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marlinswritingarchive · 1 year

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A Million Things To Want

The first attack comes without warning.

The away team are still on the surface, finishing up their investigations of the local flora. Tricorders whirr. Voices chatter.

One moment, they're commenting on the natural beauty of the planet, and, the next, they're bombarded by an avalanche of petals, branches, and pollen.

As the most battered member of the away team, Ensign Grenson is beamed up to sickbay as a matter of urgency. The rest of them remain standing in a mustard-yellow field, surrounded by the colorful, gaudy plants. They're still now, but the crew cower away from them warily. Flowers of every color cover the surface of Hspersa Prime, making it appear reddish-brown from orbit. From space, the planet had looked peaceful- but, up close, the illusion is broken.

There's a tear in Jim's shirt, and a gash in the skin beneath. He has two obvious cuts on his face: one above his eye, and one on his forehead, along with the beginnings of a bruise. Still, now that they're out of the field of sentient thistle, Jim assumes that the worst is over.

A botanist stands beside Spock. The two of them contrast their surroundings in their vibrant blue shirts.

“Sorry,” she says, as she plucks thorns from the thin material. “I led us straight into an ambush.”

“Don't worry about it,” Sulu says. “This isn't the first time we've been attacked by the local wildlife.” His left cheek is bright red, where he's been slapped by a flailing branch. "I'm surprised you're still in one piece, Captain.”

Jim chuckles, and coughs lightly. “I wondered that myself.” He coughs again. There's a slight tickle in his throat, and he massages it self-consciously. “Still- I can't be allergic to everything.”

Sulu laughs, but he's interrupted by Jim's coughing. In a matter of seconds, Jim is doubled over, clutching his side, then his stomach. There's a hand on his shoulder, the beep of a communicator, and a low pain in his chest, steadily building.

“Sulu to Enterprise-”

The whine of the transporters gets higher.

“- emergency beam up-!”

The world shimmers, and his ears ring with the sounds of it.

The next few seconds are ones of chaos, of blurred, familiar faces and colors. The cry of panicked voices- voices he recognizes: Nurse Chapel, then Bones.

“- There's something in his throat!”

The next thing he knows, he's in medbay, where everything is cool, and soft, and dark. The colors here are altogether more neutral: off-whites and pale, pastel blues, which soothe the throbbing in his head. The lights are kept dim, and he gets the feeling he's been in here for a while, though it seems like hardly a second has passed. Chapel is standing there covered in blood, and Bones is wearing matching scrubs.

There's a slight weight on Jim's forehead, and he looks up into a pair of brown eyes, dark with concern. The weight is comfortable yet overwhelming, the after-effects of a mind meld he doesn't remember. Then, Spock removes his hand, and Jim lets out a long, shaky breath.

“What…?” He tries to say, but it's nothing more than a squeak. He can't even be sure that he's spoken aloud, save for the fact that everyone is looking at him with the same, mute confusion. Chapel excuses herself with a polite grimace, tugging at the scrubs as she goes, and Bones leaves too, with a muttered promise to return.

Moments later, the doors open again, and Sulu runs in, with a flurry of 'is-he-alright-is-he-awake-yet?' and 'can-I-see-him-now?'

Something stirs within Jim's chest. He coughs, once, and Spock steps in front of him, as if to shield him from view.

Jim waves him back with a forced smile. “I'm alright. Come in.”

Truth be told, he's hardly alright- his mouth aches terribly and he can still taste the blood- but he feels undeniably bolstered now that the two of them are here. With a glance at his vitals, Sulu approaches him cautiously, and Jim tries not to speak much. His throat is still raw and aches terribly. Instead, he just pats Sulu on the arm and tries for a reassuring smile.

From the corner, Spock picks up a thin, reddish plant, which looks strikingly familiar. It had been sitting on a table at his bedside, and he's not sure why he hadn't noticed it until now- perhaps because he hadn't wanted to. Its leaves aren't particularly spiky, but they're sharp enough to cut someone in the right conditions. The plant appears to have been potted hastily, and fresh soil obscures the roots, but Jim can visualize them perfectly, despite never having seen them.

