words are so kind!! I've got a little bit down for the next bit, but it might take me a hair longer to get up than this one did. (I don't like to start posting until I've at least got a first draft. Hoping to get something up before :xmastree: !) But anyway you're wonderful and thank you so much and I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving!!

@ringsofsaturn Thank you so much for the compliment! I really appreciate it.

@Aliena H. Yay!!! Very glad you enjoyed!! Thank you so much for you constant feedback! It really helped keep me going! :hug:

@AngelEyes :heart: :heart: :heart: I love YOU! I'm so, SO glad you enjoyed!!! And that it came at a time when it could do some good! Thank you a million times over for all of your support. You're incredibly kind and I am sending as many good vibes your way as I can. :consoling: The next bit I'm writing isn't coming along as quickly unfortunately (though your review has totally got me determined to make sure I get it done!), but I'm going to do my best to get something up before Christmas! I hope things get loads better for you soon and if you're in the states I hope you have at the very least an ok Thanksgiving, if not a really, really nice one. :heart: !! (hugs!!)

April 11, 2018

Hey guys! So, right after I wrote this I started right up writing my idea for a sequel, and then after getting a first go at Part 1 down....everything kind fizzled out. HOWEVER, I still have long term ideas for this, so I'm not gonna let it die altogether. It may just take me awhile to get it all on here. That said, @AngelEyes reminded me that I have no real reason for hanging on to the first part (since I doubt I'm gonna change it much at this point--a whole year and a half later--eek! sorry!!), so without further ado-- what follows is Part 1 of Part 1 of the set of stories I eventually intend on using as a sequel.

A/N: This story spins right off the first one, so I figured I'd build it in to the same thread. It won't make a whole lot of sense otherwise. The concept for these little, kinda vignette stories is sorta evident in the title.

Thanks guys and hope you enjoy! :heart: !

Spock’s Sensitivities (Sequel-ish to “A Star Trek Reboot Story”)

Part 1 (of Part 1)

Spock blew out a long, slow breath and advanced the needle. Every bit of his attention was zeroed in on the pads of his fingers and their firm grasp on the implement between them. He took a breath in, slowly blew it out, and advanced the needle some more. This was highly delicate work and he could not afford distraction. They had already lost the two other specimens to careless error; a needle with too wide a gauge to slip through the outer membrane without compromising the integrity of the sack and a syringe not fully plunged of air before commencing aspiration. Both circumstances resulting in the exposure of the poison to oxygen and consequently the immediate oxidation and degradation of the sample. There were twelve crew members suffering from various degrees of tissue necrosis after having been exposed to this creature’s toxin who were waiting on the pure extraction of the venom to devise an antidote. A steady, delicate hand was needed to successfully complete the procedure along with complete and utter focus. Which was why he wasn’t going to immediately request that Ensign Chekhov remove himself from his personal space and discontinue breathing so heavily on his neck.

The boy had taken an interest in working with him in the lab since they had spent a night together devising chemical compounds to dissolve the mineral collar that had held the captain prisoner a mere 68 days ago. They had begun working on several projects together since, their present endeavor one of them. However, there wasn’t attention to be spared at the moment for reminiscing or relieving personal discomforts. They could not retrieve another specimen from the planet as they were no longer in its galaxy and it was possible that the twelve crewmen would perish if an antidote was not found. The poison had been unfortunately quick-acting and it was Dr. McCoy’s opinion that by the time the Enterprise returned to the planet's surface it would likely be too late.

So, Spock inhaled once more, exhaled, and very slowly began to draw back the plunger. That was when he felt it. At the back of his consciousness he became aware of a sudden, sharp, stinging sensation in his nose. He felt his heart jump and his hands shivered slightly in response. He took a deliberate calming breath through his mouth and blew it out slowly until his hands once again stilled. He quickly turned his attention inward to analyze the sensation that he had not felt in over two months' time. He noticed two things immediately; one, that it was not the same sensation he had felt when he had been ill from the anti-fungal used in the ship’s ventilation system, and two, it did not appear to be dissipating in its intensity. In fact, it was increasing, and rapidly. He slowly lowered his forearms to brace them on the edge of the table as he felt the first involuntary acknowledgement of his predicament from his body.

“hih-HIH!”

