Fic: Don't Eat the Leaves
Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series
Rating: G
Pairings: Kirk/Spock
Disclaimer: It should be obvious that I own nothing of this wonderful series.
Summary: Spock becomes ill while on an away mission. Thankfully Jim has a good bedside manner.
This was partially inspired by Bill Cosby’s ‘having a good time’ stand-up routine, and also JAMF's story Laid Low. The original thread for the kink meme is here: http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/7804.html?thread=21585532 and they now have an updated version of their story on fanfiction.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7961749/1/Laid-Low
Don’t Eat the Leaves
Spock had been to all his required etiquette and diplomacy classes during his time at Starfleet Academy and prided himself on remembering any and all important rules and regulations for a landing party. There was the Prime Directive of course, and putting some rules into practice had proven to be easier said then done. For instance there was talk of changing uniform colours as field work revealed that a high concentration of deaths and injuries were resulting in crewmembers who wore red. The rules of dining had remained constant though: always work from the outside in with human cutlery, Deltans wished you to put the napkin in the collar of your shirt not your lap, Elasians prefer you to eat with your fingers. Most important of all however was: unless you have reason to suspect hostile intentions, you eat whatever is put in front of you.
This is indeed exactly what Spock did when a plate of brown and grey leaves, that looked like they had spent a week crumpled up in a box somewhere, drowning in a thick purple sauce was presented to him during an away mission dinner. He could not rebuff the Alarians’ hospitality. They had been generous enough to provide a vegetarian meal while the planet was largely carnivorous by nature after all. As he tasted the food though he began to think it would have been preferable to go hungry. The leaves somehow managed to be dry and slimy simultaneously and he was unsure how they had managed to make the sauce taste…fuzzy. Still he finished the majority of it while listening to generic conversation and was very glad when the plate was taken.
As they got up from the table Spock felt like the food had settled into a hard lump in his stomach. The tables were cleared from the room to make room for the after dinner entertainment. As it began he could feel sweat beginning to collect on his forehead. Strange. The room was not uncomfortably warm. He moved away from the wall wondering if he was standing too close to a heating unit of some kind.
An hour later the sweating had not abated nor had the pain in his stomach, and in fact they had been joined by another symptom, a presence of excessive salvia. Any one of those symptoms by themselves Spock would have put down as annoyances and used his years of Vulcan training to ignore. All of those symptoms combined however meant one thing, he had to get out of the dining hall and quickly.
“Mr. Spock, just the man I was looking for.”
Spock turned as Jim Kirk weaved his way through the crowds, one of the delegates walking next to him.
“We’ve been discussing a topic that could use your scientific expertise.”
“I’m afraid I must decline, Captain. There is an important matter I need to attend to back on the ship.”
“Oh, what matter is that, Mr. Spock?”
“A very pressing matter, Captain,” was the stiff reply Jim got as Spock stalked off. Well, Jim thought, that was…rather rude. There was no pressing business that he was aware of. The Enterprise had not contacted them with any distress or any news from Starfleet and the mission was going smoothly, what on Earth was Spock talking about? Jim too excused himself for a moment and stepped into the hallway. Pulling out his communicator he called his ship asking whether Mr. Spock had informed them of why he had come back onboard, only to be informed himself that Spock had never contacted them.
***
Further down the hallway Spock had just reached for his communicator when his body informed him that he wasn’t going to make it that long. Instead he walked as quickly as his dignity allowed to their temporary quarters.
The moment the door to the room closed he dispensed with all composure and dashed into the small bathroom. He didn’t even register the pain as his knees hit the tile floor in front of the toilet and his body worked hard to purge itself of the offending substance. His stomach felt as though it was twisting itself in knots and Spock wanted nothing more than for it to be over.
When the vomiting had finally stopped Spock sat back against the bathtub on the opposite wall, breathing hard, and tried to collect himself. Attempting to deduce what would make him so ill so quickly. The chances of him being poisoned were low. If they wished to incapacitate the landing party the Alarians would have targeted Jim and they would have done it much earlier. The more likely situation was that the Alarians, unaware that there were more dietary restrictions for him other than simply ‘Vulcans do no eat meat’, had given him something his body could not handle resulting in a bad case of food poisoning. A most unfortunate turn of events. The nausea began to return and Spock started thinking that he should contact the Enterprise and report himself to sickbay. That he should try to take in fluids to prevent dehydration. Then his stomach twisted and a loud voice drowned out those other thoughts as it announced that it was better to be sick in the toilet than on the bathroom floor and he lunged for the bowl as his stomach emptied its contents again.
