In Sickness and in Health
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG
Summary: Spock has the flu. Kirk takes care of him.
Words: ~1600
Notes: Takes place between TMP and TWOK. Kind of fluffy and self-indulgent, so don't judge it too harshly. :)
Ever since they started teaching at the academy, Kirk and Spock have had an understanding that, unless something interferes, they travel in together, and they travel home together. It's only logical, after all, with them going to and from the same place. It's a routine that (with occasional adjustments) has served them well for many months.
So, when Kirk enters Spock's office one afternoon to find it empty, he is mildly confused. It isn't like Spock not to be where he said he'd be. Kirk wanders over to the desk, but there is no note or message that might give him information on Spock's whereabouts. Puzzled, he lowers himself into a chair and decides to wait. Perhaps Spock is just running late for some reason.
It's a few minutes later when Spock's TA, Stephen, walks in with a pile of PADDs. He startles as he notices Kirk, then relaxes. "Oh, hello, Admiral," he says. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Kirk gives the young man a reassuring smile. "I'm just waiting for Spock. Have you seen him?"
Stephen frowns. "He didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Unloading the PADDs onto a desk, Stephen replies, "Captain Spock went home ill. I think he's got that flu bug that's been going round."
Kirk's heart speeds up. He can only imagine how awful Spock must be feeling if he was willing to go home early instead of trying to power through it. Why didn't he call me? Stupid stubborn Vulcan. "When was this?" he asks.
"Just before lunch."
Kirk nods slowly. "Well, thanks for telling me. I guess I should go check up on him."
He prods at the bond as he makes his way back out of the building. He doesn't get anything much, just the kind of vague impressions that imply Spock is asleep, or possibly meditating. Kirk sends him a burst of comfort and affection anyway.
The air-car is still where he parked it that morning. Spock must have taken a taxi. Again Kirk wonders why Spock didn't just call him. Probably didn't want to disturb me. As though there's anything more important to me than him. He shakes his head in exasperation, then gets in and begins heading home.
It doesn't take him long to reach their building, and he parks the car in his usual spot before getting out and hurrying inside. A few minutes later he lets himself into their apartment and heads directly for the bedroom, following the pull in his mind.
The heat hits him as he enters the room, and he frowns. Something is definitely wrong if Spock has felt the need to put the heat up like this. It's almost at Vulcan levels.
The windows are opaque, blocking out the light, but Kirk can just about make out what looks like a pile of blankets on the bed. He turns up the lights, just enough to be able to see, and approaches carefully. "Spock?"
The pile of blankets shifts, and a familiar head emerges. "Jim?" Spock is ghostly pale, his voice barely above a whisper, and Kirk feels a great rush of protectiveness.
"Hey," he says, perching himself on the edge of the bed and reaching out to stroke Spock's hair. "Stephen said you weren't feeling well."
"Hmm," Spock agrees. He presses further into Kirk's touch, as if attempting to soak it in.
Kirk smiles, fingers now combing gently through the ruffled strands. "Is there a reason I had to hear it from him?" He keeps his tone light, not wanting Spock to think he's annoyed or upset.
"I did not wish to disturb you," Spock replies, confirming Kirk's theory. "I intended to send you a message when I got home, but I must have forgotten. I was very tired."
"You must have been if you were willing to go home early," Kirk replies.
Spock shudders. "During my morning lecture I became lightheaded and came very close to either vomiting or passing out in front of my students. It did not seem wise to continue."
"Poor Spock," Kirk murmurs sympathetically. He stops stroking Spock's hair long enough to press his hand against his forehead. Definitely over-warm, even for him. "I think you have a fever."
"My body temperature is elevated by one point six degrees," Spock tells him, burrowing further into the blankets as he speaks.
Kirk shakes his head fondly. "I'll take your word for it." He can feel Spock trying to shield from him, but, between the illness and the exhaustion, he can't quite seem to manage it. The result is that, while not everything makes it through, Kirk is able to pick up enough of his pain and nausea to make a decent guess at how awful he's feeling.