“Kommender? Is everything alright? Is it the semple?” Chekhov asked anxiously, startled by the sound and the sudden infusion of tension throughout the Commander’s body.

Spock took a moment to retract his previous ire at Chekhov’s close proximity and replaced it with extreme gratitude.

“Ensign, I…hihhhh….I apologize for the apparent illogic of this—hih-HIH!...re—HIH!...huhhhhh…request, but I require that you stabilize my hands immediately. It is too risky to transfer the implements to you and we ca—hih!...cannot risk compromising this spe—hihhhh-HIH!...speci—huh…HIH-HIH!!...hhhuh...specimen.”

He felt the moment Chekhov began to carefully, but securely, gasp his wrists and hastily ran through every possible scenario in his head. The one with the least possible chance of transference of kinetic energy to the specimen was if he stabilized himself as much as possible. He quickly bent forward and pressed his forehead hard against the edge of the table.

“Hihhhhh…hih-HIH-HIH!!”

He was not a second too soon.

“h’ISHHH! ISSShhu!…H’TCH! Tch! Tch!…Et’CHUH! TSHHH! Hi’ISSHHHHU!...”

He sneezed freely towards his lap, jaw clenched and heart racing, not only out of deeply conditioned panic but out of genuine fear for the twelve lives he possibly held in his hands. He pressed his forehead and arms even harder against the table as his body mercilessly persisted, heedless of his precarious circumstance.

“huhhh…hih-HIH-H’CHHH! Ngxt’chh-CHUU!” He tried to stifle but to no avail, as it appeared to only result in the reflex repeating itself immediately afterward with increased intensity. “Hih-CHHH! Tch! Tch! E'Tch!…H’Tchuh! Ishh-ISHHHU! huh’ISHHHuH! Hih!….huhhhh….huhhhhhhhhh.”

Spock gasped and panted at the first reprieve he’d been afforded since the fit began. His eyes, squeezed tightly shut, were streaming and he was sure his nose was dripping profusely. What had brought this on? He had only ever sneezed twice before his exposure to the anti-fungal, and he hadn’t at all since Dr. McCoy had put the counter-agent into effect. This was unprecedented and, if he were honest with himself, highly disconcerting. He had no desire at all to repeat the events from 2 months ago and had no new information on which to base any present conjectures. He sniffed cautiously. The sensation was still present, but he did not feel in any immediate danger of a repeat performance. At least for the time being. He quickly but carefully pressed his nose into the fabric of his sleeve to take care of the immediate wetness and then raised his head the rest of the way, eyes going straight to the small purplish sack. The small purplish sack that was still intact with a needle protruding from its side and a small amount of clear liquid in the barrel of a syringe. He let out a barely perceptible sigh. They still had a chance.

As he relaxed slightly his awareness expanded to more than just his nose and his hands and he became acutely aware of Chekhov’s present position. The young man’s chest was pressed so firmly against his back that he could detect the racing heartbeat therein. Chehov’s hands were a vice grip around his wrists…that had yet to let up. He cleared his throat.

“Ensign Chekhov...” The grip remained, though the heartbeat slowed considerably. “I would appreciate it if you would release your grip now that it has served its purpose.”

The hands instantly relaxed and were delicately removed. Chekhov stepped to the side in order to meet Spock’s eyes. His own were wide with shock.

“Are—” he, stuttered, discovering that he couldn’t quite find the words for what he had just witnessed. “Kommender… I am not believing zis! Is it happening again? Should I fetch ze doctor—“

Spock shook his head slightly and cut him off, though somewhat uncertainly. “I…do not believe this to have been related to my recent illness, but am uncertain as to why it occurred. I do propose, however, that we finish the procedure with haste as I am not at all certain that the event will not repeat itself.” He turned back to the table-top and when he was certain his face was out of Chekhov’s line of sight did his best to covertly itch his irritated nose by scrunching and wriggling it slightly. The gesture, most unfortunately, did not seem to help. He inhaled through his mouth once more, blew the breath out slowly and proceeded with extracting the venom.

He was vaguely aware of the soft hissing noise of someone exiting the doors of a nearby lab as he completed the procedure without further incident. He was removing the needle from the empty sack when he was abruptly assailed by a sharp, sickly sweet smell and a surge of stinging in his sinuses that only indicated one thing.

