Fic: As Morning Shows the Day, aka 'Untitled Kid!Spock', [part 4]

[jade_dragoness]

Title: As Morning Shows the Day [Part 4]
AKA ‘Untitled Kid!Spock’
Author: J.D. aka jade_dragoness
Rating: PG-13, for language. Gen [still]
Pairing: K/S pre-slash/friendship
Status: WIP
Spoilers: Star Trek XI
Warning: Dangerous & Near Fatal Levels of Cuteness
Summary: Based on the switched version of the prompt: A de-aged fic where Spock has to take care of a kid-Kirk; preferably Kirk only listens to Spock, and freaks out when he's not around. (Or, you know, switched). Written for the st_xi_kink meme, found here.
Word Count: 5,300 for this part [total so far: 21,960]
Disclaimer: Never ever will be mine. *sadness*
A/N: Part four now! \o/ Thank you again to everyone that’s been reviewing. As always it’s huge delight to read them all. Feedback is hugely welcomed. Feel free to point out any errors I missed.
*-*-*-*
[“The childhood shows the man, as morning shows the day” - John Milton ]
*-*-*-*
[Part One]
[Part Two]
[Part Three]

Since Spock still refused to admit he had any food preferences, Jim ended up picking their meal again. If it had been lunch, then Jim thought that he could cheerfully have stuck a bowl of spaghetti under Spock’s nose just to see his reaction to it.

Then he decided to hell with it and ordered up a bowl filled only with tomato sauce - no meatballs - and spaghetti noodles for Spock and himself to enjoy.

The tiny wrinkling of Spock’s nose was enough to make Jim grin.

“I have never eaten this food before,” Spock said, staring at the bowl. He gave it a poke with his fork. The noodles slid along the fork and his nose wrinkled even more.

“Really?” Jim asked, honestly surprised. He‘d been half thinking that Spock‘s mother would have exposed Spock to it. Italian food was easily among the most popular on Earth. “Then let me show you how to eat it.”

Jim quickly demonstrated to Spock how to twirl the noodles around a fork using his own pasta bowl.

The boy mimicked his movements perfectly. He carefully ate his pasta with such a look of concentration as he tried to capture the noodles around the fork that Jim rather wished he was recording him.

Especially when at one rather hilarious point a wild noodle smacked Spock right on the nose with a wet pop and leaving behind a line of splattered tomato sauce.

Spock’s cross-eyed expression as he tried to look at the tip of his own nose nearly broke Jim. He had to fight so hard not to laugh that his side was aching again.

“Here Spock,” Jim said grinning, holding out a napkin. He had a feeling this would get messy. “You have some sauce on your face.” And he reached over the table and wiped Spock clean of tomato sauce. It wasn’t until he pulled back and saw the outraged expression that Spock was trying to suppress that it hit Jim what he’d just done.

Wow, he really was getting into this whole parental thing wasn’t he? Even more than he expected.

“I am fully capable of cleaning after myself,” said Spock, primly. He gave Jim a look as if he was afraid Jim was going to baby him again.

Jim sat back and nodded at him, his expression serious though his own lips kept twitching up. “Sorry, Spock.”

They went back to concentrating on their food when Yeoman Rand walked in.

“Captain,” she said. “I have the update on the away team you ordered.”

“Thank you, yeoman,” said Jim. He grabbed her PADD and read over the report. A moment later he frowned.

According to the report put together by Communications for his eyes, the away team was still involved in questioning High Priest-Engineer Kret. Bones had called up with the update saying that according to what he’d found out, there was nothing he could do, as the crystal Cub Sphere wasn’t using biochemical responses in order to activate and jump Spock forward in age.

The reason he decided to stay down on the planet instead of coming back up right away was that the universal translator was still being problematic and he wanted to be certain that there was no misunderstanding in the answers he got from Kret. The moment that he was absolutely certain there had been no mistranslations, McCoy would return to the ship.

“Ah, damn,” Jim said. There went his best hope that Bones would be able to pull a miracle rabbit out of his hat.

