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"I don't like it," the USS Enterprise's chief medical officer grumbled, "No, I don't like it at all, Jim."
Captain James T. Kirk pushed down a wave of annoyance with practiced ease and gave his friend a smile.
"Well, Bones, like it or not I believe the results will tell you I'm functioning within expected parameters."
"Don't get smart with me," McCoy said, medical tricorder in hand as he took more readings. "One damn green-blooded officer is enough."
Kirk did his best not to flinch or snap at the instrument being waved in his face. He knew that was what Bones wanted, given the way he'd practically ordered him to come in for an exam. And to the doctor's credit, Kirk could understand why he was concerned; felt horribly guilty for it, even.
Ever since the Enterprise had left Vulcan with her full crew, Kirk had been dealing with a strange cocktail of symptoms. He'd managed to explain away the headaches and shortness of temper to Bones with the age-old excuse of how he had in fact almost died (again); moreover claiming the excuse that Bones helped him to fake his death on this most recent occasion and should therefore have foreseen side effects like this coming.
"Could be an allergic reaction," Kirk suggested, and internally winced at the pinched look of doubt the doctor cast his way.
"I'd expect more from an allergic reaction than a low-grade fever and some persistent headaches," he muttered with a shake of his head.
"But it is low-grade?" Kirk asked, and this time he did wince at the stinkeye McCoy aimed at him.
"Just 'cause it's low-grade now don't mean it will stay that way," he said. "I look any less concerned since it's low?"
He didn't, Kirk had to admit.
"Bones," he began, glancing at the vital monitor on the wall and noting that it seemed... fine, for the moment; Kirk had seen worse. "I'll cut you a deal."
"Naw." There was a pinch in his neck and Kirk's breath hissed out from between his teeth. "That should give you some relief. You come see me again in seventy-two hours, and if the symptoms aren't better by then, I swear—"
"Yes, doctor," Kirk managed, "on my head, be it."
As he left the medbay, Kirk tried not to think of how he'd felt the moment Bones stuck a hypo in his neck. He didn’t particularly like shots, never had, but he didnt ever recall feeling violent in the aftermath of one. It was as if his head was a hive of bees and Bones' surprise jab had set them to swarming.
Kirk had wanted to lash out, wanted to snarl and kick with a ferocity that was alien to him. Just the other day he'd almost snapped at Lieutenant Uhura, something he still felt guilty for even though he'd apologized profusely. He’d never dealt with anything like this, not even when he was in the midst of his youth and still thought himself untouchable because of what he'd experienced in his younger years.
Low-grade fever, Bones had said. Headaches. Mood swings.
Plus another symptom Kirk was keeping to himself for now. If he had any contagious pathogens present in his body, surely the exam would have caught them.
He tried to remember if he'd been around anyone who was sick and came up blank. There was Spock, of course, but Kirk doubted Pon Farr was the sort of condition one could simply catch. It was physiological rather than viral, and as Kirk was not a Vulcan he ruled it out without a second thought.
"Captain," came a familiar voice, and Kirk felt a smile rise unbidden to his face.
"Mister Spock," he said, glancing at his first out of the corner of his eye. "Walk with me?"
"That was my intention, yes," Spock said.
He fell into step with Kirk easily, and his presence was like a soothing balm. Kirk could feel his head clearing, the buzzing annoyance he'd been barely fending off fading to almost nothing.
"Bones cleared me," he said rather than wait for Spock to ask, "so I'll be heading the upcoming away mission."
Said away mission involved a class P planet that was squarely in their path. No detour in course necessary, only a brief stop. It would be easy to examine and presented a good opportunity to see what life existed on colder worlds within different habitable zones. Kirk found himself eager to set foot on solid ground again, a thrumming in his veins that would have been unsettling if he hadn't grown used to keeping it firmly tempered.
"Very good, Captain." There was a hint of something in Spock's eyes that Kirk couldn't quite decipher. "I would formally request that I be allowed to join you."
Kirk raised a brow.
"Did Bones put you up to this?" Spock's expression was especially inscrutable following the question and Kirk sighed. "Alright, Mister Spock. We'll be glad to have you."
He gave him another smile, the expression widening when a warm glint appeared in Spock's gaze.
They parted ways to prepare before the Enterprise arrived at her stopping destination.
