[Prompt] A Very Old Human Need - 977
Prompt: “Having someone wonder where you are when you don't come home at night is a very old human need.” -Margaret Mead
Rating: PG
Summary: Jim and Bones have been worrying.
A/N: Open!Verse. Boys being a bit sappy.
The first thing he noticed about his Captain were the dark circles under his eyes, illuminating their red coloring sharply. Despite the exhaustion lining his face, Jim moved forward quickly, pushed by a burst of adrenaline, catching Spock by the elbows and hauling him to his feet with strength he could not spare. Calloused fingers fluttered their way across green and black bruises, causing little shivers of pain to course over his skin. As soon as he seemed to have a mind again, he threw his shoulder under Spock’s arm, supporting the Vulcan as they limped together out of the cell. “Scotty,” was all Jim managed to say into the communicator, but it was all that what was needed; Spock felt the coolness of the transporter disassemble his molecules, and for a single blissful moment the pain disappeared along with existence. Then he was heavy against his Captain again and McCoy was at their side, cussing like a sailor. He noticed that the doctor’s eyes were red, too, and wondered when the last time anyone had slept.
The trip to sick bay was a blur, but the world started to regain focus after a few rapid shots. McCoy was still calling him objectionable names, but his touch was gentle, continually tilting the Vulcan’s chin up to look him in the eye. He became aware of the beeping of the scanners above him, angrily informing them that his vitals were not evening out. McCoy started to curse at the machine, as well, and then proceeded to insulting the genetics of the entire Vulcan race. Spock started to protest, an impulsive comment attempting to pass his lips, but it died in his throat. His attempts were rewarded with more shots, and a disgusting tasting liquid poured down his throat. It burned its way down, causing him to cough, but the doctor held him by one shoulder, the other hand patting his back until the spasms ceased.
“Well, lookie there, you’re looking a little greener already,” McCoy murmured, easing him back down into a lying position. The second his head hit the pillow, the doctor leaned against the bed himself, his shoulders slumping. He watched the machine again, which was still protesting Spock’s readings. “Looking as good as you ever get.” He patted the Vulcan’s arm shoulder absently. “I’d better go tell Jim before he busts down my door.” It took him a few moments to find the energy, but eventually he pushed himself upright and headed for the door. Spock fought his own exhaustion, trying to keep his blinking from becoming permanent closure.
“He’s had a rough time of it, Jim, he needs sleep, not you hanging over him-“ Jim was in the room suddenly, startling his muggy mind into focus. McCoy followed after him, an irritated scowl on his face. The Captain ignored him, placing a hand onto Spock’s shoulder, a small smile crossing his face.
“Hey there.” Spock managed to find his ability to speak after a few more tries. His voice sounded hoarse and fragile to his own ears, but at least it was functioning.
“Captain.” He took a deep breath, swallowing. “Do tell the doctor that I believe he should take his own advice. As should you.” There was a snort of laughter from Jim, who squeezed his shoulder tighter.
“Couldn’t until I knew you were alright.” Jim’s smile tightened, as if he were forcing it to stay on his face. “You’ve been gone for sixty-two hours, you know.”
“Do not tell me that you have not rested in that entire period.” Just like Jim, to be that unreasonable.
“He hasn’t,” McCoy muttered from behind the Captain’s shoulder. Jim snorted again.
“You can’t talk, Bones. You haven’t either.” Spock could imagine the scowl on the older man’s face, even though his view was obscured.
“Somebody had to take care of you,” was the snapped response.
“And somebody had to look for Spock.”
“You both should have taken time to rest,” Spock announced, silencing them both, at least for a few seconds. “Your exhaustion could have easily hindered you.” McCoy’s face appeared from around Jim, sharp blue eyes glaring at the Vulcan.
“Like anybody could get any sleep with you randomly disappearing on us in the middle of a fight.” Jim put his free hand on his other friend’s arm, squeezing the both of them.
“What he means was that we were worried about you, Spock,” Jim said, his voice softer than its wont.
“It is doubtful your anxiety helped the situation.” The answer was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to any superfluous emotion, but something hidden inside him warmed at the thought that both men had been driven to worry about him to the point of neglecting sleep. He tried to push it away, but it refused to go. He realized that Jim was laughing, his hand moving to brush the Vulcan’s hair away from his forehead, drying the sweat.
“You never change,” he told him with something like fondness in his voice. “Well, I guess we should sleep, huh, Bones?”
“Damn right,” the other man muttered, already heading for the door.
“My cabin’s far away,” Jim mentioned to no one in particular, though he gave Spock a smile. He kicked off his boots and flung himself onto the sickbed beside his first officer’s, throwing his arm across his eyes. He seemed about to say something, but his breathing was already slowing, and whatever it was was lost to sleep.
It was a few hours before Spock could trust that he could cross the space between their beds without further stress on his body, but once he could, he carefully slid the blanket from his bed and tucked it around his Captain’s sleeping form.