He pulls his hand away, laying it on a blanket-covered shoulder. "Do you think you can manage some soup if I make some?" he asks.
Spock blinks up at him. "Your special soup?"
"Of course," Kirk replies with a smile. "I'll even make you some special tea to go with it."
Spock appears to consider it. "I would like that," he says slowly. "I am not certain my stomach will agree, however."
"Well, just eat what you can," Kirk tells him. He reaches under the blanket and squeezes a too-warm hand. "Get some rest," he says. "I'll be back when it's ready."
Spock nods tiredly, disappearing back into his nest of blankets.
Kirk dims the lights and heads towards the kitchen. He just hopes he has the right ingredients.
Fortunately, a search of the kitchen turns up everything he needs. His 'special soup', as he calls it, is a variation of plomeek that he created himself, and is one of Spock's comfort foods. Not that Spock would put it that way.
Kirk has long since learnt the recipe off by heart, and it isn't long before he has a steaming bowlful of soup. He puts it and the tea - an old family recipe intended to speed healing - onto a tray and carries it carefully into the bedroom.
"Spock?" he calls quietly.
For a moment nothing happens, then Spock emerges from under the blankets, looking no less miserable than before. Kirk sets the tray down on the bedside table and brushes a few stray strands of hair off Spock's forehead. "I've brought your soup," he says.
"In-" The word is lost as Spock suddenly breaks out coughing, burying his face in an elbow. Kirk rubs his back. "Indeed," Spock finishes hoarsely once the coughing fit has passed.
He raises himself to a sitting position, pulling the blankets more tightly around him. Kirk rearranges the pillows to make him more comfortable before laying the tray across his lap.
Spock stares at the soup for a long moment, then slowly begins to eat. He makes his way through about a quarter of the bowl before he puts down the spoon, swallowing unsteadily.
"You okay?" Kirk asks.
Spock swallows again. "I-" He cuts himself off and shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together as he struggles to free himself from the blankets. A second later his eyes go wide and Kirk lunges for the nearby trash can, shoving it into Spock's hands just in time.
Spock curls in on himself miserably as he retches, and Kirk rubs his back in an attempt to soothe him. He knows how much Spock hates being sick.
After a minute or two it seems to be over, and Spock raises his head, his face almost grey. Kirk hands him a tissue and he wipes his mouth shakily, mumbling an apology.
"Don't worry about it," Kirk replies. "You're ill, it happens." He smiles and adds, "I promise I'm not taking it as a comment on my cooking skills."
He lets his gaze drop to where Spock is still clutching the trash can. "Do you think you're finished for the moment?"
Spock glances down. "I… believe so, yes."
He lets Kirk take the can away from him and settles back into the blankets. He's still very pale, and Kirk presses a kiss to his forehead before nodding at the tray. "Have some tea," he says. "It should help settle your stomach."
Spock nods tiredly, reaching for the mug as Kirk goes off to rinse out the trash can. When he returns, Spock is sipping at the tea, colour slowly returning to his cheeks. Kirk moves the tray with the discarded bowl of soup onto the side and sits down next to him, smiling as Spock shifts to lean against him. Usually Spock's the one taking care of him, so it's nice to be able to return the favour for once.
Thankfully the tea goes down better than the soup did, and Spock has almost finished the mug when he begins dozing off against Kirk's shoulder. Kirk takes the mug away from him gently and puts it on the side next to the abandoned soup bowl.
"Hey," he says, nudging Spock. "Come on, lie down."
Spock makes a small noise of discontent at the nudging, but obediently shifts until he is horizontal again, his head resting against Kirk's hip. Kirk strokes his hair gently. "Get some rest," he murmurs. "I'm here."
"You won't leave?" Spock mumbles, the words half-slurred with exhaustion, and Kirk feels a fierce wave of love wash over him.
"Of course not," he promises. "Now go to sleep."
Spock does.
Kirk watches over him for a long time afterwards.