"Do you recognise this plant, Mr Sulu?" Spock asks.

Sulu blinks. "I, uh- yeah,” he swallows. "They're native to the planet; I took a sample of one. It's sitting in the lab right now, awaiting categorisation.”

Jim runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth. There are nicks and cuts in every groove. He tastes blood.

“What's your opinion on it?”

“I thought it was beautiful.” His eyes are locked on Jim.

“Your professional opinion, as a biologist.”

“Oh, right.” His mouth twitches. “Well, I haven't had the chance to analyse it yet, but I'd say it's unusual. The tricorder couldn't identify any known methods of passing on genetic information. However it reproduces, it's not through pollination.”

Spock nods. “That is consistent with data points from other wildlife on the planet.”

Jim's chest spasms, and he breathes uneasily. Please, not again.

“This plant…” Sulu reaches out to touch the silky petals with a frown. “I thought mine was the only sample on this ship. What was its origin?"

Spock sets it back on the table, and crosses his arms behind his back. "It came out of the captain."

Suddenly, Jim starts coughing violently, like he's hacking up a third lung. It happens exactly as it did before; but it's different this time, because he's conscious for it: for every contraction of his chest, and the way each leaf pokes his tongue and jabs at the roof of his mouth.

Sulu says something, but Jim can't hear it over the sound of his own choked sobs.

"- leave us, please, helmsman."

Sulu stays where he is.

"Leave." Spock's voice is a low growl.

For the second time today, Jim passes out.

A second plant sits next to the first: golden and beautiful, with red-tinted leaves. This plant came out much stronger than its predecessor, with better-defined pigmentation. The stems shine brightly in the light, so much so that Jim almost can't tear his eyes away.

Almost.

Jim’s room has been placed under a strict quarantine, and the only people allowed to visit him are medical officers and anyone who was down on the planet at the time he was infected.

Bones stands at the corner of the room, accompanied by the loud whir of a tricorder.

"The plant's growth-rate accelerated the moment Lieutenant Sulu entered the room," Spock informs him. His hand is still pressed to the stem of the plant. "For a moment, I could sense a connection with it."

"What are you saying?" Jim wheezes, through the tightness in his chest.

Bones turns and peers at him. "The disease appears to have a telepathic component."

Jim lies still. "Telepathic, as in…"

Spock's face is carefully neutral. "For reasons we can't yet explain- the plant is connected to Sulu, and has taken root in you."

His breath rattles, and he shakes his head. "That's impossible. That doesn't…" he touches his forehead. "That doesn't make any sense.”

"I know," Bones says, gruffly. "But other members of the away team have the same symptoms. Since we returned yesterday, Ensign Grenson has been coughing up daisies."

"Daisies," Jim repeats, with a kind of astonished numbness. "But that's… That's from home. Why is a telepathic virus from an alien planet causing us to-?" he stops, and spits a mouthful of red petals into his hand.

"Take it easy," Bones says. "You create new plants every time your adrenaline spikes."

Jim closes his fist, crushing the petals. "So, it creates a panic response?"

"I don't know," Bones admits. "But it seems to feed on heightened emotion, which could explain why it has yet to affect our Vulcan friend here."

Spock raises an eyebrow, and Jim gives a small smile, then unfurls his hand again. The soft petals are marred by flecks of his own blood, and he feels a distinct sense of unease. They seem small, harmless; hardly enough to hospitalise someone- and yet, here he is.

"The flower species which emerges may be calibrated to the genome of each host," Bones muses, though he doesn't sound convinced. “Or, it depends on the parasite.”

"Is it a virus, or a parasite?" Jim says, weakly.

"Both," Bones says, uncertainly. “It's difficult to define it, because…”

"What?"

"Because you don't have a parasite," he grumbles. “At least, not one I can find.”

