Aliena's drabbles (updated January 16th, Star Trek TOS, McCoy)

[Shamaël]

@Sanguine Cheerful Worrier and @AngelEyes and @Red: thank you! I've had time to write today because i'm ill (I... did something completely stupid, went to work when I clearly shouldn't have done so, with a 39.3°C fever, almost fainted in front of my students, and I completely lost my voice for at least 3 days... ) and I came back to the reboot because I like Academy times, and as I wasn't proud of what I've done yesterday, I shared my guilt with Nyota... Nothing to do with perfume, but I hope pollen will do. 

 

14 - Remorseful (continuation to 8 - Panic and 9 - Nosebleed)

Fandom : Star Trek (reboot)

Sneezing person: James Kirk

Reason: allergies

Warning: provoked allergy crisis without the consent of the sneezer…

Music: I’m sorry (Brenda Lee)

 

She looked at the lilies with a sigh. The flowers were lovely, really, but Phil was an idiot if he thought he could reconquer her this way. She wasn’t in love with him anymore, hadn’t been for ages – had she ever been? – and, well, she wasn’t the one who cheated on him, was she? Even Gaila had said that it was shameful (and Gaila wasn’t exactly the most moral girl Nyota knew, to be honest).

It had been almost two weeks since James Kirk had slept in her room (and her in his, with a dreadfully sick Leonard McCoy, to whom she had stupidly confessed her love for her Vulcan teacher – and how could Phil ever compete, even with flowers, with lieutenant commander Spock?!?) and it seemed that things had not really improved between the two friends. Jim had reintegrated his room, but Leonard didn’t speak to him, if it wasn’t for the necessary interaction in their little working group. A CMO who didn’t speak with the captain was indeed a problem in a ship’s team, but no one had dared to comment, except Christine, and the look McCoy had shot at her had been enough to make her shut up.

Nyota, kind as always, had asked her future captain (the idea still made her laugh but… he did have command skills, really, and working with him had changed the way she saw him) how things were going on between the two of them, and he had clenched his teeth before telling her in a clipped voice that Leonard refused to listen to his apologies.

Well, if her so-called best friend had abandoned her with a 39,7°C fever, she would have been a little upset too.

In addition to all that, there had been complications to the flu bug Leonard had caught. He had ended up at the hospital (Nyota had called a doctor on the morning, too worried with the intense fever and endless wracking coughing fits to let him “take care of himself” as he had assured between coughs he would manage), and Jim had not come to visit him during the three days he had spent in observation. Not once.

That was a bit… ungrateful. Leonard had always been here for him, since the beginning. And now that he needed help for the first time, the jerk wasn’t even able to show compassion.

She sighed. The strain was almost palpable in their little group and she regretted the time when everything was simpler. But she understood Leonard, really. Although she suspected Jim had a severe phobia concerning illnesses, he could have at least written a little card to his friend.

Nyota looked gleefully at the open lilies, which seemed to whisper bad advice into her ears. After all, that would be a way to punish ungratefulness – and to have fun at the same time. Kirk now spent almost all his evenings working with her, and he had forgotten his bag on her desk.

Lilies are the worse, Kirk had said. Last time I’ve been close to a lily I almost passed out from sneezing.

Now if that wasn’t a sign…

*****

“You forgot your bag last night”, she said, handling it to Jim, who was coming the other way.

“Thank you! I was wondering where I had left it. See you soon!”

“You’re coming in xenobio, Kirk. And that wasn’t a question. If you skip it once more, you’d threaten our little group and I won’t be satisfied if we don’t get the best appreciation from all our teachers. So you move your ass right here with me.”

He looked at her as if he wanted to challenge her, but she made a low blow:

“Leonard’s already upset enough. Don’t make him think even less of you.”

His shoulders slumped and she immediately regretted what she had said. They headed to the room where Mr. Faucet taught them about compared anatomy. It wasn’t an advanced class, but it was already complicated. They sat together and Kirk took lazily his PADD from his bag, yawning and sighing every two seconds.

“I’m trying to listen”, Uhura hissed after five minutes.

