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“Hnng’SHIEW!”
Uhura rocketed out of her deep slumber. What the hell was that? It sounded like a damn explosion right next to her ear. Whatever it was, it left her ears ringing, no doubt thanks to her “exceptional aural sensitivity.”
Then she heard the sniffling. Thick, congested, garbled sniffling, coming from the Vulcan next to her.
“Spock?” She gave a tentative whisper. She shifted onto her side, draping an arm over the man-shaped lump under the covers. He was trembling. “Spock, are you awake?”
“I… apologize for waking you, Nyota,” the Vulcan said through chattering teeth. Was he… shivering? “Please, go back to sleep.” His voice, the normally smooth and sensual tenor, had been reduced to a froggy, nasaly rasp. Uhura could hear the inflammation in his larynx.
“Are you feeling okay?” She prompted, slipping a hand underneath the covers and caressing Spock’s bare chest. He felt warm. Too warm. Feverish even. Her hand traveled up to his cheeks, then his forehead. Definitely feverish. Since when do Vulcans run a temperature? Or, half-Vulcans for that matter?
“I am aware that my core body temperature is elevated,” he croaked. “Unfortunately I have been unable to remedy the situation with traditional Vulcan meditation.” He suddenly drew in a ragged breath, lungs rattling, and doubled over with a fit of hacking coughs. She sat up with him to place a steadying hand on his back, which was covered in a sheen of sick sweat.
“Lights, 30%,” she commanded. Now she could see the faint green flush on his cheeks and nose. Somehow, he had grown paler than usual. Even his normally immaculate and shiny hair had lost its sheen, now resembling a dark and deflated tribble resting atop his head. “Do you feel okay?”
“I do not feel, Nyota.” He swiped at his running nose with the back of his hand.
She fought back the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, you do. Now come on, do you feel sick?” She knew the answer already, but getting Spock to admit it was a whole other battle.
Spock swallowed, grimacing. Despite the lack of expression, Uhura could sense the discomfort radiating from her boyfriend. Maybe I should’ve approached a little more delicately. Everyone in the galaxy knew the relationship between Vulcans and their feelings: stronger than that of a human, but repressed in the name of logic. Spock was no different. His human half only served to deepen the tension.
“I do admit to discomfort in my nose, throat, and chest.”
Well, that’s the most I’m gonna get out of him. “Alright,” she sighed. “I’ll go get Dr. McCoy.” She pulled the comforter off herself and swung her legs over the bed. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A feverish hand.
“Don’t,” he pleaded. Pausing to hack out a few wet coughs, he continued. “Waking the doctor at this hour would be illogical. My symptoms are not severe enough to warrant medical attention.”
This time Uhura couldn’t help but roll her eyes. That was such a typical guy answer. And a typical Vulcan answer. “Seriously, Spock? You’re sick, I’m sure the doctor has a hypo or two that can make you feel better.” He shook his head, triggering a prolonged coughing fit that ended in him gasping for breath. “And maybe something for that cough.” Concern bled through her voice. In all the time they’d been dating, Spock had never come down with anything. Uhura had picked up a couple bugs, and Spock dutifully fulfilled the role of “doting nursemaid boyfriend.” Now, that onus fell upon her.
Leaving a tender kiss on Spock’s sweaty forehead, Uhura padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She kept a robust collection of teas from various planets. There had to be some kind of soothing variety. She scanned the boxes: nothing Vulcan. But, one variety caught her eye: Cardassian Cold-Stopper. That’s as good as any, I guess. With a click, she set the electric kettle to boil.
The sound of an indulgent sneeze shot from the bedroom. Then another. And a third. And finally, an uncharacteristically pathetic moan of, “Nyota.”
She found Spock curled into a desperately tight ball, shivering and grasping the covers with all the strength he had left. The sight of the proud Vulcan reduced to such a state made her heart ache. “Cold?” She asked.
Spock managed to summon an annoyed glare. “I would think the answer to that question is apparent.” Normally, Uhura wouldn’t let that kind of attitude slide. But the poor guy was obviously lousy, she could forgive him for snapping. Instead, she crossed to her closet and pulled out an old, oversized red sweatshirt she’d gotten back in her Academy days. It was too big for her, but maybe it would fit her boyfriend.