Jim blinks at him. "Then why am I…?” His hand shakes a little, and his throat feels unnaturally tight. “What happens if you run your tests and Sulu doesn't have a parasite?”

"Then I'll need a new theory.”

Jim wheezes a little. "The only other members of the away team- aside from us- were Jarren, Rueld, Sulu and Begum." He says, tightly. "Did one of us make Grenson sick?"

"No," Spock says, from across the room. "That part is less clear. It is likely that the... daisies… are being dictated by some other crewmember- most likely one who was infected on-board, before the ship-wide quarantine was introduced."

"It should make it easier to find the perpetrator… Though, just to rule it out- you don't happen to like daisies, do you?" Bones peers at him, and Jim chuckles.

"No. If I was going to choose a yellow plant, I'd go for something else. A zinnia, perhaps."

"Alright. Good." He makes a note of it. "Now if anyone sprouts geraniums, we'll know who to blame."

“Bones…” his head is spinning, but he searches for the right words. “What's all this about?”

“Your psi-readings are still slightly elevated," Bones says. "Grenson's, too. I'm still waiting on that reading from Sulu."

"But why isn't Spock affected? Or you? You've been taking care of us all day, and you haven't started coughing up plants yet."

He shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you, Jim. Maybe it hasn't spread to me. Maybe I'm asymptomatic. At any rate, this disease- if you can call it that- doesn't show up on our tricorders beyond a slight elevation in psi-levels. We're shooting in the dark here.”

Jim smiles. "In other words, it's literally all in our heads. I bet you love that."

Bones glares at him, and gestures to the plants. "Those came out of your lungs, Jim." His hand falls. "I wish I could explain it.” He mumbles something under his breath, something about 'aesthetic preference', and Jim breathes uneasily.

He can think of one, probable reason why he's connected to Sulu, but it's nothing grounded in logic. From across the room, he can feel Spock's eyes burning into him, and he averts his gaze.

The next time Sulu visits, Jim is asleep. Spock watches him enter, then glances at Jim's biobed. He waits for the coughing to begin anew, but there's nothing but the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

"Curious," he observes. He doesn't say anything else.

Sulu gives him a look he can't decipher. "Is it okay for me to be here?"

Spock looks at him. "You are offended.”

"No, no…" his mouth twitches. "I get it. I'd do the same." He checks the readout on the biomonitor, but there's no change. He relaxes slightly. Spock comes to stand beside him as they survey the readings in silence.

“Doctor McCoy came to see me,” Sulu says at last. “He took some readings, said there was some ‘residual psi-energy.’”

Spock keeps his face carefully neutral as Sulu fidgets.

“He thinks it has something to do with me, doesn’t he?”

"You were the only crewmember who recognised the plants." Spock says, simply. “You stated an affinity for their aesthetic qualities."

"But there's something more than that, isn't there?"

"Yes," he admits. "Ensign Grenson is afflicted with the same disease, but he has been producing a much different plant.”

“So…”

Spock tilts his head. “It is possible that there is a parasite within you which used your aesthetic preferences as a blueprint, and activated a sympathetic response in the captain. But, as no parasite appears on our tricorders-"

"You're reconsidering your theory?"

Spock nods, sharply.

"I heard about Grenson's friend," Sulu admits. "Rumors travel fast on this ship. I’m trying to work out why the aesthetic preference of one person would transfer to another like that. I mean, it gives an advantage to competing plants, so maybe it’s an accident, but-”

Jim stirs slightly, and Sulu falters. “I shouldn't be here,” he says, quietly.

The doors swish closed behind him.

Jim opens his eyes the moment he leaves, and Spock peers at him curiously.

“I was listening,” Jim admits, quietly. “Why didn't you tell him?”

“It was only a theory.”

“Your theories are rarely wrong.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you should inform him yourself.”

“I can't.” He looks away.

Spock places his hands behind his back, and waits.

Jim watches the ceiling. “There are a million things in this universe you can have, and a million things you can't. It's no fun facing that, but that's the way things are.” They're the well-rehearsed ramblings of a man who's had a while to convince himself that they're true.