He rapidly dismantled the needle with the necessary dexterity and delicacy to respect its vital contents despite the urgency building inside of him.

He then turned to Chekhov and carefully placed the filled syringe in his hand. “Get that into the refrigeration unit ri—eh’SHHU! The sneeze snuck up on him and he had barely managed to turn his head in time to avoid sneezing all over Chekhov’s hand. He whipped his arm up and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, unable to use his fingers to stifle the fit, as he would have preferred, due to the fact that his hands were still gloved from handling the poisonous specimen.

“hih…m’MMPHH! H’UMPHH! mph! MPHH! Heh’mphh! Huh…HUH-HIH! Huh-UMPHHH!”

He opened his eyes slightly and was relieved to see Chekhov already across the room, half in the refrigeration unit, situating the sample into its allotted place. He sniffed again and was even more relieved to note that the immediate irritation appeared to have passed. But what had triggered it? What was that strong, tangy-sweet smell? He spared a moment to regret that he did not carry a handkerchief like many of the rest of the crew and reluctantly settled for dealing again with the immediate dampness with the cuff of his sleeve instead. He resolved to ask Nyota if she knew of a suitable place where he might purchase one. For if events like this were destined to ever repeat themselves, he feared he would make good use of it.

“Ensign,” he cleared his throat at the brief catch of mucus in his voice, “Ensign,” he called more clearly. “Did you happen to note a strong, unpleasant, sweet smell within the lab a moment ago?”

Chekhov closed the refrigerator door and turned to Spock, a puzzled look on his face. “No, Kommender. I cennot say zat I did.” He paused before hurriedly adding, “You are not thinking that something went wrong with the extraction, are you Kommender?”

Spock opened his mouth to reply in the contrary when Ensign Clary, a petite young woman with a strawberry blonde bun walked by and greeted them on her way to the adjacent lab.

“Afternoon, Commander.”

Spock nodded and sniffed self-consciously, deftly turning aside and busying himself with cleaning their workspace. He did not like to be seen in such a state of disarray in front of his subordinates. “Afternoon, Ensign Clary.”

A soft throat clear sounded from across the room, catching Ensign Clary’s attention. “Oh! Ensign, Chekhov! I’m surprised to see you’re still here! We science nerds haven’t scared you away yet?” she teased. Spock couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of his eye that she also deftly angled herself away from Chekhov’s view, however the movement brought her further into his and he could clearly see the blush rising in her cheeks.

“N—no! Not at all, Ensign Clary.” Chekhov stammered.

…Fascinating.

“I am learning much from the Kommender. And yourself, of course! I thank you again for allowing me to assist you the other day on your work on the flame retardancy of DNA.”

“Anytime, Ensign. I’m working on it now, actually. Once you’ve finished aiding the Commander …I’d love the help. Just come on in, Pavel.”

She had turned back to the laboratory doors, but Spock could hear the smile in her voice.

Most fascinating indeed.

The doors hissed open and shut as Ms. Clary proceeded on her way. Spock looked across the room to Chekhov, eyebrow raised. Chekhov flushed a deep scarlet and quickly busied himself with setting a nearby chrono to track the necessary refrigeration period for the venom.

Spock turned back to the workspace to continue his cleaning when it hit him again. A horrible, sharp, stinging stench and an overwhelming immediate urge to sneeze. He ripped his gloves off hastily and pinched his nose tight, inhaling firmly against the urge as had been his default avoidance maneuver in the past. Upon successfully evading the impulse, he suddenly found that he did indeed know what the smell was and where it was coming from. As to why he would be getting whiffs of methane strong enough to to result in such a violent reaction on the part of his body he did not know, but he did know that methane did not belong in a lab aboard a starship. Particularly one containing a young scientist studying flame retardancy.

Despite how rapidly he had drawn this conclusion, for he had not yet even released his nose, he feared he may be too late to alter the next course of events as several things began to happen at once. A group of 5 scientists entered the far end of the space clearly heading for the lab and Ensign Clary flipped on the alert button to indicate that an active flame was being utilized in the enclosed space.

Spock was up and moving before he realized.

“Ensign Chekhov! Prevent them from entering that lab and locate a fire-extinguisher.”