“Come on, if you just…”

Jim obviously wanted to answer something not very kind, but his breath caught and he stopped mid-sentence, eyelids slightly trembling and nose twitching. Nyota’s throat went dry and she swallowed hard. The young man took two shallow inhales and let out a sigh, this time not of annoyance, but of unmistakable relief.

Then he fumbled into his bag to retrieve his handkerchief – and Uhura almost felt remorse. She wanted to stop him, but she couldn’t explain what she had done, could she?

And, well, she was remorseful and eager at the same time.

Kirk unfolded his handkerchief and dabbed at his irritated nostrils with it, sniffing slightly to make the itch go away before blowing his nose. He always did that when he had allergies. Of course since the day she had witness for the first time one of his sneezing fits, she had been paying very, very close attention to her classmate’s sneezing pattern, even following him discreetly in the library, hoping his nose would be sensitive to the dust. Which had been the case. Twice.

Her plan was perfect. Crazy, but perfect.

As soon as he had sniffled into the soft fabric, Kirk’s eyebrows creased and he took a shuddering gasp, clamping the handkerchief over his nose to prevent the outburst.

Bad idea, dear.

“Heh… Hih’CH!”

He managed to stifle it, pinching his nostrils so hard his knuckles became white from the pressure.

“Bless you”, she whispered.

He looked at her, but his eyes immediately lost their focus and he was overwhelmed by two powerful, itchy sneezes, muffled as well into his handkerchief.

“Aaahh’AhTSH! HISHH!”

He blew his nose desperately, gasping for air, shoulders heaving with the power of the incoming sneezes.

“Eeeeh… hiihhh… HAH-”

He pressed his two hands upon his nose, eyes firmly closed and head tilting backward.

“Aaaaahhhh…”

Nyota repressed a moan. Why had she done this? How could she be crazy enough to do such a thing? It was the first time she voluntarily triggered an allergy attack and it was obviously a very bad idea, because now, how was she supposed to concentrate on the Andorian anatomy?

“HEESHH! HehhDDSCHHhsh! Hah’HAZZSCHHhuhh! Uhura… Ehhh… I … I nehhh… I need to… huh… to get out… of hhh-here… Hh’EHZTSCHHahh!”

The nasal explosions were increasingly loud and the teacher had paused to look at the student who was disturbing his class. The fact that said student was James Kirk didn’t exactly trigger his sympathy.

“Pleahhh… Please… ahhh… help me… out of here Huh’IDGZSCCHHhah! I can’t see… ehhh… anything…”

“My God, what’s happening to you?” she asked, almost sincere. She hadn’t expected or wanted such a severe reaction. Kirk’s eyes were completely swollen and tears ran down his cheeks continuously. Obviously this wasn’t fake, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t act properly…

“HEEHHhh-AaaahHIITSCHH'hhuh!”

“Okay, okay, we’re leaving”, she said, gathering hastily their PADDS and bags and guiding the young man towards the exit of the room.

Jim sneezed six times during the twenty seconds then needed to get out and the wheezing in his breath started to become concerning.

“Jim, you all right?” Nyota asked once they were out.

The young man answered with a tremendous sneeze which might have been heard at the other end of the campus.

“Hh’AAAHHZTSCHHahh!”

“Can you breathe? Do you need a doctor?”

Jim nodded frantically, chest heaving and about to surrender to a huge sneezing fit. Uhura flipped her communicator open and called Leonard without a second thought. What had she done? What if he was having an asthma attack and collapsed right here, in the middle of a desert hall?

“Leonard?”

“Yes, darling, what’s the problem? A fight with your Vulcan lover?”

“Hhh’EHZSCHHhh! Hhh’EHZSCHHhh!”

Krik’s sneezes exploded into the communicator.

“It’s Jim. I don’t know what happened to him, he’s sneezing his head off and he’s crying and he can’t breathe and… Jim, don’t you dare to faint on me!”

 “I’m sorry”, he wheezed before sneezing again.

His knees buckled and she instinctively grabbed him.

“Please, Leonard, come! We’re in the hall near the xenobiology room.”

“What the hell…”

“IHHTSZCHISHHh! IHHZCHISHHh’aah!”

“Leonard, please!”