Kirk was only glad that he managed to get to his quarters before the most unsettling of his symptoms began to show itself.
His eyes and nose burned and he made a garbled sound of discomfort, hunching over the sink in his bathroom until the sensation passed.
When he lifted his head, he sighed at the sight of blood on his face. It ran in lines from his eyes and nose to drip into the white sink below, making him look like the victim of an old Earth superstition involving mirrors and the thrice repetition of a name. If the doctor knew about this, he would have blown his top. It was a miracle Kirk had managed to keep it under wraps for as long as he had.
You'd better clear up, Kirk ordered his sick body. Or Bones will have our hide.
Keres-dur, as the planet had been named, was a rather small world. A bit bigger than Earth's moon, it was covered almost entirely in snow and ice. Despite its size, it did have a habitable atmosphere that humans could breathe. There was almost no obvious local flora to speak of apart from the frozen triangles of what may have been trees, and temperatures were survivable so long as you bundled up.
If Kirk found the sight of Spock and the other members of their away team dressed in winter gear cute (and he did; the anti-snowblind goggles and fur-rimmed hoods especially) he managed to keep his face carefully blank.
"All prepped?" He asked as he stepped onto the transporter pad, gaze moving between the other three members. "Lain? Xiao? Yarrow?"
Lain and Yarrow, both ensigns, nodded.
"Ready, sir." Xiao, the Lieutenant, gave Kirk a thumbs-up and Kirk felt the pounding in his head ease a bit as he grinned, liking them already.
"At your leisure, Mister Scott!" He called, pretending not to feel the weight of Bones' glare.
Thankfully the visual noise of the transporter surrounded them before Kirk could get in trouble for avoiding his friend and failing to show up on the bridge before the away mission began.
Despite the snow and ice, the planet itself was rather enjoyable. It reminded Kirk of a brief vacation he'd taken on Earth once, though that had admittedly involved less walking and slightly different equipment; a backpack rather than a communicator and phaser.
Spock led the group, tricorder aloft in front of him. Kirk and Lain kept to either side of him. Yarrow collected a few physical samples, and Xiao brought up the rear with their own tricorder.
It was blissfully quiet, the kind of deep and muffled silence only possible in a landscape smothered with snow.
Kirk only wished that same peace would extend to his head. Even now, he could feel annoyance tugging at him every time he had to pull his foot free of a particularly deep hole.
"Enjoying the weather, Mister Spock?" He asked, wondering if his first officer had put on an extra layer underneath the standard-issue gear. Or maybe he needed fewer layers?
Kirk certainly felt like he could use fewer himself. His body felt warmer than normal. Was the shot Bones gave him wearing off already?
"Captain," Spock's voice broke through the desert haze of his thoughts. "I believe we have gathered an adequate amount of data. Given the cloud formations that have taken place over the last twenty two minutes, I suggest we return to the Enterprise or risk being caught in a storm."
"Right you are, Mister Spock." Kirk pulled out his communicator and flipped it open. "Scotty." He was met with dead air.
Cold dread filled his stomach, but to his despair it did nothing to alleviate the pressure growing behind his eyes or the sweat gathering on the back of his neck.
"Shelter?" He proposed to the others, careful to keep his expression blank.
It took them almost half an hour to locate suitable shelter in the form of a rather shallow cave. It wasn't anything special, but it allowed them space enough to be out of the snow and wind.
Kirk was, for once, grateful that his low-grade fever seemed to be helping him feel warm. He sat and watched the Ensigns and Lieutenant huddle together, Lain saying something that made the other two laugh. They were good eggs, they would be fine.
"May I?"
Kirk blinked, not bothering to look up.
"Of course, Mister Spock. By all means."
With all the grace of a cat, Spock sat down on the rocky cave floor beside him. He was just on the edge of Kirk's personal space, polite and withdrawn as always. For a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to speak. Kirk imagined them talking, finally, about what had happened on Vulcan. The strangeness of it all. Hot sand under their feet as they fought, Spock lost to the blood fever and Kirk struggling to keep up. The wife Spock had rejected as soon as he'd regained his mental facilities. The joy on Spock's face on the Enterprise afterwards, his cry of "Jim!" and the radiant expression on his face. They ought to talk about it, really. Kirk opened his mouth.