When that wave had stopped Spock leaned his head against the side of the bowl and in a haze of light-headedness thought that it wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if the food didn’t taste worse when coming back up as it had going down. It also wouldn’t have been so bad if the coolness of the bowl against his forehead didn’t indicate he was now running a fever. Or if the room didn’t feel as though the temperature had dropped several degrees making him chilled, and if his uniform was not soaked in sweat and clinging to his skin making the feeling worse. Finally, it would have been wonderful if fate didn’t know to kick him when he was down and have there be a knock at the door.
“Spock, are you in there?”
He did not answer opting instead to try and control his stomach muscles that were beginning to protest again. Unfortunately the floor decided it was made of liquid at that moment and kept sifting as Spock tried to focus on it
“Spock, please open the door.”
Out in the hallway Jim waited a few more minutes and then, tired of not getting a response, he opened the door himself and went inside.
Hoping to conceal himself before Jim was fully in the room Spock looked cautiously to the side to notice, with dismay, that unlike those on the Enterprise this bathroom did not appear to come with a door. And so it was that James Kirk found his usually fiercely composed first officer in a sweat covered heap on the bathroom floor.
“Spock!”
Spock closed his eyes, as Jim approached him and knelt down, trying to maintain the small trance he had now begun, unfortunately he did not succeed. He knew Jim obviously didn’t mean to make it worse, but his voice, filled with concern, as he asked him what was wrong and those hands on his shoulders were distracting and Spock lost the small amount of control he had managed to gain over his stomach, and tore himself from his t’hy’la’s comforting embrace to duck his face back into a place that was never built for it. At that point Spock wouldn’t have been surprised to his shoes come out of his mouth as he hunched over the bowl gagging; and retching; and feeling utterly humiliated.
Jim said nothing and just rubbed his back. When he was finished Jim got up and went to the sink filled a small cup on the counter with water and handed it to him.
“The food on this planet appears to disagree with me, Jim,” he said, and sipped the water slowly trying to scrape together the last shreds of his dignity.
“As usual, Mr. Spock, you have a gift for understatement,” Jim said, and reached for the communicator on his belt. “I’ll contact Bones.”
He flipped it open only to have Spock put his hand over it.
“The good doctor will no doubt wish to make comment on my Vulcan digestive system and dietary habits. I have no wish to hear them at this time.”
Jim nodded and put the communicator back. Bones did have a tendency to needle a little bit too much every now and then, and Spock should be all right on planet anyway. Food poisoning was usually not serious just very uncomfortable, and Jim knew that the fewer people Spock had to share that uncomfortable feeling with the better.
“Of course, Spock. Will you be all right if I leave for a moment?”
He nodded knowing that Jim had a mission here and could not ignore his duty for him. Jim left the bathroom and Spock let his body sink completely to the floor, letting the cool tile take some of the heat from his face.
His eyes snapped open fifteen minutes later when he heard Jim come back. He walked into the bathroom and sat down with a blanket, two mugs, and a wet cloth that he began gently moving over Spock’s face.
“Jim, you need not waste your evening here,” Spock said, sitting up properly, but making no move to stop Jim’s attempt at giving aid.
“I promised you in sickness and in health, Mister. You’re sick I’m here to help you feel better,” Jim answered, putting down the cloth and helping Spock out of his shirt before wrapping the blanket around him. Then he handed Spock one of the mugs.
Spock lifted an eyebrow at the carbonated concoction.
“I am not familiar with this beverage, Jim, may I ask what it is?”
“Ginger Ale, it helps settle your stomach; at least in humans. It should help you too.”
“Surprisingly it does seem to be having a positive effect.” Spock answered, as he slowly drank it down. “Thank you, Jim.”
Jim opened his mouth to tell him that he doesn’t need to thank him and then thinking better of it he just pulled Spock close to him letting his head rest against his chest.