“I assume you refer to the guidebook on inter-crew relations?” Spock says.

Jim gives the smallest nod.

“Relations between senior crew members are not forbidden. Particularly not in circumstances where they would save the life of an officer involved.”

Jim pictures the hot sands of Vulcan, of Spock bearing down on him with a Lirpa. Spock's hands around his throat as he crushes him, his body pinning him with his weight. Spock grabbing his shoulders in sickbay, so relieved to see him alive, with a level of delight he hasn’t seen before or since.

“... This isn't like that,” Jim says, quietly. “I have a duty to this crew. I can't balance… Love… And duty.”

Spock doesn't meet his eye. “It stands to reason that if you don't tell him, your only alternative will be to avoid him for the remainder of our five-year mission.”

"Hey." Sulu stands in the doorway, but doesn't come any closer.

"Hey," Jim acknowledges. "Y’know, if this disease is telepathic, then keeping your distance won't help."

Sulu frowns, and lifts the newest plant from the bedside table as he walks over. He holds it out like a shield between them as he examines it. "It's a prime specimen," he says, dryly. "You should be proud."

Jim smiles. He reaches for it tentatively, and touches the petals. “What are you calling it?”

“I wasn’t in the lab at the time, but they’re going with ‘Hspersia’, after the planet. The first specimen has been thoroughly dissected, but it's genetically identical to the first,” he says, apologetically. “There were no genetic traces from you at all. You wouldn't know it had come out of a human.”

"Hmm. Well, if I cough up any more, at least I know who to give them to," Jim says, with a lopsided smile.

Sulu swallows. "Jim…"

"It's not your fault."

Sulu purses his lips. “We don't know that for sure. The tricorder results-”

“- It's not your fault,” Jim repeats, and Sulu smiles bashfully.

They fall into a comfortable silence, as Sulu feels his way around the leaves thoroughly, as if they might be hiding any more secrets.

“I'd better get this down to the lab.” Sulu says at last. He shoulders the plant, and turns back to him one last time. “We're going to keep searching until we get to the bottom of this.”

“Do you still think it's beautiful?” Jim says, and Sulu breaks into a smile.

"To tell you the truth," he admits, "This whole thing has put me off Hspersias.”

As the door closes behind him, Jim feels something stir in his chest again, and breathes heavily.

There's a twinge of pain.

"So," Bones says, carefully. "There goes my theory.”

Jim cries silently, and Spock withdraws his hand from his forehead. The mind-meld he had administered had done very little to stem the growth of the plant.

"It's okay, Jim." Bones rests a hand on his shoulder and pats him gently. "Just let it all out."

Up until a few minutes ago, Jim had been curled on his side with a budding rosebush lodged in his throat. It took some quick-thinking from Nurse Chapel and a laser scalpel to remove it entirely, and Jim keeps finding petals between his teeth. He can only be grateful that he's no longer finding thorns. The inside of his mouth has been healed with the help of a dermal regenerator, but he can still taste blood.

Bones shakes his head. “I’ve seen plenty of things on this ship that I can't explain, but this one takes the cake.”

He waits for some reaction, but Jim just breathes through his nose and watches the ceiling.

Bones exhales, and turns to the corner. Medical staff have been coming in and out all day, but Spock has hardly moved at all, still sitting on the same chair at the head of the bed. Normally, he'd discourage it, but, today…

He folds his arms. “Now, Spock. This telepathic Mumbo-Jumbo is beyond me, but, as our resident Vulcan, I expect you to protect him. I don't want to be called up here every five minutes because he's coughing up some other plant that's tearing him apart from the inside out."

Spock's mouth is a thin line. “Protecting the captain is always my utmost priority, doctor; but I cannot protect him from psychic attacks where there are none."

There's a pause.

“... I get the hint,” Bones says. He casts a glance back at the tangled mess of flowers and thorns, which glisten with a fresh sheen of blood. “I'm close to creating an antidote with Grenson- though, to tell you the truth, he's been much better ever since he got a visit from that little girlfriend of his. I can't explain it. Maybe it's psychological.”