"Did you imagine this might happen?" He asked. "The storm jamming communications, I mean."
"I assumed so," Spock said, tone blessedly sans judgement. "Better to plan for the unlikely and be prepared than to not plan and need extra supplies."
Kirk smiled, his headache retreating like ice in the sun.
"So it was you who left the note in the mission file requesting everyone pack rations and water, hm?" He asked, shaking his head. "I should have known."
The silence between them was less tense now, eased by the relaxing of Kirk's muscles. His head no longer ached, his mood had lightened considerably, and he even found he felt cold.
"Next you'll tell me you handpicked them for this mission," he said, voice light and joking.
Spock said nothing, prompting Kirk to look at him at last.
"Truly?" He asked. Why? He wanted to say, but the word would not come.
"To ease your burden," Spock said simply. "Was I mistaken?"
Kirk expected indignation and rage to rear its head, but to his surprise he felt none of his new knee-jerk annoyance rise. Indeed, he felt nothing but relief and gratitude.
"Tell me about them?" He asked, making himself comfortable.
Spock's voice, undercut with the wind of the storm, carried him into unconsciousness.
Kirk woke to find himself sweltering. That in of itself was unbearable, but the renewed pounding in his head was enough to make him grit his teeth against a wave of annoyance.
He got to his feet, unzipping his jacket and pulling out a ration bar. The texture and taste, ordinarily inoffensive if not particularly adventurous, was like chalk on his tongue. Kirk forced it down.
He then chugged around a third of his first water canteen and went to find the rest of the away team.
Outside, the world was still.
He checked his communicator, but had no luck.
Kirk took a deep breath, trying to sooth his frayed nerves. The sky was still mostly overcast, clouds a dull gray color that made him wary, and though there was no wind Kirk could imagine the next storm perched just out of sight. The somewhat clearer sky revealed a range of mountains dotted with snow-encrusted poles that seemed to Kirk more like skeletons than trees.
He was glancing down to find the away team's boot prints when he heard a nearby scream. There was the shrill sound of phaser discharge.
He couldn't make himself run fast enough, ignoring the times he sank and had to struggle through deep snow. There was a shout.
Rounding a frost-covered rock formation, Kirk skidded to a halt and took in the scene.
Spock and Xiao stood with phasers drawn. Nearby, Yarrow was holding a jagged rock with its tip coated in steaming blue liquid.
There was blood in the snow, a long red drag that moved off into the skeletal forest.
Red also dripped, sluggish and bright from a gash in Yarrow's side. Kirk hoped the wound was not deep.
His brain chose that moment to supply him with a fragment from last night: Spock had chosen Lain due to the Ensign's survival training.
Xiao bandaged Yarrow's wound while Spock and Kirk looked on.
According to Spock, it was Xiao who had suggested they locate a high place on which an emergency beacon could be placed. Of the three, they were the one with a specialty in engineering; specifically in design workarounds and signal boosting. Perfect for their situation, Kirk had to admit.
Yarrow was the one with medical training, directing Xiao through gritted teeth.
There had been no warning before the attack. Not a sound, not a hint. Only Spock admitted to having smelled a faint musk just before Lain erupted in screams.
The only bit of information Yarrow, whom it had targeted next, could provide was that it had been white. Large, white-furred, and hungry.
"I don't suppose there's any point in pursuing it," Kirk said, mouth pinching when Spock shook his head a single time.
"No, Captain," he said. "In fact, I would suggest that we move on as quickly as possible. It may very well decide we are worth pursuing."
"Now, Mister Spock," Kirk said with a wave of his hand. "Let's not put that idea into the ether."
Despite his best efforts, a short sigh escaped him.
"Very well, let's get going." He began to walk. "We'll get as far up the mountain as we can, and when we find a cave we'll have to take shifts for the night."
"Captain."
There was a tone — or an almost tone, for a Vulcan — in Spock's voice, and it made Kirk stop in his tracks.
"Are you... quite well?"
Kirk turned to smile at his first officer.
"Well enough, Mister Spock," he said. "I'll be better once we get back to the ship. Don't worry about me."
Somehow, Kirk doubted Spock would take him at face value.
As they set out again, Kirk swiped a hand across his forehead and frowned when it came away with sweat. The fever was back.