“Thank you, Jim.”
Rating: PG
Summary: Jim and Bones have been worrying.
A/N: Open!Verse. Boys being a bit sappy.
The first thing he noticed about his Captain were the dark circles under his eyes, illuminating their red coloring sharply. Despite the exhaustion lining his face, Jim moved forward quickly, pushed by a burst of adrenaline, catching Spock by the elbows and hauling him to his feet with strength he could not spare. Calloused fingers fluttered their way across green and black bruises, causing little shivers of pain to course over his skin. As soon as he seemed to have a mind again, he threw his shoulder under Spock’s arm, supporting the Vulcan as they limped together out of the cell. “Scotty,” was all Jim managed to say into the communicator, but it was all that what was needed; Spock felt the coolness of the transporter disassemble his molecules, and for a single blissful moment the pain disappeared along with existence. Then he was heavy against his Captain again and McCoy was at their side, cussing like a sailor. He noticed that the doctor’s eyes were red, too, and wondered when the last time anyone had slept.
The trip to sick bay was a blur, but the world started to regain focus after a few rapid shots. McCoy was still calling him objectionable names, but his touch was gentle, continually tilting the Vulcan’s chin up to look him in the eye. He became aware of the beeping of the scanners above him, angrily informing them that his vitals were not evening out. McCoy started to curse at the machine, as well, and then proceeded to insulting the genetics of the entire Vulcan race. Spock started to protest, an impulsive comment attempting to pass his lips, but it died in his throat. His attempts were rewarded with more shots, and a disgusting tasting liquid poured down his throat. It burned its way down, causing him to cough, but the doctor held him by one shoulder, the other hand patting his back until the spasms ceased.
“Well, lookie there, you’re looking a little greener already,” McCoy murmured, easing him back down into a lying position. The second his head hit the pillow, the doctor leaned against the bed himself, his shoulders slumping. He watched the machine again, which was still protesting Spock’s readings. “Looking as good as you ever get.” He patted the Vulcan’s arm shoulder absently. “I’d better go tell Jim before he busts down my door.” It took him a few moments to find the energy, but eventually he pushed himself upright and headed for the door. Spock fought his own exhaustion, trying to keep his blinking from becoming permanent closure.
“He’s had a rough time of it, Jim, he needs sleep, not you hanging over him-“ Jim was in the room suddenly, startling his muggy mind into focus. McCoy followed after him, an irritated scowl on his face. The Captain ignored him, placing a hand onto Spock’s shoulder, a small smile crossing his face.
“Hey there.” Spock managed to find his ability to speak after a few more tries. His voice sounded hoarse and fragile to his own ears, but at least it was functioning.
“Captain.” He took a deep breath, swallowing. “Do tell the doctor that I believe he should take his own advice. As should you.” There was a snort of laughter from Jim, who squeezed his shoulder tighter.
“Couldn’t until I knew you were alright.” Jim’s smile tightened, as if he were forcing it to stay on his face. “You’ve been gone for sixty-two hours, you know.”
“Do not tell me that you have not rested in that entire period.” Just like Jim, to be that unreasonable.
“He hasn’t,” McCoy muttered from behind the Captain’s shoulder. Jim snorted again.
“You can’t talk, Bones. You haven’t either.” Spock could imagine the scowl on the older man’s face, even though his view was obscured.
“Somebody had to take care of you,” was the snapped response.
“And somebody had to look for Spock.”
“You both should have taken time to rest,” Spock announced, silencing them both, at least for a few seconds. “Your exhaustion could have easily hindered you.” McCoy’s face appeared from around Jim, sharp blue eyes glaring at the Vulcan.
“Like anybody could get any sleep with you randomly disappearing on us in the middle of a fight.” Jim put his free hand on his other friend’s arm, squeezing the both of them.
“What he means was that we were worried about you, Spock,” Jim said, his voice softer than its wont.
“It is doubtful your anxiety helped the situation.” The answer was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to any superfluous emotion, but something hidden inside him warmed at the thought that both men had been driven to worry about him to the point of neglecting sleep. He tried to push it away, but it refused to go. He realized that Jim was laughing, his hand moving to brush the Vulcan’s hair away from his forehead, drying the sweat.
“You never change,” he told him with something like fondness in his voice. “Well, I guess we should sleep, huh, Bones?”
“Damn right,” the other man muttered, already heading for the door.
“My cabin’s far away,” Jim mentioned to no one in particular, though he gave Spock a smile. He kicked off his boots and flung himself onto the sickbed beside his first officer’s, throwing his arm across his eyes. He seemed about to say something, but his breathing was already slowing, and whatever it was was lost to sleep.
It was a few hours before Spock could trust that he could cross the space between their beds without further stress on his body, but once he could, he carefully slid the blanket from his bed and tucked it around his Captain’s sleeping form.
“Thank you, Jim.”