He was disappointed but not crushed, after all Spock was still aging up. Slowly, but surely they’d get the right aged Spock back on the ship. Even if at the rate he was going it would take a couple of weeks, at the very least. Also, the report included the information that Lieutenant Keenser was deeply involved in talking with Kret, though Bones had gotten lost on some of the technical details. He added that it seemed to be going well, they were only slowed by translation mishaps and technological differences.

Sulu had added that his own duties, which also involved the negotiation for the starbase were going well. That didn’t particularly surprise Jim. Sulu had been doing a great job with the negotiations ever since they’d come to Cromtic.

“Thanks, yeoman,” Jim said, quickly signing the report to indicate that it had gotten to him. “Continue to keep me updated on the away mission.”

“Then by your leave, Captain. Commander,” Rand nodded and turned to leave.

“And Rand?”

She paused, “Yes sir?”

“Have Doctor McCoy come and find me whenever he gets back onto the ship,” Jim added.

“Aye, sir,” she nodded, and walked out of the mess with her standard determined walk that made people get out of her way.

Jim looked back to the table to see Spock giving him a serious expression.

“Your reaction indicates that you did not receive positive information from the report,” said Spock.

“Yeah,” said Jim. He rubbed his chin and considered Spock. He debated what to tell him and what not to, then decided that this information was hardly as world shaking as the revelation of Vulcan. He could spill it to the kid without worries. He continued, “Bones - Dr. McCoy, says that he doesn‘t think he will be able to come up with a solution to getting you back to normal. That the reason you‘re ageing isn‘t physiological.”

Spock tilted his head, an eyebrow rising. “Fascinating. I did not know that Dr. McCoy was involved in conducting research to return me to my regular age.”

Jim smiled, “There‘s a reason he wants to stick you in the medical bay.”

At the reminder of the med-bay, a tiny frown swept across Spock’s face before he smoothed it out.

Jim’s eyebrows went up. Now, there was a reaction he’d never caught from Spock before about the medial bay.

“You,” said Jim, pointing his empty fork at Spock, “don‘t really like the medical bay do you?”

“Like is an emotion,” Spock responded flatly. “It is illogical to hold negative views on a place were one receives medical attention.”

With an intuitive flash Jim understood Spock’s reaction. He couldn’t say what triggered his understanding but he had it just from the way that Spock’s was scrunching his eyebrows and staying too still.

Spock, was the first ever human-Vulcan hybrid in existence. Being the very first of anything was never easy and it was always unexpectedly complicated. Jim would bet a stack of credits that Spock spent a great deal of time being poked by doctors in those first few years of his life.

Who knows what kind of tests were run on him over the all that time simply to find out if Spock would be healthy? To see if his two divergent DNA managed to exist in cohesive peace? Simply to check that he would survive into adulthood? That he wouldn’t develop problems with his biology as he grew?

Simply conceiving him must have taken a lab full of geneticists who knows how many months to pick and chose through his parents’ chromosomes to find the ones that were compatible. Making him must have taken the same kind of care that a master composer would use in choosing musical notes to create a symphony.

No wonder Spock hated being in the medical bay. Like Bones had said, even adult Spock had to practically be dragged in to get his regular examinations. And he never ever lingered longer than necessary after being treated for injuries.

Except, Jim’s remembered, except for those times when he’d been the one injured and stuck in sickbay. Then Spock would stick around, usually to lecture Jim about whatever stupid - well Spock thought it was stupid; Jim didn’t - action he had taken in order to save the day, the Enterprise, or alien princess/prince. The only other person that Spock descended down to medical bay for was Uhura.

Jim couldn’t help but feel very pleased that Spock had as much regard for him.

“I won‘t let Bones drag us back unless it‘s actually necessary,” Jim said reassuringly.

Spock nodded and went back to concentrating on his food. He still ended up with sauce on his face by the time they had finished eating. This time Jim was able to resist his impulse to clean him up. Though he definitely smirked when Spock realized how messy he’d gotten. The expression was so disgusted, Jim rather thought that he’d have a hard time talking Spock into eating spaghetti again, any time soon.