“Okay, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

These five minutes were agonizingly long, because Kirk was choking out. Literally. Uhura had helped the young man sitting on the floor, because he wasn’t able to stand anymore. She had never seen anything like that before. And she couldn’t even enjoy the situation (although there was much to enjoy, since Jim was sneezing every five seconds), because she was freaking out and feeling guilty as hell. And no one was there to help them.

When Leonard finally arrived in the empty hall, she let out a sigh of relief. The young physician glanced sharply at his friend and immediately retrieved a hypospray from a little bag he was carrying.

“Tri-Ox”, he explained. “It will help him breathe. Jim, do you hear me?”

Kirk held up his head from his handkerchief.

“Bones… Haahh’AAAhhh-AAAHHTZSH’AHH!”

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t try to talk, you can barely breathe.”

McCoy kneeled near the two students. He seemed worried and Nyota felt her heart sink. If something happened to him because of her…

“Bones…” the young man insisted. “I’b so, so sohhh’ehGSCHHHah! sorry.”

Leonard huffed.

“I know this, spare your breath.”

“You have to understand… I… I was on Tarsus IV and… HAHTDDZZSCHHhsh! Ehhh… Hehhh…”

Uhura’s jaw dropped. She had indeed suspected a phobia concerning illness, but nothing like this. Everybody knew what had happened ten years ago on Tarsus IV. Those who had survived had been traumatised for life. Apparently, realisation hit Leonard too, because he patted his friend’s arm and said gruffly:

“It’s all right, kid, it’s all right, I understand, I’m not mad at you. Just… breathe, okay?”

Jim nodded desperately, trying to obey him, but all he could do was to sneeze uncontrollably in his soaked handkerchief.

“Hih’ZSCHHOO! Ahhh-huh’TZSCHHOO! HIH’DGZSCCHHOO!”

“Okay, plan B”, the doctor muttered, sticking another hypospray into Kirk’s arm.

The hitching breath calmed down after less than a minute, Jim’s eyelids became heavy, and he fell asleep on McCoy’s chest. The physician sighed and settled a bit more comfortably near him.

“What did you do?” Nyota asked, trying not to show her panic, and completely failing.

“Don’t worry, I just sedated him. He wasn’t going to stop sneezing anytime soon, but you can’t sneeze when you’re deeply asleep. The nerve responsible for the reflex doesn’t work anymore.”

Uhura nodded, relieved. The young man’s breathing was still loud and crackling, but it didn’t seem he was going to choke at any moment.

Leonard turned towards her and she was struck to see he was looking at her with the utmost severity.

“Now, whose idea was that?” he asked curtly. “Because it wasn’t a good one, as you sure realise now.”

“What… What do you mean?” she said, unable to prevent her voice from trembling.

“Nyota, please. I can recognize a triggered allergy attack when I see one. There’s pollen on his handkerchief. Was it Jim’s best plan to make it up with me? Almost choke on his own mucus and call me for help? And you said yes to that?”

Uhura did not manage a coherent answer. She wanted to say something, anything, but her tongue was completely numb and her vocal cords had decided that they wouldn’t work anymore. Her brain, though, was frantically searching for a plausible explanation in order to clear herself of responsibility, but it was impossible. She had to say the truth.

The truth? Are you completely insane?

“Nyota?” McCoy’s voice was a bit gentler, as if he had noticed how lost and sorry she was. “It’s all right, he’ll be fine. It was a stupid idea, but not as stupid as half of Jim’s ideas, really.”

“Oh, Len”, she said without thinking, “I’m so sorry, it was my idea, not his. He didn’t even know. I used the lilies Phil sent me this morning.”

The physician stared at her in disbelief.

“Why on Earth would you do that? I thought you were the sensible one in our group.”

Well done, the voice in her head commented. And now? Are you going to tell Leonard you were craving for Jim’s sneezes? That would be a great coming out.

“It’s just that… that with you too sulking and looking miserable because you haven’t talked to each other for almost two weeks… I just wanted to… to fix things. I’m so sorry”, she said, covering her face with her hands. “I swear I didn’t think it would be that bad. I’d never have done it if I had known.”

She was burning with shame and remorse. First she had triggered an allergy reaction from someone who trusted her, and now she was lying to one of her best friends to protect her dirty little secrets.