If he was too late they would need a lot more than one fire-extinguisher, but he was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. He ran to the lab and activated the sensor for entry. He hadn’t been thinking and when the doors hissed open the reaction took his by surprise. He reared back instinctively as his nose felt consumed by a sudden fiery burn and his eyes leaked watery tears. “CHHH! Eh'CHHHHH!” the sneezes ripped out of him into the open air before he could even take a breath. He instantly clasped a hand over his nose and mouth in shock and disgust with himself and pinched his nose tightly for all he was worth. He didn’t have time for this.

Ensign Clary had looked up startled, but upon seeing that it was just the Commander, turned back to her task at hand.

Spock, still blinking tears out of his eyes but having recovered enough of his senses to reorient his body to the task at hand, continued hurriedly further into the lab, “Edsid! Do dot turd that od!”

He saw her hand twisting the starter on the Bunsen Burner even as she looked back up at him confused, and he knew it was too late.

He took his hand away from his face and held his breath as he barreled into her, wrapping an arm around her waist and knocking her to the floor just as the lab erupted in a burst of fire.

:devil2: ...To be continued...

April 13, 2018

On 4/10/2018 at 9:11 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

The boy had taken an interest in working with him in the lab since they had spent a night together devising chemical compounds to dissolve the mineral collar that had held the captain prisoner a mere 68 days ago. They had begun working on several projects together since, their present endeavor one of them.

Awwww! I love your Chekhov!

On 4/10/2018 at 9:11 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

This was unprecedented and, if he were honest with himself, highly disconcerting.

I love this line. Very Spock!

On 4/10/2018 at 9:11 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

…Fascinating.

Awww!

On 4/10/2018 at 9:11 PM, LostGirl2.0 said:

He took his hand away from his face and held his breath as he barreled into her, wrapping an arm around her waist and knocking her to the floor just as the lab erupted in a burst of fire.

Oh Crap!

I'm so glad you brought this back!!! I can't wait to see where it goes. Take your time though. I know how it goes. I got my first idea for a story in November, wrote the first part and then completely lost track of where I was going with it until February! Then the inspiration finally came back! I'm loving this though!!!

April 22, 2018

@AngelEyes Thank you so much!! :heart: Here's the next part! (I was going to make this whole thing 3 bits, but I'll just go ahead and throw the rest of it up now. This is all I have written at this point, and it kinda concludes this little story. Hope you enjoy!)

Spock’s Sensitivities (Sequel-ish to “A Star Trek Reboot Story”)

Part 2 (of Part 1)

Ringing. That was the first thing he was aware of. As if he had been stuck in the head with a tuning fork. A few more seconds passed and he gradually became aware of a searing heat. A searing heat…and that it was becoming progressively difficult to inhale. He wrenched his eyes open and was stunned by what he saw, or rather, what he couldn’t see. There was so much smoke… Why was he laying on the ground surrounded by smoke? Had an away mission…? The methane! It all came back to him with a jolt. Ensign Clary! He suddenly noticed that although he was horizontal, he was not on the hard metal floor. He was in fact cushioned on top of a soft body that he could only extrapolate to be Ensign Clary’s.

He pushed himself up off of her carefully, noting distractedly that there was a significant amount of discomfort concentrated on his left arm and side before he pushed the sensations out of his mind and focused completely on the Ensign. He gently turned the young woman over and was just able to make out a sluggishly bleeding wound on the side of her head through the haze of the smoke. He deftly sought out her pulse and, upon finding one, was unable to prevent a small sigh of relief from escaping. However, presence of her lifeforce in this moment didn’t guarantee its presence in the next, especially if it took him much time to get her out of here. He quickly wrestled off his blue science shirt and wrapped it around the bottom of her face to protect her from inhaling as much of the smoke as he could. He vaguely registered a voice shouting in the background and the loud whooshing of a fire-extinguisher. 6.25 seconds later as he was gathering the young woman into his arms, he felt water splattering the side of his face and realized the sprinkler system had finally come online. He would have to speak with he engineers about maintaining the sensitivity of these devices. Such a delay between stimulus and response was unacceptable. Especially when said device’s primary purpose was to aid in abating an issue before it got out of control.