“Captain!”

Jim looked over to see Scotty walking through the open door of the mess.

“Ah, there ye are sir,” Scotty said cheerfully.

Well, he certainly looks to be in a much better mood. I wonder what set that off.

“Hey, Scotty,” Jim replied, waving Scotty over. “Are you here to update me on the status of the Enterprise?”

“That and to get somethin’ to eat while I‘m at it,” said Scotty. “I ‘ave the feelin‘ that I won‘t get that much of a chance to do more than grab a nibble in the next few hours.”

“Alright, go grab your food, Scotty. Then come sit down with us.”

Scotty nodded. It took him just a moment to stop by the replicator and come back with a submarine sandwich wrapped in white paper. It was twice as thick as Jim’s forearm and three times as long. So long both of its ends were hanging off the tray.

When Scotty sat down at the table, both Jim and Spock were giving him stunned looks as he took a big bite and chewed voraciously.

How in the hell was Scotty going to finish that? Jim thought incredulously.

Spock’s expression looked like he was running calculations of the size of the sandwich versus the average size of a human stomach and the results were not computing with the reality of the size of Scotty’s food.

Scotty caught their expression and interpreted them correctly. He swallowed his bite and said, “I‘ll be savin‘ some of it for later.”

Jim smiled and shook his head. He teased, “Just don‘t get crumbs in the engines, Scotty.”

Scotty looked affronted. “As if I would!”

While Scotty was devouring his gargantuan sub, Jim picked up the empty bowls and trays and dumped them into the recycler. Scotty had to be starving because by the time Jim was back, he had already eaten a third of it.

“Scotty, take a moment to chew, if you end up choking on that I‘m not giving you the kiss of life,” Jim said dryly.

“I do not want ye to! Just get one of the lovely lassies in the mess to do it for ye,” Scotty shot back, around a mouthful of food. He did slow down his furious chewing to a more sedate pace.

“Speakin' of lovely lassies, the ship…” continued Scotty, after swallowing. “I‘ve gone and pried that shite part out of the lady. Her main engine is offline and we are down to impulse. With that part out of ‘er she‘ll be fine. So she won‘t explode now by havin' the power couplin' fail.”

“Well, that‘s a relief,” said Jim.

“Aye, sir,” Scotty nodded. He lifted up a hand, and raised forefinger and thumb, separating it by a inch. “We came this close - this close! - to having a major failure of the power couplin'.”

There was dark stain on Scotty’s red sleeve that caught Jim’s eye. He idly wondered if it was hydraulics fluid or the blood of an engineering minion that had displeased Scotty. With Scotty it was fifty-fifty on either.

“That bad?” asked Jim.

“Aye,” Scotty nodded. “But we should be operational before too long.”

“That‘s great!” Jim said. “Did you find anything about the part? Was its damage accidental? Or how it got aboard without someone noticing that it was screwed up?”

“I do not know yet,” said Scotty. “I had some of the lads down in the science department analyzin' it right now.”

“That‘s a good idea,” said Jim.

“It is too bad Mr. Spock is not available to run his own tests, sir. Or I‘d ‘ave the answer for you that much sooner,” said Scotty, his voice regretful.

Spock straightened at the sound of his name. He’d been following the conversation with interest. At Scotty’s comment he looked intrigued.

Jim nodded in agreement, feeling that sharp pang again at the reminder of the loss of grownup Spock. And not just because his skills were irreplaceable and valuable to the ship.

“And how are you doin', laddie?” Scotty asked Spock.

“I am in standard health, sir,” Spock answered dutifully.

“And is the Captain takin' good care of ye?“ asked Scotty, with a teasing look at Jim. “Do I need to beat up him for ye?”

Jim gave him a narrow-eyed look.

“It‘s not too late for me to have you replaced with Keenser!” Jim said, as he mock threatened Scotty with a fist.

Scotty smirked at him, his eyes glittering with delight at the chance to tease his captain.

“Jim’s care is more than adequate,” said Spock, in answer. His expression was solemn.

“Only adequate?” asked Jim, giving Spock a faintly hurt look.