“You’re almost as stupid as Jim”, Leonard sneered, “and that’s saying something. But, hey, you know what? It worked. I’m not mad at him anymore. I never suspected he was on Tarsus, you know.”

Nyota held up her head and looked at the physician, who was holding Jim in his arms in a protective way. She felt a bit less miserable knowing her action had at least had this effect.

“I didn’t know either”, she finally said. “It explains a lot, I guess. I don’t think he wants me to know it though, so when he wakes up, tell him I didn’t hear it.”

Leonard nodded.

“Now, will you help me carry him to our room?”

She was about to protest (Jim wasn’t exactly light), but the guilt she was still feeling prevented her from doing so.

“Okay”, she sighed.

After all, she owed Jim for the best sneezing fit she had ever witnessed in her life. A fit she had entirely recorded with her PADD.

Maybe she wasn’t that remorseful, now that she was sure he was going to be all right.

[AngelEyes]

5 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

and how could Phil ever compete, even with flowers, with lieutenant commander Spock?!?

So true.

 

5 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

Nyota looked gleefully at the open lilies, which seemed to whisper bad advice into her ears.

I love this line!

 

5 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

The nasal explosions were increasingly loud and the teacher had paused to look at the student who was disturbing his class. The fact that said student was James Kirk didn’t exactly trigger his sympathy.

Gee, I wonder why?

 

5 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

“Now, whose idea was that?” he asked curtly. “Because it wasn’t a good one, as you sure realise now.”

He's so quick.

 

5 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

“Why on Earth would you do that? I thought you were the sensible one in our group.”

Uh oh.

 

5 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

After all, she owed Jim for the best sneezing fit she had ever witnessed in her life. A fit she had entirely recorded with her PADD.

Oh you devil! (I don't blame her though!)

Loved this!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Oh Nyota, you're the devil in disguise. Karma is going to get you one day.  

But on the plus side Jim and Bones are buds again.  

[Shamaël]

@DevilsGaze and @Slithery Creepy Wyrm: I've been absent from the forum for quite a long time, but I'm back!!! Thank you for yourcomments, as usual. I'll be back with Star Trek drabbles and stories (and Nyota's karma), but I needed to try something in another fandom...

I don't know why, I needed to write some Harry Potter fetishy stuff. It's the first time I write for this fandom, and I'm not sure my drabble is very interesting, but I love Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall so much I just couldn't resist. (I don't like Sirius Black though, as you will understand quickly...) The scene takes place during the fifth book.

 

15 - Contempt

Fandom : Harry Potter

Sneezing person: Severus Snape

Reason: illness

Warning: mention of murders (I suppose it's angsty, as usual)

Music: Gnossienne n° 3 (Erik Satie)

 

12 Grimmauld Place was silent and Severus hoped it meant it was also empty from all these people he could not bear to see right now. He closed the door behind him and slipped into the kitchen. Fortunately, no one was there. The Potions Master let out an inconspicuous sigh of relief and his shoulders relaxed slightly. He went to the table where a teapot had been left, half full of black tea. With a flick of the wand, he warmed the beverage and filled a mug someone had put on the sink. The fragrance was invigorating and soothing at the same time. Merlin knew he needed it after the evening he had lived.

Being a spy amongst Death Eaters was not always an easy job.

He shivered and forced himself not to think about what he had done half an hour ago. He was just thankful for the peace, quiet and solitude of the room, which was generally full of noise, people – and contempt towards him, coming from his colleagues, pupils and former classmates. He was used to it, but this evening he was not in the mood for Potter or Black’s suspicious look.

He sat in the dark and cupped his hands over the mug. Slowly, his frozen fingers started to warm up and he stopped shivering – from the cold, from what he had seen and heard and done tonight, from the fever he could feel running through his veins, he did not know.

“Ahhhhxxccht!”

The sneeze almost took him by surprise, but he manage to half-stifle it into his left hand, hastily turning away from the table. The sudden movement caused a brutal pain on his right side – a cutting spell that had almost sliced him into two pieces. He did not want to tend to his wound though. The pain reminded him what he was responsible of.

He sniffed and took a sip of tea. The hot beverage soothed his painful throat and he resisted the urge to gulp the whole mug down. A burning itch came back in his nostrils and he just had the time to put his tea back on the table before sneezing into his sleeve.