With Ensign Clary now secured in his hold against his chest, he took a few quick shallow breaths, struggling not to immediately cough out the little oxygen he’d managed to take back in, and pushed himself up to one knee. …With slightly more difficulty than he had anticipated. He wobbled precariously for a second before he found his center of gravity and then pushed himself the rest of the way to his feet. The smoke was even thicker at this height, but with the Ensign unconscious he didn’t have much choice. Thankfully the laboratory space was not large and the explosion had been modulated by the fact that the Ensign had followed proper protocol and turned on the ventilation in the hood above her workspace prior to lighting the burner.

Hunched protectively over his burden he stumbled along the glass wall of the lab knowing that eventually he would come to the door. All of the smaller laboratories within the science division were structured as large square rooms with shatterproof glass walls. He arrived at a corner and turned, but before he got much further he head a rush of voices and the noise of several fire extinguishers joined the previously solitary one.

“LIZZY! Kommender!”

“Hey kid, who was in here?!”

“Kommender Spock and Ensign Clary, sir! He ran in… He knew… Somehow he knew… He told me to get ze extinguisher!”

“Keep at it, everyone, we’ve almost got it out!”

“Commander Spock!”

“Kom—cough—Kommander!”

“Ensign Clary!”

Directing his plodding path towards growing cacophony of shouts, he buried his face in the Ensign’s shoulder and inhaled through her clothing, hoping to draw enough of a breath to alert those present to their whereabouts. Unfortunately, the thin cotton fibers were not enough to prevent him from getting a significant lung-full, and nose full, of thick, acrid smoke. He lifted his head quickly and turned it away from his charge as the need to sneeze overpowered him. "ISSSSSHHuh!-coughcough-Hi'TCHH!-coughcoughcough!" He stumbled slightly as he coughed so hard that his body tried to curl in on itself, but managed to remain on his feet.

“No, here, you with the muscles, you take that! For God’s sake man, I’m a doctor not a firefighter! –cough –Has anyone found them yet? “

Spock’s eyes were stinging and watering so badly he had them completely closed at this point. He was loath to admit it on the best of days, but he was relieved to hear the CMO’s voice. Ensign Clary had yet to regain consciousness and was in need of immediate care. He coughed harder, unable to help himself.

“Ah! I ken hear zem! Ower—coughcough—ower here! Someone is coughing!”

He was almost upon them, if he could just—

Spock’s thoughts jarred to a halt as he bumped directly into someone’s shoulder. His knees wobbled with the surge of relief.

He felt a pair of hands urgently patting his chest, his shoulders, fumbling as they encountered Ensign Clary in his arms.

“Kommender! It is ze Kommender and Lizzy he—cough—he is heving Lizzy with him!”

Suddenly the hands on him multiplied and Ensign Clary was being pulled from his grasp.

“We’ve got her, Commander. You can let her go.”

“Doctor, we’ve got Liz but she’s unconscious! Bringing her out to you!”

Once the Ensign was fully transferred into someone else’s arms Spock did double-over, unable to control himself and coughed harder than he could ever remember coughing in his life. He felt a sudden jolt of pain through his knees and belatedly realized that he must have fallen.

Suddenly hands were on him once again and he startled as an oxygen mask was pressed over his mouth. He felt his left arm being lifted and a body wedging close as someone positioned themselves at his side and attempted to help him regain his feet.

A surge of incredible pain tore through Spock’s dazed mind and he reeled for a second through a subsequent wave of nausea before he was able to regain control of himself and follow the lead of his guide.

Together they stumbled out of the laboratory and into what felt like a significantly less smoke-filled space. Spock’s aide gasped desperately at his side and coughed harshly a few times before slowly guiding him to sit on the ground. Spock managed to peel his eyes open slightly and was rewarded with the watery sight of a thoroughly soot covered Chekhov, tear tracks down his face, and the brilliant white of his smile. He continued to grin widely even as he struggled to remove something from his back. Spock saw the young man wrestle off an oxygen pack and set it at his feet. An oxygen pack that was connected to the mask he was currently using. He wrenched his blurred and hazy gaze back up to Chekhov in shock and disapproval. The young man had given him his own oxygen whilst still in the lab?

Chekhov looked away sheepishly, correctly disseminating the expression on his Commander’s face. He shrugged.

“I was wery good swimmer in school.”