Spock glances at Jim, who stares at the wall, glassy-eyed and despondent.

Bones pats him on the shoulder as he heads out of medbay, and shoots Spock a meaningful look.

The new plant is set in the middle of the room: in pride of place as if it hadn't just nearly killed the captain. It's quite beautiful in its own way, and Spock moves to admire it for the first time. The leaves are a pure, vibrant red, unlike the rusted-maroon of the Hspersias. With a frown, he wipes away the flecks of blood which coat the leaves. The color is almost perfectly matched, as if painted by the haemoglobin itself.

"Fascinating," he says, at last. "This is a common-variety rosebush, perfectly acclimated to the environment of The Enterprise's arboretum."

Jim turns his head slowly. "Any new theories?" His voice is tinged with exhaustion.

"New observations. Every cell sample from Hspersia has had a nucleus," Spock says. "But there is no genetic information stored inside it. The only genetic information encoded is mitochondrial DNA, accompanied by an excess of psilosynine- the same chemical found in other telepathic species such as Betazoids.”

Jim huffs out a breath. "So, a plant infects someone, then uses a telepathic link to force a host body to grow new plants for it? What is it, mutual parasitism?"

Spock nods approvingly.

“Then- why was Grenson growing daisies?”

"Speculation," Spock begins. "The originator plant may require a mental snapshot in order to reconstruct an accurate replica of itself in the host. Without it, it will default to whatever image the telepathic carrier is projecting- which is why it appears to be flora from Earth."

“‘Appears to’?” Jim frowns.

Spock nods. “The genetic makeup of the daisies was identical to that of the Hspersias you produced. I am certain the rose bush will yield the same results.”

“Identical?”

“It had no nucleonic DNA, but there was a chromosomal excess of psilosynine.”

A rose by any other name, Jim thinks. “So, it's a daisy in appearance alone.”

“Correct. The Hspersias use mirror neurons to determine their exterior appearance.”

“A species of plant which doesn’t reproduce asexually?” Jim muses. “I’m sure the Federation Biologists will be very interested to study this.”

“Indeed. Though the nature of Hspersia makes it difficult to study. Scientists will have to be vetted before they are allowed close contact with it.”

“Vetted?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “The Birds and The Bees, Captain. It is no coincidence that the template for Grenson's flowers were provided by his romantic partner.”

Jim’s heart beats faster, and he folds his hands together in his lap.

“If a strong emotional connection is enough to induce the growth-cycle, the reverse may also be true. An emotional experience may cause it to lie dormant.”

“An emotional experience, such as…?”

“That is my evaluation of the facts, Captain. What you decide to do with them is up to you.”

“That won’t be difficult,” Jim says, miserably. “He'll probably work it out as soon as he sees the rosebush."

Spock's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and Jim laughs.

“Pity, Mr Spock?" He teases, but there's no conviction behind it. “Surely such sentiment is unbecoming, for a Vulcan.” He gives a short, hacking cough.

"Perhaps, Captain." Spock purses his lips. "But you have my sympathy, as your first officer.”

He breathes heavily, and leans back on the pillows. He watches from the corner of his eye as Spock lifts the plant, and carries it from the room.

Christine Chapel blocks the doorway to Jim’s quarters- and, when Christine Chapel wants something, she gets what she wants.

“He can't see you right now,” she says, apologetic, but firm. “Spock said he needs his sleep.” She gives him a strange look, and extends the potted plant to him. “But, he said you should have this.”

Sulu stares at it, and takes it with shaking hands. "Chris…"

The pot is so small he can balance it in the palm of one hand. The soil, he recognises from the arboretum- dirt transported from Earth, fertilized with recycled biological composite. This, in itself, is not unusual- but this plant has so many thorns. With mounting horror, his eyes drift upwards, to the plant itself. He gasps. Not only is this a fledgling rosebush- it’s an almost exact replica of the rosebush he'd planted a week ago, nestled between the trees in the upper-left section, where the benches are. He’d germinated it in the lab and planted it there with one very specific purpose- he knows that Jim goes to that spot in the arboretum to read, and had been hoping to surprise him with it.