“HuhISHhhew! Ehh… HahAHTSSHCHihh!”

He had held back so many sneezes today he couldn’t repress or smother them anymore. The nasty head cold he had caught the week before was starting to be pretty inconvenient, but things had to be done and the Dark Lord was not exactly lenient with sick servants. Sick people were slower than usual, and therefore less useful. He had learnt it the hard way years ago.

Severus fumbled into his black robes to find a handkerchief and blew his nose with a disgusting gurgle. The need to sneeze almost immediately overpowered him again and he tried to resist reflexively.

“Huh... hhh… ahhh… HEH…”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and squeezed it, while he placed his tongue on the top of his palate – an infallible method to suppress a huge sneeze. He needed some rest before apparating again in front of Hogwarts’gate. The journey to Grimmauld Place had already been exhausting for his wounded body and mind. He needed some time, but he didn’t want to draw anyone’s unwanted attention upon his presence in the kitchen at almost midnight. The sneeze relented and he carefully breathed out.

“I thought I had heard something.”

Snape briefly closed his eyes. This voice was the last one he wished to hear, but it was only logical: after all, he was sitting in Sirius Black’s kitchen. The place was his. He was free to wander into his own house at night and Severus had nothing to say about it.

“Lumos.”

A bright light flooded the room, forcing him to turn his head away.

“What are you doing here?” the Gryffindor asked roughly.

“I came to report”, the Potions Master answered, showing a parchment on the table. “I am sorry to disturb your precious sleep, Black”, he added in his most silky voice, unfortunately less precise than useful due to that damn cold that was actually taking his toll on him. “I know how much you need to rest at night, because you are doing so much useful things for the Order during the day.”

“At least I’m not killing innocent people”, Black spat.

Severus’s heart stopped, but he shrugged and rolled his eyes. The sarcastic remark he had on the tip of his tongue could not come out, because something much more urgent was willing to get out from him. He desperately tried to hold back. His eyes were brimming with tears and he could not speak properly, so he did not say anything and focused on his lungs. He managed to hide the heaving of his chest, but not his increasingly hitching breath, and just before he finally lost control over his nose, he saw the mischievous smile on Sirius’ face and he knew he’d never hear the end of it.

Then he gave up and brought a hand up to his face, handkerchief ready.

“Hhhexxshew! Hih’KSSHCHhuh! Ahh… NHXXSHhh!”

He tried to stifle the last one, but the noise he did was even more ridiculous than a full sneeze and he felt his cheeks burning with shame.

“Oh, Snivellus, did you catch cold?” Black asked with a false pity.

His eyes were shining with this evil light he always had when he made fun of his former classmate. Severus had always been prone to colds and therefore had earned this nickname from the Marauders, because they loved to make fun of his frequent sneezes and sniffles. Since the Gryffindor had gone out of Azkaban, the Potions Master had made sure he wouldn’t meet him when he was ill (which was often, he had to admit it, but hiding his symptoms had become a second nature), for fear of the old teasing and humiliation.

“Do not go that way, Black”, he said, teeth grinding.

“Sorry, did you just give me an order? In my house? You’re here only because I authorize it, Snivellus, remember it.” Black made two steps towards his old enemy. “Remember that here, you are nothing. I don’t trust you. You have useful information, and Dumbledore is incomprehensibly fond of you, so I tolerate your presence, but I’m sure at the end you’ll just save your life and run away, because you’ve never been more than a coward.”

Severus stood up, wand in his right hand. The anger he was feeling was boiling in his stomach and running through his blood. Black took a step backward and took out his wand. They remained frozen for some seconds, watching at each other, trying to find the weakness in the other’s position. The Slytherin felt a familiar prickle in his sinuses and bit his tongue. Not now! He wasn’t going to lose a duel because he needed to sneeze. That was… ridiculous.

Sirius saw his adversary’s brown crease, his eyes squint, his nose crinkle, and he chuckled.

“Oh, Snape, you’re not going to sneeze, are you?”

The tickle intensified and the Potions Master geared up for the outburst, sure that Black was going to take advantage of the seconds during which he wouldn’t be able to do anything. He just hoped he wasn’t going to hurt him too much, because he was already wounded.