This was all he offered by way of an explanation. Spock just closed his eyes and leaned his head against the corridor wall, not having the energy or mental acuity at present to interpret the true meaning of the apparent non-sequitur. He lifted the mask from his face and made to return it to its original user when he felt a gentle hand on his wrist. He wearily opened his eyes again.

“Please, you keep zis, Kommender. I am not in need.”

When Chekhov finished speaking but did not look away, Spock maintained his gaze, hazarding a guess that the young Ensign had more to say.

His hypothesis was correct.

“Kommender… Thank you. For saving Lizzy. I cennot… “ He shook his head as if at a loss for words. When he looked back up his expression held a hint of awe. “How did you know? You knew zet ze lab was going to explode before it heppened?”

Spock pulled the mask away and tried to clear his throat to respond but only wound coughing instead.

Chekhov’s eyes widened and he smacked himself in the forehand shaking his head wildly. “Ah, nyet, nyet, nyet! What am I thinking? Do not speak. I am esking questions efter what hez just heppened? Prosti, prosti, Kommender. I will get ze doctor. Wait right here!”

Spock coughed harder and watched blearily as Chekhov dashed around the corner. That was the first time that Spock realized they had been essentially alone, though he could hear various people coughing heavily several meters away. It appeared that Chekhov had used a short cut to exit the science department as quickly as possible. As he managed to catch his breath, he realized he suddenly felt terribly cold. So much so that he was shivering. He looked down the opposite end of the hallway and thought that it did not seem to be any great distance to traverse in order to return to his own quarters. He could warm himself there, take a shower, lie down… The doctor would likely be busy taking care of Ensign Clary and the others who had been in the lab who would also be suffering from smoke inhalation. He could stop by Sickbay in a few hours. Just getting warm would help. He let the oxygen mask fall from his hand and struggled to his feet. He stabilized himself on the corridor wall and slowly proceeded away from the general commotion.

---------------------------

“Shit”, Jim cursed, running through the hallways, pulling angrily at the tight, restricting collar of his dress uniform. He’d been on planet in political negotiations when he’d been commed by a shaken Sulu, who’d had the conn, and informed that one of the labs had exploded. Nyota had been with him conducting most of the proceedings since they had decided to hold the closing ceremony in the natives’ own tongue as a sign of respect. Who knew Nyota would pick up Glifxn, a nearly dead language, on a dare from a classmate? But as such, he was rendered no more than a figurehead, which in most instances truly sucked and meant he was bored as hell, but today proved to be the perfect circumstance. He left the negotiations in Nyota’s capable hands and returned to his ship with no harm done. Well, some harm might be done to him when Nyota figured out the reason he ran off, but he would worry about that later. At least one of them needed to be able to keep their head in the game. And it certainly wasn’t him right now.

Please don’t let Spock have been in there. Please don’t let Spock have been in there. …Maybe he’d been getting lunch? He thought about the timing. Yeah, there was a pretty good likelihood that that was where he was, but—damnit! He was working on getting the venom for that antidote for Bones… A task he wasn’t likely to leave until it was finished. He ran faster. He could already smell the smoke.

He rounded the last curve before he would reach the part of the deck dedicated to the science department and collided hard with a person who had been approaching from the opposite direction. They went down in a tangle of limbs.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, are you—Spock?!” Jim froze, literally straddling the prone form below him, which, had it been anyone other than Spock, would have been a decidedly uncomfortable and awkward circumstance. But it wasn’t his reluctance to alter their somewhat fortunate position that rendered him immobile…it was Spock’s appearance.

On the upside, he now had the answers to his questions. Yes, it appeared that Spock had indeed been in the explosion. But he was alive. His relief at the knowledge was short lived though as his eyes caught on Spock’s left shoulder and upper thigh. He swallowed past the lump that lodged in his throat and moved off the Vulcan as quickly as he could.

“Jesus Christ, Spock! Why the hell aren’t you in Sickbay?!” He reached down and gently wrapped a hand around Spock’s right forearm to help pull him to his feet.

