Let the Pheromones Choose the Man
Comic Exposition
Characters: Spock/Kirk, McCoy, Sarek
Rating: R
Warnings: None for this chapter
Notes: Okay, it actually gets *interesting* in the next chapter; I promise. This one's all comedy and exposition.
One crewmember after another passed through sick bay, but none seemed to have the slightest reaction, until the captain, who was, for obvious reasons, the last person Spock or McCoy would have expected. Kirk sniffed, blinked, and sniffed again.
"What, are you testing some new perfume on him, while he's sleeping?" Kirk crouched, getting closer, to smell Spock again. "Whatever it is, it's a keeper, Bones."
McCoy's face froze in horror and disbelief. "My office, Jim. Go wait in my office. There are still five more people to test."
Not a one of them had the slightest reaction to Spock. The only option was Jim Kirk, who would not be pleased with this turn of events, in the least. And Spock was still asleep, which left the explanation to McCoy.
With a sigh, McCoy closed the door, behind him, and rubbed his face, tiredly. "Jim, what do you know about Vulcan biology? And spare me your adventures in it."
"Well, if I have to leave out the interesting parts, they've got green blood and pointy ears. Why?" Kirk sat on the corner of McCoy's desk, looking confused.
"I take it you know nothing of the Vulcan mating cycle?" McCoy asked, hoping he wasn't going to have to break it down into small words.
"There's a mating cycle?" Kirk paused, trying to look enthused while he contextualised the idea. "What does that even mean?"
"Well, it means that if Spock doesn't find a mate he can bond with inside the next four days, he's going to die." McCoy decided to start with the bad news, and leave the worse news until after Kirk absorbed the easy part.
"So, we have to ... help him pick up chicks? That's what's going on with that perfume you're testing, isn't it?" Kirk mentally patted himself on the back for figuring it out before Bones told him.
"Well, almost. But, no." McCoy rubbed his face again. Without danger and excitement, Kirk was a classic case of short-attention span theatre. "That's not a perfume. It's a pheromone. Spock smells like that, naturally, and the only people who will respond to it are compatible mates."
Kirk stopped looking absently around the room and stared at McCoy, soaking in the implications. "You expect me to bone him, so he doesn't die. No, that can't be it. I have to be wrong. Bones, tell me I'm wrong."
"Jim, you're not wrong. Y--"
"That's not what I wanted to hear, Bones. I said tell me I'm wrong."
"Fine, you're wrong. From what I understand, the partner not in the grips of the blood fever, shall we say, bottoms." McCoy took a certain amount of comfort in the fact that if he had to know that appalling fact, it was that much more important that Kirk be aware of it.
"You --! I -- ! This --!" Kirk leapt up, unable to finish a sentence. "There is another way, and I trust you to find it, Bones. You're the best."
Spock sat up, rubbing an eye, as Kirk stormed out of the doctor's office. "Captain. Good morning."
"No, it isn't, Spock. It is neither good nor morning." Kirk stopped a few feet from where Spock sat on one of the infirmary cots. "Do you know what Bones just tried to tell me?"
"I can safely assume from your reactions that he has explained the concept of Pon Farr. There is some part of this you have trouble believing?" Spock was at his most logical, immediately after waking up -- the human part of his mind needed a few minutes to catch up.
"He's trying to tell me I need to let you bend me over a table, or you're going to die!" Kirk gestured at the office with one hand, disgusted horror stuck firmly on his face.
"So, you're the one. Fascinating." Spock's eyebrow arced up toward the limits of his forehead, and he he offered his wrist to Kirk. "Smell me. I want to see this for myself. You'll forgive me, I expect, for not taking the doctor's word on the matter, but it is my life at stake, here, and I have become extraordinarily disillusioned with anonymous sex."
Kirk grabbed Spock's wrist and sniffed it. "You smell good. That's what I told him." Kirk sniffed again. "Like really good. You're seriously not testing a perfume for Bones?"
Spock closed his eyes, processing the weight of the matter. He was going to have sex with the captain, or he was going to die. His responses were significantly illogical, given the circumstances -- he leaned toward 'die' as a valid option, which was not at all the right choice, all things considered.
"No, Captain. I am not testing any artificial fragrances, at this time." Spock looked up into his captain's eyes. "I do not like this any more than you do. My life is in your hands."
"This is fucking ridiculous. I can't even believe I'm going to do this, but I'm not going to lose the best first officer in the fleet, on my watch." Kirk traced the curve of Spock's jaw with his fingers, before he realised what he was doing, and crammed his hand into his pocket. "Just give me twelve hours. I need to sleep, and I need to think about this. You'll live that long, right?"
"Yes, Captain." Spock stood, and in the few seconds it took Kirk to step back, Spock understood both the gravity and the appeal of this solution. "You can find me in my quarters, when you are prepared."
He walked past where Kirk still stood, staring at the ground with unusual intensity, as he headed for the door. "Captain -- Jim -- Thank you. I am aware that this is above and beyond the call of duty. It is not as logical a choice for you, as it is for one of my people."
"I am 'your people', Spock." Kirk looked up, hand flipping dismissively. "I'll see you in a few hours."
It was impossible not to notice that the captain was behaving strangely, after that. He showered three times, in the course of the evening, every time he wandered into his quarters, again, and at least twice, did not even bother with a towel, before dressing. It was in this dripping state that he announced to the bridge crew that due to a particular strain of illness that Spock had caught, and now he, too, was suffering with, they would be unable to leave orbit for a minimum of two days, at most a week.
"While this disease has had no human casualties," he said, "there is a chance that Mr. Spock might die of his illness, if it isn't treated swiftly. With that in mind, the Enterprise will hold position, and the crew is more than welcome to file for shore leave for the next forty-eight hours, if Mr. Scott would be so kind as to handle the paperwork. I have already discussed this option with Ambassador Sarek, and he will see to it that you become acquainted with the New Vulcan colony."
"I am," Kirk said, in closing, "temporarily unfit for duty, due to this illness. Until Spock and I are well, this is the last you will see of me on the bridge. Mr. Scott is in command."
"You have seemed distracted, the last few days, Captain. I hope you feel better, soon," Uhura offered, with a faint smile. She had a sneaking suspicion about what had happened. "Give my best to Mr. Spock."
"Certainly, Lieutenant." Kirk turned to leave the bridge, still dripping on everything he passed. "Carry on!"
The entire crew watched in amazement as the captain stepped onto the turbolift, fully dressed, dripping wet, and humming to himself. Whatever the mysterious illness was, each of them was very glad not to have been the one who caught it, and Chekov quietly called McCoy to come disinfect the bridge, before it afflicted anyone else.