“You’re welcome.”
The End
Rating: G
Pairings: Kirk/Spock
Disclaimer: It should be obvious that I own nothing of this wonderful series.
Summary: Spock becomes ill while on an away mission. Thankfully Jim has a good bedside manner.
This was partially inspired by Bill Cosby’s ‘having a good time’ stand-up routine, and also JAMF's story Laid Low. The original thread for the kink meme is here: http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/7804.html?thread=21585532 and they now have an updated version of their story on fanfiction.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7961749/1/Laid-Low
Don’t Eat the Leaves
Spock had been to all his required etiquette and diplomacy classes during his time at Starfleet Academy and prided himself on remembering any and all important rules and regulations for a landing party. There was the Prime Directive of course, and putting some rules into practice had proven to be easier said then done. For instance there was talk of changing uniform colours as field work revealed that a high concentration of deaths and injuries were resulting in crewmembers who wore red. The rules of dining had remained constant though: always work from the outside in with human cutlery, Deltans wished you to put the napkin in the collar of your shirt not your lap, Elasians prefer you to eat with your fingers. Most important of all however was: unless you have reason to suspect hostile intentions, you eat whatever is put in front of you.
This is indeed exactly what Spock did when a plate of brown and grey leaves, that looked like they had spent a week crumpled up in a box somewhere, drowning in a thick purple sauce was presented to him during an away mission dinner. He could not rebuff the Alarians’ hospitality. They had been generous enough to provide a vegetarian meal while the planet was largely carnivorous by nature after all. As he tasted the food though he began to think it would have been preferable to go hungry. The leaves somehow managed to be dry and slimy simultaneously and he was unsure how they had managed to make the sauce taste…fuzzy. Still he finished the majority of it while listening to generic conversation and was very glad when the plate was taken.
As they got up from the table Spock felt like the food had settled into a hard lump in his stomach. The tables were cleared from the room to make room for the after dinner entertainment. As it began he could feel sweat beginning to collect on his forehead. Strange. The room was not uncomfortably warm. He moved away from the wall wondering if he was standing too close to a heating unit of some kind.
An hour later the sweating had not abated nor had the pain in his stomach, and in fact they had been joined by another symptom, a presence of excessive salvia. Any one of those symptoms by themselves Spock would have put down as annoyances and used his years of Vulcan training to ignore. All of those symptoms combined however meant one thing, he had to get out of the dining hall and quickly.
“Mr. Spock, just the man I was looking for.”
Spock turned as Jim Kirk weaved his way through the crowds, one of the delegates walking next to him.
“We’ve been discussing a topic that could use your scientific expertise.”
“I’m afraid I must decline, Captain. There is an important matter I need to attend to back on the ship.”
“Oh, what matter is that, Mr. Spock?”
“A very pressing matter, Captain,” was the stiff reply Jim got as Spock stalked off. Well, Jim thought, that was…rather rude. There was no pressing business that he was aware of. The Enterprise had not contacted them with any distress or any news from Starfleet and the mission was going smoothly, what on Earth was Spock talking about? Jim too excused himself for a moment and stepped into the hallway. Pulling out his communicator he called his ship asking whether Mr. Spock had informed them of why he had come back onboard, only to be informed himself that Spock had never contacted them.
***
Further down the hallway Spock had just reached for his communicator when his body informed him that he wasn’t going to make it that long. Instead he walked as quickly as his dignity allowed to their temporary quarters.
The moment the door to the room closed he dispensed with all composure and dashed into the small bathroom. He didn’t even register the pain as his knees hit the tile floor in front of the toilet and his body worked hard to purge itself of the offending substance. His stomach felt as though it was twisting itself in knots and Spock wanted nothing more than for it to be over.
When the vomiting had finally stopped Spock sat back against the bathtub on the opposite wall, breathing hard, and tried to collect himself. Attempting to deduce what would make him so ill so quickly. The chances of him being poisoned were low. If they wished to incapacitate the landing party the Alarians would have targeted Jim and they would have done it much earlier. The more likely situation was that the Alarians, unaware that there were more dietary restrictions for him other than simply ‘Vulcans do no eat meat’, had given him something his body could not handle resulting in a bad case of food poisoning. A most unfortunate turn of events. The nausea began to return and Spock started thinking that he should contact the Enterprise and report himself to sickbay. That he should try to take in fluids to prevent dehydration. Then his stomach twisted and a loud voice drowned out those other thoughts as it announced that it was better to be sick in the toilet than on the bathroom floor and he lunged for the bowl as his stomach emptied its contents again.