Spock blinked at the hand on his arm blearily for a second before slowly nodding and allowing himself to be pulled upward. However, he found that once up, he was almost immediately on his way back down again. Or at least he would have been if not for someone’s quick snaking of an arm around his waist. What was wrong with his legs? Why couldn’t he stand? His head… He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think…

“Whoa! Shit… Ok, hold on, hold on. I got you.” Jim rearranged Spock’s arm so that it was over his shoulder and he was able to support most of the Vulcan’s weight. Jim’s concern was now soaring through the roof.

“Jim?” The word was little more than a croak.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, babe. I got you.” He felt Spock try to get his feet underneath him and after a few stumbles some of the weight he was holding lifted. He slowly started to guide them in the direction he had originally been running, which was also, coincidentally, towards Sickbay. He caught a look at Spock out of the corner of his eye; the Vulcan appeared completely engrossed in putting on foot in front of the other. For someone who could explain the scientific properties of antimatter while running calculations on the possibility of trans-warp beaming through a worm-hole in the midst of a photon torpedo engagement, this was more than concerning. Jim was also close enough now that he could detect a faint rattle on every breath Spock took.

His heart lodged in his throat.

‘He’s crashing! Get the defibrillator—go, go, go!’

A second after the memory tore through him, leaving his heart thumping heavily in his chest, he realized his potential error. He quickly shot a look at Spock again and, seeing no change to the Vulcan’s disposition, counted himself lucky as he forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. Spock wasn’t reacting to it yet, but he knew they were in more than enough contact for the Vulcan to sense everything he was feeling should his shields come down. He swallowed hard and quickly tried to lighten the mood. Admittedly, not as much for Spock’s sake as for his own.

“Where the hell were you going, anyway, you numbnut? Sickbay’s this way.”

“Numbn…?” Spock coughed hard and sagged heavily in his grasp.

“Oook, we need to find Bones. Now. BONES!” He bellowed. He had been able to hearing coughing nearby for the last minute or two now, so he knew the CMO had to be close.

He struggled to lift the rest of Spock’s now dead weight over his shoulder, hoisting the Vulcan into a fireman’s carry. He braced a hand on the wall for balance and staggered forward a few more steps. Jesus, the difference in Vulcan bone density really was something you really had to feel to believe. That’s right. Keep yuckin’ it up, Jim. He told himself distractedly. Don’t think about the fact that your only recently healed boyfriend was in an explosion and is now lying unconscious across your back and struggling to breathe. Yep, don’t think about that…

“Of all…fool things—“

“…right here, doctor! I…wery sure…zis….left him.”

“…damn idiot’s…he knows best… gone and wondered off—“

Jim only caught the barest wisps of the conversation, but he’d know Bone’s blustery tone anywhere.

“BONES!”

“Jim?!”

“Yeah! I’ve got Spock.”

“Jim! What they hell are you doing back up here? Aren’t you supposed to be schmoozing with tentacled people for the next 72 hours?”

“Not when my ship’s exploding! How about a little hustle…please” Jim grunted as he struggled to lower Spock to the ground as carefully as he could. He winced as Spock’s left arm thumped against the bulkhead. “He’s unconscious!”

“Goddamnit!” Bones huffed. “And I am hustling! I’m a doctor…not a…damn…marathon runner.”

He heard several pairs of feet rounding the corner and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding when Bones slid down next to him, med kit in hand and tricorder already out and scanning. Chekhov was not far behind.

Bones sat back on his heels and frowned at the readings. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “His lungs weren’t ready for something like this, not yet. Chekhov, get that oxygen back on him. “

He pulled out his com and called for an air-gurney as Chekhov delicately placed the mask once more over the Commander’s face. The Vulcan did not react.

“Spock?” McCoy gently but firmly tapped the Vulcan’s face. Spock’s eyes cracked open a hair. “Spock! …I’m gonna give you a pain killer real quick for the burns. ” He paused briefly before countering the argument he knew the Vulcan would put forward if he could. “I know they don’t work well on you, but it should at least take the edge off.” He deftly hypoed the Vulcan in the neck and proceeded without missing a beat. “Now I need you to tell me how you’re feeling. You don’t need to talk, but I need you to do something, so let’s do the old blink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no’, thing, ok?” Once again, no acknowledgment of his request. “Damnit, Spock” the doctor growled, more to himself than to his patient, “I need to know what we’re dealing with here.” He paused, knuckled Spock’s sternum and spoke loudly in his ear. “Are you feelin dizzy?” No reaction. “Nauseous?” Spock grimaced and his eyes closed, but he did not appear to completely lose consciousness. McCoy threw up his hands in frustration.