“More than adequate,” corrected Spock, his face still calm though there was faint twitch at the corner of his lips that delighted Jim.

“That‘s good to hear, laddie,” said Scotty. He took another huge bite of his sandwich.

Then a weird high pitched trill came from Scotty, originating from the below the table and around Scotty’s abdomen.

Jim leaned over. “Scotty, I know you‘re hungry, but I have never heard that kind of stomach rumble before. I think you should stop by sickbay and get yourself checked out.”

“Oi! I nearly forgot the bugger,” said Scotty as put the sub down for the first time since he sat at the table to eat it and reached down.

Jim watched with interest as Scotty pulled out a fuzzy, rather squashed looking brown tribble into view.

“Had the critter tucked under my shirt. Nearly forgot about ‘im,” continued Scotty. He handed him over to Spock. “I stopped by my room and got ‘im for the wee laddie.”

Spock raised his hand up and palm out. Scotty set the tribble in the cradle of his hand.

Jim raised his eyebrows at this.

“Figured the laddie could use a playmate. Tribbles have a soothin' affect on humanoids. I thought it could help with agein’ 'im up,” explained Scotty.

Jim was rather pleased at this. It was amazing that the crew were all helping, in their own ways, with the task of making Spock happy. That even as busy as Scotty had to be with keeping the Enterprise’s engines healthy, he still had time to think of Spock too.

The furry ball trilled again and wiggled in Spock’s hand.

Spock stared down at it in fascination, then slowly began to pet it with soft gentle strokes across the top of the tribble.

Its trill was now lower in pitch, nearly a purr. And the faint pleasure that spread across Spock’s face made a rather warm glow settle into Jim’s chest.

Scotty looked satisfied at Spock‘s reaction. “Thought so.”

Jim shot Scotty an approving smile.

Scotty took yet another bite of his sub. “Well Captain, I am afraid that I got to get back to Engineering before someone tries to fit a flux regulator where it does not belong. Ye know how they get without me there to crack the whip.”

Jim nodded at him. “Thanks for the update, Scotty. Com me once you get more information on that part and where in the hell it came from.”

“Aye, sir,” Scotty wrapped the last half of the sandwich in the paper wrapper it had come in, and tucked it under his arm. He gave them both a final nod before he left the table, dropped his tray in the recycler and headed back out the door.

Jim turned back to Spock who was still petting the tribble but also looking back up. Jim noted with interest that his clothes were tighter on him. Even the sleeves of the leather jackets were exposing more of his slender wrists to the air, than they had before Scotty had joined them at the table.

“How old are you now?” Jim asked.

“I am 7 years, 2 months, 1 week and 3.11 days,” said Spock promptly.

Seven years, Jim thought. It won’t be long before he’s ten.

“This is an interesting animal. What is its classification? I have never seen one before,” said Spock.

“It‘s called a tribble,” answered Jim. “They‘ve been around for about a decade. They‘re friendly,” then he added jokingly, “though you must never get it wet or feed one after midnight.”

The serious expression on Spock’s face told Jim that his joke had gone right over the boy’s head.

“At what time would it be considered past midnight on a starship?” asked Spock, his tone puzzled.

“I was just kidding, Spock. It‘s a classic movie reference,” explained Jim. Mentally he added watching a ton of old Earth movies to his list of activities to do with Spock. They may not necessarily make him happy, but watching those antiques will certainly fill in a gap in Spock’s education that his first round of learning had missed.

“Though, about the feeding, not so much,” Jim continued. “Tribbles are born pregnant. If they are fed too much they start to multiply at a crazy fast rate. Some planet have ever forbidden them and labeled them as pests.”

Spock nodded, “Very well.” He still looked pleased with the tribble.

“Lets stop by your quarters and get you a change of clothes. I don‘t think what you‘re currently wearing will last you too long at the rate you‘re growing,” Jim said, as he stood up.

Spock agreed. He turned to follow Jim, still holding onto the tribble but he only made it two steps when he stumbled.