Well, he’s certainly surprised him.

Stupid. Stupid.

His shoulders, and the rosebush, shake. Christine steps forwards, concern in her eyes. “Mr Sulu-”

She’s no longer blocking the door.

He bolts forwards as fast as his legs will carry him.

“Hey!” Christine shouts, as he barrels towards the doors. He’s fortunate that they’ve been left unlocked, otherwise he would just smash right into them. They part automatically, and he stumbles into the room.

“Jim!” he shouts, voice booming in the sudden stillness. He skids to a halt beside the bed, as Jim blinks awake.

“I told you he was sleeping!” Christine whispers furiously, and grasps Sulu by the arm.

“It’s fine,” Jim says, but his bio-monitor readings say otherwise. “It’s-” he glances at the rosebush in Sulu’s hands, and places a hand to his chest.

“... Jim?”

His breathing becomes laboured, and Sulu swears under his breath.

“Oh, not again!” Christine reaches for a laser scalpel, but Sulu jumps between them, discarding the rose bush on the table.

“Wait! Wait, it’s okay.” He kneels on the edge of the mattress, and grabs Jim’s shoulders then presses their foreheads together. “I’m thinking about forget-me-nots now,” he says, lowly. He closes his eyes and focuses on the mental image of small clusters of blue flowers. “They’re much smaller, and they don’t have thorns...”

Jim gives a hacking laugh, and something lands in Sulu’s lap. When he opens his eyes, they’re both covered in blue petals, strewn around like confetti. Jim’s eyes are watering, and his breathing is laboured, but he’s smiling.

“That was reckless,” Jim wheezes. He has tears in his eyes, but he smiles in spite of it.

“I thought it was pretty smart, actually,” Sulu jokes, as he rubs his back.

Jim spits out a couple more petals and laughs weakly.

Christine gives a relieved sigh. “I’ll be outside, in case either of you start coughing up rose-bushes again.” She gives Sulu an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture as she leaves, and he sits up a little straighter. The door hisses shut behind her.

Jim’s breathing gradually becomes more steady, and Sulu cups Jim’s cheek with a hand as he waits for his bio-readings to return to normal.

“How did you know how to do that?” Jim says, at last.

“Well, Doctor McCoy had just told me I had elevated psi-readings, so I thought it was worth a try.”

Jim exhales. “You worked it out just from that?”

“Not quite,” he admits. “It wasn’t until I saw it that I realised-” he grips Jim’s arm excitedly as he points to it. “-It’s a perfect copy of the rosebush I planted in the arboretum a month ago.”

“But genetically identical to a Hspersia,” Jim points out, and Sulu represses a grin. The structure of the plants is utterly fascinating. If Jim hadn’t been in danger, he might never have been able to pull himself away from the lab.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he imagines what it must feel like to swallow a rosebush. His heart clenches.

“Jim…” he murmurs. “If I'd have known sooner…” he shakes his head. “I did try. I mean; I knew you liked roses, though perhaps I've ruined them for you now-”

Jim closes the distance between them, and Sulu falls silent.

He can taste forget-me-nots on his lips.

For the third time today, there’s a white orchid in Spock’s sink. This one is in significantly worse condition than its predecessors: the stem wilted and drooping, the flowers shattering upon impact with the basin. This is not the only variety of plant he has produced- there had been a moment, hours ago, when he had coughed up some small, blue flowers, of Earth origin. At first, he had assumed he was merely intercepting telepathic signals from the afflicted people around him, but now, faced with the evidence before him, he can only conclude that he has indeed been infected himself.