“Wait, Bones! I have an idea. What do you need to know?”

Bones eyed Jim skeptically. “I’m trying to figure out if we’re just dealing with smoke inhalation or possible carbon monoxide poisoning on top of it. If it’s the latter I’m gonna have to prep a hyperbaric chamber.”

Jim nodded, took Spock’s right hand in his own, and closed his eyes. Bones watched, thoroughly confused. He was about to ask Jim if perhaps the Gli-nx-ians had plied him with drink while they were negotiating, when the young man’s face suddenly lost all its color and he swayed slightly. Bones’ brow furrowed in concern. Then Jim’s face scruntched up in discomfort and Bones decided he’d had enough.

“Hey, what’s—“ He didn’t get to finish his question as Jim suddenly let go of Spock’s hand, twisted to the side and—

“HUUURRRASSHHU!”

Bones blinked.

“Bood' zdorov”, Keptin.”

Bones jumped. He’d completely forgotten than Chekhov was still there; damn kid always seemed to have energy to spare but also somehow had an ability to sit stiller than anyone he’d ever known, save Spock that is. It just wasn’t natural. “Yeah, uh….what he said.” He waved a hand vaguely in Chekhov’s direction as he looked from Spock’s still unresponsive form to Jim’s now slightly clammy looking face. He scowled. “Mind telling me what the hell just happened, Jim?”

Jim swallowed hard and shook his head, rather stunned himself. “Wow…uh, yeah, sorry, his sinuses are burning like crazy.” He sniffed hard and wiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve. “He’s dizzy—room spinning kind of thing—a little nauseous, head’s pounding, but his lungs and the burns…” He glanced down worriedly at Spock. “He wouldn’t let me feel them, and it’s him, so that probably means it’s excruciating.”

“Wouldn’t let you feel—?

“Yeah…actually…ahhh, you wouldn’t—“

“You know what? Forget it. You can explain the weird voodoo thing you two just did here to me later. Right now I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, so we’re gonna beat it out of here and put him in the chamber, because that sounds like carbon monoxide poisoning to me. …Aaand I’m pretty sure I hear our ride.”

The nurse who brought the gurney, Bones, and Chekhov helped get Spock situated. Jim wanted to help but was pretty certain losing his lunch all over Spock wouldn’t be of much benefit, so he decided to remain seated for another minute or two until the nausea fully abated.

Bones looked down at him. “You gonna be ok?” Jim nodded in the affirmative. “Yeah, yeah,” He swallowed hard, “Absolutely”.

Bones didn’t look convinced.

“Honestly, I’ll be right behind you. Just…take care of him, Bones. We just got him back two months ago… I can’t go through that again.”

Bones saw the haunted look on Jim’s face and felt certain that some degree of the expression was mirrored on his own. “No”, he agreed. “Neither can I.” His brow furrowed as he looked at the Vulcan. They were going to have a discussion about this.

“I will stay and make sure ze Keptin is alright, doctor.”

He nodded at Chekhov and gave the nurse a curt nod as they started off in the direction of the Sickbay. McCoy saw the lines on Spock’s face smoothing slightly and assumed that the painkillers were finally doing their thing. He looked more closely at the damage Spock had sustained and couldn’t suppress the heavy sigh that escaped him. “Damn you, hobgoblin.” He muttered. “When you’re back with it again I’m gonna set up as psych evaluation for this martyr complex. …She’s fine, by the way.” He said a little more loudly. “Ensign Clary. You probably saved her life.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding Spock’s hand, when had he done that, until he felt the slight squeeze in response. Bones found himself struggling to swallow past a sudden tightness in his throat. “You know, you really have to stop this. You’re gonna give Jim gray hairs before he’s 30. And you know how much he loves his hair.” He thought he saw the faintest twitch of Spock’s mouth. “Although actually, I’d love to see the kid go prematurely gray…he’s been insufferable ever since he was voted Starfleet’s Sexiest Man…”

~End of Part 1~

Thanks so much for reading!! If you have a moment, let me know what you think!

A Star Trek Reboot Story (Kirk/Spock, Spock)

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