“Ehhh… hhihh…”

Black’s smile slowly grew upon his face and he got his wand ready.

The door opened and someone entered the Blacks’ house, distracting the Gryffindor. Severus took the opportunity and pitched forward with a tremendous sneeze:

“HUH’ETSHHCHEWW!”

He tried to straightened up, but his body had decided otherwise. Closing his eyes, he wondered who had arrived in the middle of the night. He fervently hoped it wasn’t Lupin or Alastor Moody, because he wasn’t sure he would survive the humiliation to be caught into a sneezing fit in front of them.

“HutSSHCHihh! Hehhtchshoo! Huh’AHSHTchuh! HhhaAHHTSHHH!”

Eyes watering, short of breath, he tried to regain a composure, but his nose was running and all he could do was to press the back of his hand to his nostrils to avoid messing up more than he had already done. He was waiting for Black’s sarcastic comment, but another voice resounded in the silent kitchen.

“Severus, bless you. Mister Black, please put your wand back in your sleeve. I have something urgent to discuss with my colleague.”

A tissue appeared in front of Snape’s unfocused gaze and he took it gratefully to dab at his nose.

“Thank you, Minerva”, he rasped before blowing his nose. Black made a disgusted sound.

“We do not need your appreciation of the situation”, McGonagall said curtly. “Severus, are you well enough to apparate with me in front of Hogwarts’ gates?”

He did not trust his voice, fearing he was going to sneeze again if he tried to speak, so he just nodded. Black huffed, but Severus noticed his wand had disappeared. Minerva could be quite frightening when she decided to be, and she had been their teacher for years. Even the Marauders feared her judgement and behaved when she was around. He followed her, not even looking at Black when he brushed past him.

“Good night, Snivellus.”

He didn’t answer. Minerva was already outside, waiting for him.

“What were you thinking?” she asked when he joined her in the Square. “Why did you come here?”

“I thought Albus was here, and when I realised he wasn’t, I did not have enough energy to go to Hogwarts”, he confessed, shivering with the winter’s cold. “The evening has been… trying.”

He had spoken with his usual coldness, but the old woman looked at him with concern, as if she knew what had happened. No, that was stupid. If she had known what he had done, she would look at him with contempt, horror and disgust.

“Severus? Are you all right?”

The sneeze took him completely by surprise.

“Heh’ISSHHuh! I’b sorry.”

“Are you ill?”

“This is nothing”, he answered with all the confidence he could master. “I have more important news.”

He gave her the parchment he had grabbed at the Allistairs’house. A list of some of the Order’s members. The only thing he had managed to save after the Death Eaters had slaughtered the entire family. Minerva glanced at it and immediately understood the situation.

“Oh, Severus, are they…”

He nodded. She took a sharp inhale as if she was about to cry, but pulled herself together almost immediately. It was something the Slytherin had always admired in her – her ability to repress even the strongest emotions to take care of the people who needed her help.

Admired, and respected.

But tonight he did not deserve her help.

“You’ve saved fifteen people with this list, Severus”, she said, as if she was proud of him.

He cut her off.

“I killed the girl”, he answered, his face blank, his voice emotionless.

He only deserved her contempt, and she had to know it.

But she didn’t yell at him, or look at him with utter disgust. She just tilted her head, and her gaze became sadder. She put her hand on the younger man’s shoulder and looked at him in the eyes. There was nothing in hers but sadness and understanding.

“The others wanted to… have fun with her”, he explained hoarsely. “I went to her room and I killed her.”

The girl had a name, but he could not utter it. Not now.

“I know, Severus”, Minerva said, pulling him for an embrace.

He tried to resist, because how could she not understand that he did not deserve it? But she didn’t let him go and he finally stopped fighting.

“I am so sorry you had to go and live all this for a second time”, she whispered.

“These are dark times, Minerva.”

She nodded and released him from the hug.

“Now, you’re coming with me to Hogwarts and you’re going to bed immediately, after a very hot shower, with a pepper-up potion and an extra blanket.”

“I have papers to mark for tomorrow and I… ehhh… HihxxSSHoo! Hih-HEH’EXXHSHEW!”

He blew his nose tentatively, but it only triggered more sneezes.