When that wave had stopped Spock leaned his head against the side of the bowl and in a haze of light-headedness thought that it wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if the food didn’t taste worse when coming back up as it had going down. It also wouldn’t have been so bad if the coolness of the bowl against his forehead didn’t indicate he was now running a fever. Or if the room didn’t feel as though the temperature had dropped several degrees making him chilled, and if his uniform was not soaked in sweat and clinging to his skin making the feeling worse. Finally, it would have been wonderful if fate didn’t know to kick him when he was down and have there be a knock at the door.
“Spock, are you in there?”
He did not answer opting instead to try and control his stomach muscles that were beginning to protest again. Unfortunately the floor decided it was made of liquid at that moment and kept sifting as Spock tried to focus on it
“Spock, please open the door.”
Out in the hallway Jim waited a few more minutes and then, tired of not getting a response, he opened the door himself and went inside.
Hoping to conceal himself before Jim was fully in the room Spock looked cautiously to the side to notice, with dismay, that unlike those on the Enterprise this bathroom did not appear to come with a door. And so it was that James Kirk found his usually fiercely composed first officer in a sweat covered heap on the bathroom floor.
“Spock!”
Spock closed his eyes, as Jim approached him and knelt down, trying to maintain the small trance he had now begun, unfortunately he did not succeed. He knew Jim obviously didn’t mean to make it worse, but his voice, filled with concern, as he asked him what was wrong and those hands on his shoulders were distracting and Spock lost the small amount of control he had managed to gain over his stomach, and tore himself from his t’hy’la’s comforting embrace to duck his face back into a place that was never built for it. At that point Spock wouldn’t have been surprised to his shoes come out of his mouth as he hunched over the bowl gagging; and retching; and feeling utterly humiliated.
Jim said nothing and just rubbed his back. When he was finished Jim got up and went to the sink filled a small cup on the counter with water and handed it to him.
“The food on this planet appears to disagree with me, Jim,” he said, and sipped the water slowly trying to scrape together the last shreds of his dignity.
“As usual, Mr. Spock, you have a gift for understatement,” Jim said, and reached for the communicator on his belt. “I’ll contact Bones.”
He flipped it open only to have Spock put his hand over it.
“The good doctor will no doubt wish to make comment on my Vulcan digestive system and dietary habits. I have no wish to hear them at this time.”
Jim nodded and put the communicator back. Bones did have a tendency to needle a little bit too much every now and then, and Spock should be all right on planet anyway. Food poisoning was usually not serious just very uncomfortable, and Jim knew that the fewer people Spock had to share that uncomfortable feeling with the better.
“Of course, Spock. Will you be all right if I leave for a moment?”
He nodded knowing that Jim had a mission here and could not ignore his duty for him. Jim left the bathroom and Spock let his body sink completely to the floor, letting the cool tile take some of the heat from his face.
His eyes snapped open fifteen minutes later when he heard Jim come back. He walked into the bathroom and sat down with a blanket, two mugs, and a wet cloth that he began gently moving over Spock’s face.
“Jim, you need not waste your evening here,” Spock said, sitting up properly, but making no move to stop Jim’s attempt at giving aid.
“I promised you in sickness and in health, Mister. You’re sick I’m here to help you feel better,” Jim answered, putting down the cloth and helping Spock out of his shirt before wrapping the blanket around him. Then he handed Spock one of the mugs.
Spock lifted an eyebrow at the carbonated concoction.
“I am not familiar with this beverage, Jim, may I ask what it is?”
“Ginger Ale, it helps settle your stomach; at least in humans. It should help you too.”
“Surprisingly it does seem to be having a positive effect.” Spock answered, as he slowly drank it down. “Thank you, Jim.”
Jim opened his mouth to tell him that he doesn’t need to thank him and then thinking better of it he just pulled Spock close to him letting his head rest against his chest.
“You’re welcome.”
The End