“Here,” she hummed, prompting Spock to sit up. With gentle guidance, she eased the sweatshirt over his head, helped him place his arms in the sleeves. Seeing him in Operations Division red was borderline unnerving. As a last gesture, she raised the hood up, being sure to tuck in his (adorably) pointed ears. “Is that better?”
Spock took a moment to ponder, and cough a few times for good measure. “Yes. Thank you, Nyota.” He drew his hands up into the sleeves and curled up again. The bleary caul over his eyes was deepening; exhaustion was creeping in. Uhura ran a hand down his cheek, slow and light, treasuring the way he leaned into the touch like a kitten. Spock’s eyes fluttered shut for just a second, and Uhura could swear she heard him purr. She really did love him. His graceful command of the Bridge, vast intellect, and handsome, sharp features… It was a love that hurt, because the deepest part of her knew that she loved someone who wouldn’t love her back. He could, but he wouldn’t.
Back in the kitchen, the kettle dinged. “Oh,” she gasped, having forgotten the tea she was making. “Be right back, honey.” Spock only nodded as his Vulcan eyebrows drew together and his nose crinkled, before letting loose a thunderous sneeze that he muffled into the sleeve of his girlfriend’s sweatshirt.
As soon as the tea hit the teabag, a powerful cloud of spiced aromas erupted from the mug. Uhura herself couldn’t help but sneeze at the hints of pepper, cinnamon, and chai. This will clear out his sinuses, that’s for sure. Holding the mug out at an arm’s length, she plodded back into the bedroom once again.
Spock used his elbows to prop himself up. “What are you carrying?” He asked, eyes following the steaming mug.
“Tea.” She held it out to him, before adding, “Careful, it’s hot.”
“Tea?” He quirked an eyebrow up, accepting the mug. “Tea is composed almost entirely of water and can hardly be considered medicinal.” He looked down at the liquid with suspicion etched into his features. The plumes of steam made his nose run even more and he sniffled uncontrollably.
“Trust me, it’ll help ease your congestion. Speaking of…” she ducked back to her dresser to snatch the box of tissues, which she plopped onto the bed next to Spock. He took one with his free hand to dab at the moisture dripping from his nose before tucking it into the pocket of the sweatshirt. He nodded his thanks.
Uhura settled back into the bed, pulling the comforter up and snuggling up close to her boyfriend.
He tensed. “I caution you against close contact,” he rasped. He set the tea back down on the nightstand. “There is a distinct chance I am contagious and that you are susceptible.”
She ignored his warning, instead wriggling closer to him. Even without a fever, he was always so warm, skin so soft. One hand slipped underneath the sweatshirt to trace wide circles across his abdomen. The muscles were ever so evident, delectably so.
“Willfully exposing oneself to infectious agents is most i- ill-” His eyes wrenched shut and his breaths came in stuttering gasps. Lips and nose curled, he hitched another half-dozen or so times before erupting in the loudest, most mucus-y sneeze yet. Most if it he managed to contain behind a fresh tissue. The rest sprayed forward in a mist of snot and spit.
“Oh dear,” he mumbled. A seafoam green flush bloomed across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I’b sorry, that was a rather disgustibg disblay.” He stoppered his nose with his sleeve.
Uhura offered a sympathetic chuckle. “It’s okay, babe.” With an arm draped across Spock’s slumped shoulders, she tousled his hair. She dipped her head down until her ear was level with his heart, just below his ribcage. She listened to the organ trill, pumping the green blood through his ailing body. Funny, she thought. The heart, the organ of love, of passion and impulsivity. Everything the Vulcans want to purge from themselves. And yet, here it is, mere inches from my human heart. My heart, that loves his. And his, that he won’t let love mine. Her grip around Spock tightened.
She both heard and felt his rapid heartbeat begin to slow. It diminished from a rapid thundering pulse to a steady allegro. Alarmed, she sat up to check on him.
But he was already asleep, breathing through his parted lips and snoring ever so softly.
She put her ear back to his chest and fell asleep to the rhythm of his Vulcan heart.