“AhhhKSSHHCSHshhuh! HIH'KSCHXXyew! – Snrfl”

The old witch shook her head with worry.

“Bless you. It is out of the question. You are certainly not going to work now. The only thing you’re going to do is to sleep and take care of yourself, all right? I will mark your papers if you really want to give them back tomorrow.”

He looked at her in amazement.

“Minerva”, he said in a low voice, “I killed a nine-years old girl and you are offering to mark my papers? All I deserve is your contempt and I don’t even understand why you are still here with me.”

“I am not Black, Severus”, McGonagall said sternly. “I may sound presumptuous, but I think I know people and what and who they really are. And you, my boy”, she added more softly, “are not the monster you think you are. Your generation have been sacrificed, and you are the one who paid the higher price, in my opinion. I know there has been a time when I did not trust you, Severus, when you arrived at Hogwarts to be a teacher. I was blinded by my own prejudice. I will not do that same mistake again.”

Snape was grateful for the explosive sneeze which prevented him from answering to that speech. He had been deeply moved by the old witch’s words, but he did not know how to answer.

“Huh’hAHKSSHHshuh!”

Minerva offered him a little smile.

“Yes, that was really sentimental, even for me. Come on now. Pepper-up, shower, bed, remember?”

He nodded. His breath started to hitch again and he closed his eyes, waiting for the next sneezing fit, exhausted and aching – but less desperate than half an hour ago.

Minerva McGonagall was really an extraordinary old woman.

[AngelEyes]

Awww! I adore Severus Snape! (I even named my horse Severus, lol) And Minerva is the best! I love how conflicted Severus is. He knows he has a job to do, and he does it well, but it still haunts him. And he's loathed by everybody for who they think he is and he can't even defend himself. I like Sirius with the Marauders and Harry, but he is a complete ass to Snape. So, mixed feelings. But Minerva. Always the best.

On 10/4/2017 at 2:37 PM, Aliena H. said:

Black huffed, but Severus noticed his wand had disappeared. Minerva could be quite frightening when she decided to be, and she had been their teacher for years. Even the Marauders feared her judgement and behaved when she was around.

Truth!

 

As a side note, in English the house is called 12 Grimmauld Place.

[Shamaël]

On 06/10/2017 at 5:15 AM, DevilsGaze said:

As a side note, in English the house is called 12 Grimmauld Place.

Thank you for the edit! I've changed it! I don't know why I didn't translate it back. I was tired, I guess. Anyway, thank you for the comment! (Your horse's name is Severus?!? Great! I have Severus Snape's wand in my bag and I regularly try to hex my students but unfortunately it doesn't work...)

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Ah... Poor Snape. Minerva really did sum it up well. 

On 10/4/2017 at 3:37 PM, Aliena H. said:

Your generation have been sacrificed, and you are the one who paid the higher price, in my opinion.

 

[Shamaël]

Thank you for the comments! Back to Sherlock for a change. This happens before he met John. I like more and more caring Lestrade, so I tried to write something about it...

 

16 - Solve

Fandom : Sherlock BBC

Sneezing person: Sherlock

Reason: illness

Warning: none

Music: Strange ways (Ace of Base) - I really liked Ace of Base when I was 12-13 years old; I've been listening to their second album the other day, and it's not as bad as I feared...

  

He should never have accepted in the first place. It was a silly thing to do and obviously Mycroft Holmes had drugged him the day he had finally said yes and offered Sherlock an access to some of his crime scenes. He was insane and his boss was going to fire him as soon as he’d know that detective inspector Lestrade hat let a junkie walk into the victim’s apartment. And not for the first time.

The victim’s apartment was completely silent. Sally Donovan’s eyes had gone wide and Anderson’s mouth had opened in amazement. And, frankly, Lestrade couldn’t blame them for that. Sherlock, who had slipped in while Lestrade was talking to the neighbours, was currently sniffing the victim’s hair. He had kneeled near him (a forty years old man, stabbed in the back in his own kitchen while he was preparing a teapot) and buried his nose in the blond curls, and was now making disgusting noises while apparently trying to inhale the victim’s dandruff.

“Sherlock”, Lestrade hissed, “this is a crime scene. You can’t do… whatever this is you’re doing.”