He only hoped it was still low-grade.
They made good time, but less than Kirk would have wanted. At the very least, they had found a better cave to overnight in. This one had a proper mouth and a throat that was not quite what Kirk would call narrow, but it was better than nothing.
As agreed, they slept in shifts.
Spock took first watch, and though Kirk could tell he was reluctant to do so, his first officer agreed to wake him next.
Both their shifts passed in relative silence. Spock slept lightly, and Kirk could have sworn he felt the weight of those dark eyes on him while he sat near the mouth of the cave with his phaser armed. But the beast that had attacked them never came.
Was it still pursuing them? Kirk hoped not.
Xiao was up next. They were already awake when Kirk went to rouse them, gaze faraway.
Kirk recognized the look, knew from Spock that Xiao had been the one to suggest they find a high point. And now someone was dead; one of their friends, if Kirk had to guess. He'd felt that sort of regret, keen as a knife, many times over the course of his career.
"Sir?" They said. "Are you alright? Your nose is bleeding."
Kirk swiped at the drip line and held a finger to his lips.
"Dry air, Lieutenant," he lied. "You're up."
His own sleep was fitful. He felt as if he were being boiled alive, and that made his mood even worse. Somehow, he managed to drift off.
He woke to a single, cut-off scream.
Yarrow was gone.
Kirk smelled blood, and yet not blood. Someone was yelling — Xiao, maybe — and when he rolled to his feet he didn't see Spock.
Green on the floor of the cave.
White fur, and a flash of science blue among it.
Heat in his veins and head. An ache at his temples. All his anger, rising and rising with no outlet ever since Vulcan, now aimed at the thing attempting to drag his first officer into the darkness.
Kirk had his phaser, but he didn't want to take the chance that he might hit Spock. Taking a page from Yarrow's book, he felt for a rock and took one in hand.
"Come on then!" He yelled, lunging forward, and then—
And then nothing. And then he blinked, and he was standing in the cave entrance, breaths hard and face wet. He tasted the metallic tang of blood, blinked more hot tears from his eyes. His winter gear was torn and one of his legs stung. But he was alive. There were large tracks in front of him, snow spotted with dark splashes of the creature's lifeblood. Kirk assumed he'd managed to chase it away.
Spock.
The thought was enough to make Kirk turn on his heel, limping back through the cave. When he rounded a bend in the stone and saw both the remaining members of his away team, Kirk thought he may collapse.
Spock lifted his head from where he'd been bandaging the lieutenant's side and Kirk watched with a tired detachment as his first officer's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He limped forward, supporting himself with his free hand as he offered Spock a weak smile.
"I don't suppose you'll agree to not tell Bones."
"No, Captain," Spock said, gesturing for him to sit. "I don't believe I will."
Kirk sighed when he finally lowered himself to the ground, still leaning against the cave wall. He was sure he must be a sore sight, blood leaking down his face and pooling slowly on the floor below from his leg wound.
"Bones doesn't know," he said, jutting his chin forward. "About this."
"I see." Spock was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "This... began after we departed from Vulcan?"
Kirk nodded.
"What are your other symptoms?" Spock asked, and Kirk was vaguely aware of Xiao announcing they were going to keep watch, plucking a phaser from Kirk's winter gear where they had been shed on their way towards the cave entrance.
And so Kirk told him while Spock dressed his wound. Once again he found himself grateful for Spock's forward thinking, even if his head was pounding in time with the beat of his heart and the scratches on his calf were making him breathe through his teeth.
"I have a hypothesis regarding your... condition," Spock said, and Kirk was at once reminded of the awkward way they'd discussed "the biology of Vulcans".
"Go on."
"I believe," Spock began, "that you are experiencing a version of the Plak Tow. Your symptoms are not an exact match for those I experienced, but the similarities are close enough that I would, were I human, call it unsettling."
Kirk thought for a moment. It made sense, but it was also terrifying. So he really was boiling alive?
"Is it fatal, do you think?" He asked, tone bland.
"No," Spock said, with such firmness that it surprised both of them. "No, Captain, I..."
Kirk raised a hand.
"Mister Spock, unless I am very much mistaken our time on Vulcan is the reason for my condition." He waited for Spock to protest, and when he did not he soldiered on. "I am not your captain at the moment, just someone asking for your expertise."