The tiny pained noise he let loose made Jim glance back at him sharply. He froze and took a step towards him, “Spock, what‘s wrong?”

Spock’s face looked as if all the blood had drained from it. Pale and shocked. It made his wide brown eyes all the darker.

“T‘Pring,” gasped Spock, then his eyes rolled back in his head.

Jim moved and caught him just before he hit the floor. The tribble landed on the deck with a startled warble. Jim ignored it.

“Spock! Spock!”

But the kid didn’t response. He just shivered once, a tremor that went from head to foot, before he went frighteningly limp.

The mess was loud as crew members jumped to their feet in alarm and shouting questions.

Jim pointed at an ensign. He shouted, “You! Call sickbay!”

The ensign didn’t even acknowledge and just leapt for the com. He yelled urgently, “Medical emergency in the mess hall! Medical emergency in the mess hall!”

Jim’s heart was pounding away and he was grateful that all his training let him keep a cool head as he carefully laid Spock onto the deck, checking his breathing, and his heartbeat.

It thrummed away at its usual pace, at a speed that was faster than a human's, beneath Jim’s fingers were he had them pressed to Spock’s neck.

“Oh thank god,” Jim said, as he sighed in relief at the feel of it. He couldn’t be certain without a medical scanner, but it felt worriedly slow. It was just so hard to tell with Vulcans. Their hearts didn’t have easily discernable beats like human hearts.

“Captain.”

Jim looked up to see the worried face of Nurse Chapel as she leaned over them. She’d been in the mess and was the first to react.

“Let me help,” she said urgently.

“Go on, nurse,” he agreed. It took a lot of self-control to pull himself away and let her take over.

He hovered next to her as she worked, his mind racing trying to discover what had happened.

Spock had said something.

T’Pring. That’s a Vulcan name. A feminine name. Jim thought. But it didn’t sound familiar at all. He’d never heard Spock mention anyone named T’Pring before.

“Sir, he‘s in shock,” said Chapel.

“How?” Jim asked. “We were just eating. Nothing we ate would trigger this in a Vulcan.”

Before she could answer to her own confusion, the medical response team burst in. Jim took another step away to leave them room to work while Chapel quickly updated the emergency medics about Spock’s condition.

Tricorders beeped in the now too silent mess hall. Everyone watched, some with grim expressions while others' faces were stunned.

Jim kept himself still and calm, though he wanted nothing more than to yell some answers out of somebody. That wouldn’t do anyone any good, no matter how much better it would make him feel.

“Heartbeat is within normal parameters,” murmured a medic.

“Neural activity is high but dropping,” said the second medic. “We need to get him to the medical bay for deeper scans.”

The medics quickly determined that it was safe to move Spock and they loaded the boy onto a stretcher. Everyone got out of their way as they carefully carried Spock out of the mess.

Jim stopped by the com and opened a line to the bridge.

“This is the captain. Order Dr. McCoy to return to the Enterprise and to the medical bay as soon as possible,” he ordered swiftly. He didn’t even wait for the acknowledging ‘aye’ before he ran out.

He had promised Spock he wouldn’t leave him alone. He wasn’t going to break his promise to the kid within twenty-fours hours of making it.

There was no room for him in the turbolift, so he ran to the second nearest one. He hit the same emergency override the medics would have used to get him directly to the medical bay’s deck without a single stop.

When the lift doors opened to let him out, he ran.
*-*-*-*

First thing Jim did after he reached the medical bay was to tuck himself out of the way of the doctors and nurses who were rushing about. The second thing he did was mentally run over every curse word he knew, in every language he knew. It took several minutes before he started to repeat himself. The third thing he did was very carefully keep himself from shaking, or yelling for answers, the young doctor in charge of Spock.

The doctor, named M’Benga, had just been recently snatched up by Bones from a medical base and Jim trusted he had to be very good at his job for Bones to want him so badly. Jim remembered how much Bones had gloated when the approval for the transfer had come through as the young doctor had an expertise in Vulcan physiology from working in a Vulcan hospital during his residency. Apparently, there had been another CMO who’d wanted M’Benga and Bones had won the right to recruit him in a game of poker.

