Fic: Hangover
It was a Vulcan practice, following sleep, to allow the mind to wake fully before engaging the body - it had long been part of Spock’s morning routine. On this morning, however, his body seemed to race onward, stirring before his mind could quite catch up. He was acutely aware of a dull pounding in his head and, as his spine curved and his knees rose up towards his chest, his muscles ached with each involuntary movement. Before he dared open his eyes, he attempted to order his mind so that he might assimilate the events that had led to his present discomfort.
There had been a party, he recalled, for Ensign Chekov’s birthday. There had been alcohol. Worse still, there had been alcohol laced with chocolate. And then...Jim. His body shivered, as if reminding him he was not yet in control, and he clasped at the thin bedsheets, pulling them closer for warmth, for comfort, as the memory returned...
“Go on, Mr. Spock - ye cannae drink to the lad’s good health with herbal tea! Have a wee drink with us...I thought alcohol didnae have much effect on Vulcans anyway?”
Scotty looked at him expectantly as they stood side by side at the makeshift bar the crew had taken great pains to construct earlier that day. The eighteenth anniversary of Chekov’s birth had presented the crew’s first opportunity for celebration during their time aboard the Enterprise. It was apparently considered something of a milestone for humans and, from experience, Spock knew how much importance the species placed on such events. Perhaps, Spock had reasoned, the acceptance of said beverage would therefore be appropriate under the circumstances. He felt that the notion of indulging his human impulses for once was somewhat appealing.
In fact, he realised that since the destruction of his home planet; the death of his mother, his decision to remain in Starfleet and the continuation of his working relationship with Jim Kirk, he often felt compelled to indulge his more human inclinations. He found himself frequently taking small, calculated risks that had the propensity to provoke in him an emotional response. He was conscious of the disturbing, overwhelming desire to feel that he had spent much of his life trying to subdue. Except, he’d realised with surprise, it no longer disturbed him to such a great extent.
He decided, therefore, to accept the engineer’s offer of an alcoholic drink. This small gesture of acceptance could satisfy in him that human need and would go some way towards showing the group that he was not simply a 'pointy eared kill-joy', as Dr. McCoy was frequently so keen to declare. In any case, he rationalized, alcohol had little effect on his faculties and, as he had completed his duties for the day and was ahead of schedule with his additional efficiency reports and his personal science log, he would not be required to partake in any challenging cerebral activities until the start of Beta shift the next day. The risk he took was negligible.
Before he could answer Scotty directly, Spock’s cogitation was disrupted when he caught sight of the captain’s approach; he watched as those gathered nearby greeted him with a warmth Spock had yet to encounter. Jim responded with a friendly smile but, having heard Scotty’s words, made his way to the vacant spot beside his first officer. “Go on, Spock; just this once.” He said quietly, laying a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “As the ship's most senior officers, you and I have a duty to set a good example to the crew by drinking responsibly.”
By way of support, Scotty nodded enthusiastically at this statement.
Spock raised a customary eyebrow and, aware that Jim had, by now, learned to read him well enough to know when he was employing humor, retorted, “I hardly believe that indulging in intoxicants can be construed as setting a good example, captain, even by your standards.”
“In that case,” Jim replied in a pronounced authoritative tone, “consider it an order, Mr. Spock.”
“Such an order, Captain, would breech Starfleet’s Code of Diversity; a fact of which you are surely aware.” Spock turned his head toward Jim as he spoke, intensely aware of the cool hand still resting on his shoulder and the contradictory warmth he felt flowing from it.
“Is that so? Well,” Jim’s voice was solemn but his face betrayed him as he continued “thank you for the warning, Commander. Now, what’ll it be?”
He had chosen a Terran chocolate liqueur, he now recalled, still attempting to lie still so as not to exacerbate his symptoms. Spock struggled to examine the reasoning behind his choice of beverage the previous night and found that hindsight proved useful. The logic behind his decision had been, he now saw, exceptionally flawed. At the time, he had taken into account that he found alcohol to be generally unpalatable and so, not wishing to drink something he found unpleasant, opted for the one drink on offer that he had tried once before (it had been a seemingly odd choice of graduation gift from Captain Pike - “I’ve heard that chocolate has an...interesting effect on Vulcans.” He’d said with a wry smile. “Enjoy yourself, Spock. You deserve it.”) and had found the taste pleasant and the intoxicating effect mild. What he failed to consider was that when he had tried the drink previously it had been in a single 30 millilitre serving. He had failed to take into account the amplified effect that several measure of the Terran liqueur would have on his ability to reason, and therefore on his ability to recognize that continued consumption (four measures - perhaps five?) was decidedly unwise.
He had also neglected to consider the dual effect of inebriation that an alcoholic drink laced with 75% cocoa would have on his half human-half Vulcan physiology. It was clear to him now that the effects were twice as powerful as they would have been on either species alone. While Mr. Scott had been correct in his assertion that the effect of alcohol on Vulcans was indeed minimal, Spock was, his body now reminded him with some degree of vehemence, physiologically just seventy-three percent Vulcan. The other twenty-seven percent seemed now to comprise wholly of the parts of human anatomy that contributed to the absorption and retention of alcohol.
Spock opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the artificial light. He was aware that all was not as it should be, though he was unsure yet as to why. Another shiver ran through Spock’s body and he closed his eyes, winced, and again attempted to collect the rest of his memories from the night before.
Continued here