"You will always be my Captain, Jim." Spock's voice was soft.
Kirk offered him a smile.
"Then will you tell your Captain how this has come to ail him and how he might make himself better?"
Spock nodded.
A proto-bond had formed between them, according to him. Kirk listened as Spock talked of how their extended contact on Vulcan combined with his — in Kirk's own words, "vulnerability" for his captain — to create the perfect situation. When Spock touched Kirk upon seeing he was alive, the fledgling bond had snapped into place between them.
Kirk's sudden onset of symptoms had been the result. His human body was not meant to undergo Pon Farr, and Spock apologized profusely for "putting him in such an unfortunate position".
With a huff, Kirk shook his head.
"I never said I minded you being in my head," he said gently. "I only wish it would have happened... a bit smoother."
Spock raised a brow.
"Is this your way of saying you are not opposed to the bond, Jim?"
"Yes," Kirk said. "Now how can we make sure this doesn't kill me before we can make it proper and official?"
Spock's mouth twitched, and if he were human Kirk knew he would be pursing his lips in thought.
"A brief meld, Captain," Spock murmured at last; both of them pretending they didn't see the way his fingers shook as he positioned them in the air over Kirk's face. "If I may?"
Kirk leaned into his hand.
"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts."
Later, he found himself repeating those words. They'd spent the better part of the day walking, climbing the mountain as best as they were able. Spock was the strongest, uninjured and leading the way. Xiao was second, jaw set and face stony against the pain of their injury as they climbed. Kirk had spotted them talking into their communicator that morning before their trio departed. Kirk himself was last, limping along and pausing occasionally to recall the feeling of Spock's fingers on his face, the soothing coolness of their minds meeting.
"Captain," came Spock's voice, threaded with what Kirk recognized as concern.
"It's chasing us," Kirk offered, his stomach pitching in dread. "I can walk faster."
He couldn't, and he knew it. With a grunt and a nod, Xiao turned on their heel and marched across the snow.
"Here, Captain," they said, pressing their communicator into his palm. "I recorded messages for everyone. Make sure my family gets it. The other's families too."
Kirk opened his mouth to protest, but the hardness in their eyes was familiar enough to him that he knew there was no point in fighting them.
"Yes, Lieutenant," he managed, breaths quick and shallow as he struggled against the fever burning under his skin. "Good luck."
"Thank you, sir," they said, and gave him a thumbs-up before continuing on down the mountain with a phaser on their hip.
Kirk watched them as long as he dared, before Spock coaxed him into moving again.
The last leg of their journey was more akin to a fever dream than waking hours for Kirk. His blood boiled, he sweated more than he ever had in his life.
Agony, it was agony.
He wanted to stop and rest. Even laying down in the snow would be preferable.
"No, Captain. Jim. We cannot stop."
Kirk knew that voice, dug his fingers into it and clung to consciousness.
He was so tired.
"I know, Jim." There was a hand at his arm, an arm about his waist. "We are almost there. Just a bit longer."
Alright, Kirk wanted to say. Alright. I can do that.
One foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right. Kirk's body was beyond pain now. He felt adrift and numb.
He didn't know how long they walked, only that he wept tears of blood when they finally stopped. He was alone for a moment, then Spock's presence returned to his side.
A hand on his face, words he couldn't decipher. His eyelids were so heavy.
Fingers at his temples, the press of skin into skin. Words flowed into his mind, this time in a language Kirk knew he did not speak, but understood because the Spock in his mind was translating for him.
Vulcan poetry was very beautiful.
Spock held him, spoke aloud and in his mind, and bit by bit soothed the burning under Kirk's skin.
When he felt he would no longer turn to a puddle of denatured amino acids and proteins, Kirk opened his eyes.
Under the wheeze of the wind, he heard the unmistakable sound of an incoming shuttle.
And down the mountain, he could see a figure limping towards them with great effort. It lifted an arm and wiggled a thumb in the air.
"We will be alright, Captain," Spock said, his voice rumbling against Kirk's shoulder.
Jim, his voice whispered in Kirk's mind, and Kirk felt a cool wind on his cheeks. Not even the thought of Bones' impending wrath was enough to dampen the smile that rose to his face.
Yes, he thought. It would be alright.