Jim had teased Bones for days that it was his concern for Spock’s health that had made him seek out the young doctor for his medical bay. McCoy insisted that it had nothing to do with the pointy-eared bastard, it was just that M’Benga was a genius in with multiple degrees that rounded out the fields of expertise of his doctors.

Jim knew that M’Benga was the best possible person to treat Spock. It didn’t stop him from wishing that Bones was in his place. As if in answer to his silent desire for his best friend, McCoy walked into sickbay.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded.

“Bones!” Jim called, incalculably relieved.

“Jim! Why‘d you call me -” McCoy cut himself off as he saw Spock. The boy looked paler and smaller than he should, flat on his back on the bio-bed. “Oh, damn.” he said softly. “Goddamn, what happened to him?”

“I don‘t know,” Jim said tightly. “He just fell over.”

“M‘Benga, what‘s his status?” demanded McCoy stepping next to the young man.

“Doctor McCoy, Mr. Spock’s vitals are strong,” said M’Benga, his voice a soft rumble. “His neural scans show a drop in the activity of his neural transmitters in his brain.”

“What‘s the cause?” asked McCoy, leaning over to look swiftly over the readout of the biobed.

Jim bit his lower lip to keep in his own line of questioning.

“From the scans, I‘d say his gone into telepathic shock. Mind shock as some call it,” answered M’Benga.

“What?!” yelped Jim, unable to hold back. “From what? He wasn’t even touching anyone at the time!”

“Touch wouldn’t be necessary, captain. Sir, I‘d say it was the result of a broken mental link,” said M’Benga.

McCoy frowned. “I agree. I saw similar readings from the Vulcans following the planet’s destruction. Sarek‘s readings, alone, were pretty severe.”

Jim choked back his protest. Spock was still unconscious. It wasn’t like he could hear what they were saying.

“But Spock‘s own reaction wasn‘t nearly this strong at the time,” said McCoy, in confusion. “He certainly didn‘t fall unconscious. That I wouldn‘t have missed or forgotten about that‘s for damn sure.”

“I do have theory about that, sir,” said M’Benga. “His youth, as well as his lack of his older memories pretty much indicate that the mental training that Spock had later in life is no longer available to him. So, the loss of the mental link would have had that much greater impact without those mental tools to soften the blow.”

McCoy and Jim frowned at this.

“He said the name T‘Pring, just before he fell over,” Jim volunteered. “It‘s a name that he‘s never mentioned before.”

“It‘s not in his medical records that he had a link to anyone by that name, either,” said McCoy.

“It‘s doubtful that it would be, sir,” said M’Benga. “Vulcans consider it a private matter. Information is rarely released outside the family, or to Vulcan healers.”

Both McCoy and Jim gave him confused looks.

Doctor M’Benga didn’t sigh but he gave the impression that he rather wanted to.

“Vulcans, in order to survive certain biological necessities,” said M’Benga slowly, “chose to pair off their children at the age of seven in mental links that eventually grow into mental bonds - marriage bonds. These mental connections are what that bring the pair together at the appropriate time.”

“Age seven,” Jim said. “Spock had jumped to age seven shortly before he collapsed.”

M’Benga nodded in acknowledgement. “Then that sounds like that‘s what happened.”

“Will he wake up on his own?” asked Jim, his voice tight with hope.

“If we had a Vulcan healer aboard we could wake Mr. Spock up right now,” said M’Benga. “But because we don‘t have one, we‘ll need to wait for him to come out of it. His neural readings will stabilize shortly as he gets over the shock of the sudden loss of the mental link. He‘ll wake up after that happens which should be in a couple of hours.”

Jim breathed out in overwhelming relief. Muscles that had been knotted in tension finally loosened in relaxation.

“Thank God,” said McCoy. “I swear the kid is making me gray before my time. And here I thought it would be you who did that to me, Jim.”

Jim shot him an annoyed look, still not feeling like joking around.

McCoy shook his head in silent apology.

“Thank you, Doctor M‘Benga,” Jim said.

