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You sat on a bio-bed, patiently waiting for Bones to move one of his little devices away from your face. You stole glances at what was supposed to be a calm Vulcan sitting down but instead sat a loopy lobster man poking at a little stuffed animal used to sooth kids during check-ups. You snorted, smirking.
Bones followed your gaze then turned back to you, shaking his head. "If he ever found out he was acting drunker than Scotty at Christmas, he'd resign faster than you can say "illogical"." You would have laughed but Spock was now sitting extremely still, his eyes glazed over and his mouth slightly gapped open. Your heart lurched at how pathetic he looked. He must be in so much pain.
He pulled the thing away from you and nodded. "You are good to go. Not a thing wrong with you."
You turned to Bones as he started to put things away. "But there is something wrong with Spock."
Bones turned, leaning against your bio-bed as he crossed his arms, looking at the poor Vulcan. "Yeah. He's experiencing an exponentially worsened form of heat exhaustion. I can't do anything for him until his heart rate drops and he quits behaving sporadically. As much as the guy gets on my every waking nerve, I would hate for him to flat line. Not in my med-bay." And on that happy note, the kind doctor turned to his office, leaving you with Spock.
You hopped off your bed and slowly walked up to him, not waking to spook him into a fit of any sort. He was staring at his hands, his eyes wide and brows pinched. You reached up and took one of his hands in yours, drawing his attention to you.
"Hey there."
"Hello, woman."
You let out a little chuckle. "How are you feeling?"
"With my hands, I suppose. The skin has amazing pain and pleasure receptors. Especially the lips."
You raised your brows. "So, your lips hurt?"
Spock shook his head like a little child, looking down at his hand in yours. "No," he whispered, "but my heart does."
You angled your head to peer into his face. "Your heart, Spock?"
He nodded again, his other hand tracing nonsensical patterns on your forearm. With pinched brows, you moved to sit next to him, your hands still connected.
"Why does your heart hurt?"
He let out a long sigh, almost like a deflating tire. "I fear the admiration I have for a particular woman," he moved his head enough to look up at you under his hanging bangs and through his lashes with a pointed look, "isn't nor ever will be reciprocated."
You were taken aback. Perhaps it's not surprising he is talking about his inner thoughts while in a drunken state. But you sure weren't expecting he would be talking about you if that look meant anything. You blinked and shook your head slightly.