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG
Summary: Spock has the flu. Kirk takes care of him.
Words: ~1600
Notes: Takes place between TMP and TWOK. Kind of fluffy and self-indulgent, so don't judge it too harshly. :)
Ever since they started teaching at the academy, Kirk and Spock have had an understanding that, unless something interferes, they travel in together, and they travel home together. It's only logical, after all, with them going to and from the same place. It's a routine that (with occasional adjustments) has served them well for many months.
So, when Kirk enters Spock's office one afternoon to find it empty, he is mildly confused. It isn't like Spock not to be where he said he'd be. Kirk wanders over to the desk, but there is no note or message that might give him information on Spock's whereabouts. Puzzled, he lowers himself into a chair and decides to wait. Perhaps Spock is just running late for some reason.
It's a few minutes later when Spock's TA, Stephen, walks in with a pile of PADDs. He startles as he notices Kirk, then relaxes. "Oh, hello, Admiral," he says. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Kirk gives the young man a reassuring smile. "I'm just waiting for Spock. Have you seen him?"
Stephen frowns. "He didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Unloading the PADDs onto a desk, Stephen replies, "Captain Spock went home ill. I think he's got that flu bug that's been going round."
Kirk's heart speeds up. He can only imagine how awful Spock must be feeling if he was willing to go home early instead of trying to power through it. Why didn't he call me? Stupid stubborn Vulcan. "When was this?" he asks.
"Just before lunch."
Kirk nods slowly. "Well, thanks for telling me. I guess I should go check up on him."
He prods at the bond as he makes his way back out of the building. He doesn't get anything much, just the kind of vague impressions that imply Spock is asleep, or possibly meditating. Kirk sends him a burst of comfort and affection anyway.
The air-car is still where he parked it that morning. Spock must have taken a taxi. Again Kirk wonders why Spock didn't just call him. Probably didn't want to disturb me. As though there's anything more important to me than him. He shakes his head in exasperation, then gets in and begins heading home.
It doesn't take him long to reach their building, and he parks the car in his usual spot before getting out and hurrying inside. A few minutes later he lets himself into their apartment and heads directly for the bedroom, following the pull in his mind.
The heat hits him as he enters the room, and he frowns. Something is definitely wrong if Spock has felt the need to put the heat up like this. It's almost at Vulcan levels.
The windows are opaque, blocking out the light, but Kirk can just about make out what looks like a pile of blankets on the bed. He turns up the lights, just enough to be able to see, and approaches carefully. "Spock?"
The pile of blankets shifts, and a familiar head emerges. "Jim?" Spock is ghostly pale, his voice barely above a whisper, and Kirk feels a great rush of protectiveness.
"Hey," he says, perching himself on the edge of the bed and reaching out to stroke Spock's hair. "Stephen said you weren't feeling well."
"Hmm," Spock agrees. He presses further into Kirk's touch, as if attempting to soak it in.
Kirk smiles, fingers now combing gently through the ruffled strands. "Is there a reason I had to hear it from him?" He keeps his tone light, not wanting Spock to think he's annoyed or upset.
"I did not wish to disturb you," Spock replies, confirming Kirk's theory. "I intended to send you a message when I got home, but I must have forgotten. I was very tired."
"You must have been if you were willing to go home early," Kirk replies.
Spock shudders. "During my morning lecture I became lightheaded and came very close to either vomiting or passing out in front of my students. It did not seem wise to continue."
"Poor Spock," Kirk murmurs sympathetically. He stops stroking Spock's hair long enough to press his hand against his forehead. Definitely over-warm, even for him. "I think you have a fever."
"My body temperature is elevated by one point six degrees," Spock tells him, burrowing further into the blankets as he speaks.
Kirk shakes his head fondly. "I'll take your word for it." He can feel Spock trying to shield from him, but, between the illness and the exhaustion, he can't quite seem to manage it. The result is that, while not everything makes it through, Kirk is able to pick up enough of his pain and nausea to make a decent guess at how awful he's feeling.