The young doctor smiled at his captain and nodded before he left McCoy and Jim alone at the foot of Spock‘s bio-bed.

“He gave you quite a scare didn‘t he, Jim?” McCoy asked softly.

Jim gave him a weak smile. “I don‘t think that my heart started beating again until I heard he‘d be alright.”

They both looked down at Spock. The color had come back into his face and he now looked like he was sleeping though he still looked strained.

“Kids will do that to you,” said McCoy, his voice heavy with understanding.

Jim just nodded in agreement.

“Come on, Jim. You look like you need a break. We‘ll stay in my office, I‘ll brief you on what‘s gone down on the planet since the last update and you can watch me drink some of that Saurian brandy I‘ve been saving,” said McCoy.

“Watch you?” Jim grumbled. “You‘re not going to give me any? That hurts Bones.”

“Not as bad as it‘ll hurt you if you drink alcohol with your liver recovering,” scolded McCoy.

Jim followed McCoy into the office and sat across from his desk. The angle was perfect for him to still keep an eye out on Spock through the transparent aluminum wall. McCoy messed around with a series of bottles, making clinking noises until he pulled out his bottle of Saurian brandy and crystal tumbler.

“Ah, now we’re talking,” said McCoy, in satisfaction. “This is the good stuff.”

Jim made a face at him. “If you‘re going to drink, go ahead. Just don‘t gloat at me. My doctor is cruel and refuses to let me have a drop.”

“Too bad, your doctor sounds like a real hardass,” said McCoy with a smirk.

Jim smiled amused at last by that line. “That he is but he's also the best doctor in all the Federation.”

McCoy raised his tumbler up to toast this statement, then took a swallow of his drink, his eyes closing in pleasure. His delighted sigh was like twisting the knife.

“Okay! Okay! I get it. It‘s good,” said Jim as he made a face of irritated disgust at McCoy. “Cut it out already.”

McCoy smirked and took another drink, this time without the theatrics.

“Now, tell me what you know,” demanded Jim.

“It ain‘t much I‘m afraid,” admitted McCoy.

“How about you start as to why you think you can‘t provide a cure?” asked Jim.

“That‘s easy enough. The problem - at least from what was able to get from all the technical mumbo jumbo that Kret and Keenser were exchanging,” said McCoy, “is that the technology that makes up the Cub Sphere is similar to transporter technology than anything else we have in the Federation.”

Jim blinked. “Transporters? Really?”

McCoy nodded and added a grumbling, “I knew those things couldn‘t be trusted.”

“Please, not the transporters are the sign of the Apocalypse speech again,” groaned Jim. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Not that my asking will actually stop you. Even if I made it an order.”

“If God meant to us to scatter ourselves into a trillion tiny pieces then he wouldn’t have made us whole in the first place,” argued McCoy. “It goes against the laws of nature!”

“But not against the laws of physics,” teased Jim. “Give it up. You‘re not going to change the acceptance of transporters all on your own.”

“No, but I can give it a good try,” scowled McCoy.

“Excuse me, Doctor, Captain,” said a female voice.

They both turned to see Nurse Chapel standing at the office door. She held up the tribble that Jim had left forgotten in the mess. “I believe this is yours.”

“Technically, it belongs to Mr. Scott,” Jim said. “But I think Spock is going to want it back when he wakes up.”

“Why don‘t you put it by him, nurse,” said McCoy. “It won‘t interfere with the scanners and it‘s soothing effects could help the kid.”

“Yes, doctor,” said Chapel.

They watched her stop by the bio-bed and gently tuck the tribble against Spock’s side. They couldn’t hear it trill but they could see the tribble wiggle in delight at its new location.

Hopefully some of its happiness will seep through to Spock, Jim silently hoped. Until Spock woke up again, there was nothing more than Jim could do for him, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

TBC in [Part Five]

a/n: I‘m so mean to no-longer-staying-so-tiny!Spock. D=
ETA: Nearly forgot, for those who've never seen Gremlins, the movie reference. Water: Made mogways multiply asexually. Food after midnight: turned them into evil gremlins. =D