This development is slightly bothersome, as Sulu and Jim are currently talking to one another next door. Still, it’s no matter. His own health is secondary to the captain’s, and the plants Spock has been producing are at least more forgiving than roses. He will forever remember how distraught he was when he thought he had killed Jim during pon farr. If staying away from him is all that is required to assure his safety, then that is what he must do. After all, the plants are induced via telepathy- a distinctly Vulcan area of expertise. Perhaps he can travel to Gol in order to learn how to master it-

There’s a distinct knock.

“Spock?” Jim’s voice is muffled by the door between them. “Are you alright in there?”

Spock steadies himself against the counter, and drops the orchid- and all its fallen petals- into the matter reclaimator beside him. “Enter,” he coughs as he clears his throat.

“Spock?” Jim repeats. He leans against the doorway with one hand.

“I am quite well,” he says, tightly.

Jim glances over his shoulder towards the sink, but Spock was careful to remove any traces of blood. There have been many times over the course of their mission when their shared bathroom has been a benefit- it saves time to discuss ship matters while brushing their teeth- but, presently, it is a detriment.

“Are you sure?”

“I am relieved to see you out of sickbay,” Spock tries to say, but the words stick- and they're not the only thing stuck in his throat.

He freezes. He's never had two attacks so close together before, nor so fast. There's no way he can hide it from them.

The stem has already breached his throat.

“Oh, Spock.” Jim drops to his knees beside him, and tries to grasp hold of his hands. “Has this been happening all day?”

Spock makes a small sound. His vision swims, until Jim is nothing more than a vague golden blob before him. The telepathic interference from the two of them is unbearable, and Spock clutches both sides of his head, whimpering slightly.

“I’m here.” Jim’s hands are either side of his face, prying his hands away.

He trembles, and a hand strokes his hair. The touch is soothing.

“Let me help.”

Jim takes Spock’s face in his hands and kisses him gently. Soft, open-mouthed kisses to coax the poison out of him. Spock claws at his shirt, shivering uncontrollably as he veers backwards, and hands catch him. He turns his head, chest and stomach heaving as he spits a flower to the ground.

He tries to flee, to bolt like a horse from the stable, but those same hands reassure him, holding him tight.

“What was the plan?” Jim teases, gently. “Were you going to avoid us for the remainder of our five-year mission?”

“Jim…” Spock grumbles.

Something stirs in his chest, but he attempts to remain stoic as they embrace him. As predicted, the connection between Jim and Sulu seems to have fallen dormant. As they huddle together, the telepathic pull from the two of them lessens, but there's something else tugging at him; some other compulsion. He ignores it.

At long last, Sulu picks up the fallen flower.

“White orchids?” he comments, as he pinches the leaves between forefinger and thumb. “Yours, Jim?”

Jim nods, and offers Spock a hand up. He takes it, feeling distinctly off-kilter. There's a twinge in his chest, and he tightens his grip on Jim's hand.

Then, he doubles over again, coughing violently.

“Spock!”

Jim and Sulu sit at Spock’s bedside as Bones hovers over him, a short distance away. He runs a tricorder over him as he fusses, and touches his face more than is strictly necessary.

Jim tugs on his sleeve. “It looks like your theory was correct after all, Bones,” he says, as he opens his palm to reveal the bunch of bright flowers clenched within. “Azaleas. I’ve heard they’re quite common in Georgia.”

Bones goes very still as he looks at the flowers, and, finally, to Spock.

“Now just wait a damn minute,” Bones says. “I should have known it was suspicious how quick you were to support that aesthetic preference notion-”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “As I recall, you were the first to raise that theory, Leonard.”

“Well, now, that's beside the point!” he splutters, as he flushes the same shade as the azaleas.

Jim rests his head on Sulu’s shoulder as the two of them begin bickering back and forth, perhaps a little more gently than usual. Jim smiles to himself. The small matter of Spock being in a hospital bed has never made either of them hold back before.

Sulu’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and, at last, it occurs to Jim that, with friends like these, perhaps he can balance love and duty more easily than he thought.

#A Million Things To Want #hanahaki #Kirsulu #Spirk #Spones #Kirsulu Fic #Spirk fic #Star Trek Terms Of Service Zine

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