He pulls his hand away, laying it on a blanket-covered shoulder. "Do you think you can manage some soup if I make some?" he asks.
Spock blinks up at him. "Your special soup?"
"Of course," Kirk replies with a smile. "I'll even make you some special tea to go with it."
Spock appears to consider it. "I would like that," he says slowly. "I am not certain my stomach will agree, however."
"Well, just eat what you can," Kirk tells him. He reaches under the blanket and squeezes a too-warm hand. "Get some rest," he says. "I'll be back when it's ready."
Spock nods tiredly, disappearing back into his nest of blankets.
Kirk dims the lights and heads towards the kitchen. He just hopes he has the right ingredients.
Fortunately, a search of the kitchen turns up everything he needs. His 'special soup', as he calls it, is a variation of plomeek that he created himself, and is one of Spock's comfort foods. Not that Spock would put it that way.
Kirk has long since learnt the recipe off by heart, and it isn't long before he has a steaming bowlful of soup. He puts it and the tea - an old family recipe intended to speed healing - onto a tray and carries it carefully into the bedroom.
"Spock?" he calls quietly.
For a moment nothing happens, then Spock emerges from under the blankets, looking no less miserable than before. Kirk sets the tray down on the bedside table and brushes a few stray strands of hair off Spock's forehead. "I've brought your soup," he says.
"In-" The word is lost as Spock suddenly breaks out coughing, burying his face in an elbow. Kirk rubs his back. "Indeed," Spock finishes hoarsely once the coughing fit has passed.
He raises himself to a sitting position, pulling the blankets more tightly around him. Kirk rearranges the pillows to make him more comfortable before laying the tray across his lap.
Spock stares at the soup for a long moment, then slowly begins to eat. He makes his way through about a quarter of the bowl before he puts down the spoon, swallowing unsteadily.
"You okay?" Kirk asks.
Spock swallows again. "I-" He cuts himself off and shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together as he struggles to free himself from the blankets. A second later his eyes go wide and Kirk lunges for the nearby trash can, shoving it into Spock's hands just in time.
Spock curls in on himself miserably as he retches, and Kirk rubs his back in an attempt to soothe him. He knows how much Spock hates being sick.
After a minute or two it seems to be over, and Spock raises his head, his face almost grey. Kirk hands him a tissue and he wipes his mouth shakily, mumbling an apology.
"Don't worry about it," Kirk replies. "You're ill, it happens." He smiles and adds, "I promise I'm not taking it as a comment on my cooking skills."
He lets his gaze drop to where Spock is still clutching the trash can. "Do you think you're finished for the moment?"
Spock glances down. "I… believe so, yes."
He lets Kirk take the can away from him and settles back into the blankets. He's still very pale, and Kirk presses a kiss to his forehead before nodding at the tray. "Have some tea," he says. "It should help settle your stomach."
Spock nods tiredly, reaching for the mug as Kirk goes off to rinse out the trash can. When he returns, Spock is sipping at the tea, colour slowly returning to his cheeks. Kirk moves the tray with the discarded bowl of soup onto the side and sits down next to him, smiling as Spock shifts to lean against him. Usually Spock's the one taking care of him, so it's nice to be able to return the favour for once.
Thankfully the tea goes down better than the soup did, and Spock has almost finished the mug when he begins dozing off against Kirk's shoulder. Kirk takes the mug away from him gently and puts it on the side next to the abandoned soup bowl.
"Hey," he says, nudging Spock. "Come on, lie down."
Spock makes a small noise of discontent at the nudging, but obediently shifts until he is horizontal again, his head resting against Kirk's hip. Kirk strokes his hair gently. "Get some rest," he murmurs. "I'm here."
"You won't leave?" Spock mumbles, the words half-slurred with exhaustion, and Kirk feels a fierce wave of love wash over him.
"Of course not," he promises. "Now go to sleep."
Spock does.
Kirk watches over him for a long time afterwards.