Sally and Anderson snorted and went out of the room, letting their boss take care of ‘the freak’.

The young man looked up at the new comer, and Gregor’s fear was immediately confirmed: Sherlock had been taking drugs. The bloodshot eyes, extreme pallor and shaking hands were sufficient clues. Well, that, and the obvious fact that he was sniffing the dead man’s hair. He stared at the inspector, looking vaguely puzzled and slightly offended, but didn’t move. Lestrade took a rapid step forward and bent over the young man, whispering:

“If Anderson or Donovan report you, I’m dead, can you understand that? I can’t invite a drug-addict on a crime scene, no matter how powerful your brother is, no matter how intelligent you are. You’re gonna make me lose my job, can’t you see it, with your superior intellect? Please, come with me, I’ll call your brother and he’ll take you back home.”

“I am not drugged”, Sherlock answered, but the lack of complicated words and the very simple syntax suggested otherwise.

Lestrade sighed.

“Yeah, of course. You’re the epitome of health. Now please cut the bullshit and come with me before we both are in trouble.”

Sherlock took a deep breath for what probably would have been a long, detailed and boring answer if he had not been cut off by a violent sneeze that shook his whole body.

“HeehESSSCHHAhh!”

“Don’t tell me he sneezed on the corpse?” Anderson yelled from the next room.

Gregory let out another sigh, wondering how things could get worse. When he saw Sherlock’s eyes fluttering again and his brow creasing in a typical pre-sneeze face, he grabbed his arm and forced him to stand up. He had already contaminated the crime scene. Explaining it to his superiors would be hard enough, there was no need to add to the mess the younger Holmes had already made.

“AhhhsSHHhuh!”

The policeman winced as the spray hit his hand, but at least the body remained intact.

“Sherlock”, he said, slightly disgusted, “don’t you have a handkerchief or a tissue or… anything to sneeze into?”

The younger man shook his head, eyes tightly closed and breath hitching. Lestrade hastily fumbled in his pockets and retrieved an old pack of tissues.

“Here, take these.”

“It is… heh… it’s his sistaahh… hehh… HihhTSCHhhUH!”

Sherlock pitched forward, directing the expulsion into the tissue Lestrade had just given him (but he was sure it was just a lucky coincidence and the young man had not been polite on purpose).

“What?”

“Snnnffl – The victim’s sister is the murderer, Sherlock clarified. She uses a very typical perfume and it had lingered on the body. Considering my current situation, I was not able to smell it from outside the lines, so I had to cross them and come closer to the body.”

“What?” Lestrade repeated. “What situation?”

The younger Holmes glared at him as if he was mentally unfit.

“I do have a cold, Lestrade. I thought even you could understand it. My sense of smell is not as good as it is when I am not ill, and so are my observational capacities.”

A cold. Right. So…

“So you’re not high?” he asked with relief.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and did not dignified that with an answer, but the shiver that passed through his body sent a wave of guilt in Lestrade’s mind.

The young man he had learnt to know for almost three years now had always seemed physically very fragile. Slender, pale, prone to insomnia. He’d had too many cocaine shoots for his own good. He forgot to eat, forgot to sleep, forgot he had a body. Since the day Lestrade had found him lying cold in that dead end, he had been afraid that Sherlock should suddenly break down and never be able to patch himself. He understood that he had already broken countless times, and he wondered what has haunted Sherlock’s childhood to make him the adult he was now.

“Whahhh… HAHTCH’AHhh! What are you looking at?” Sherlock snapped, dabbing at his running nose with the tissue Lestrade had provided him.

“Nothing. You sure it’s the sister?”

Now Sherlock looked completely offended.

“You know that I am never wrong”, he answered with another shiver.

And, God help him, that was true. Thanks to Sherlock’s amazing skills, the inspector had managed until now not to be reported by Anderson and Donovan. They both knew that they needed him for the most complicated cases.

“All right, I’ll send Sally check on her. And I’m taking you home. No arguing. You’re feverish and…”

“HehhhSCHUHhh!”

“… And sneezing every minute”, the elder man said, cringing at the visible spray (Sherlock had probably forgotten he still had the tissue in his hand).

“Your observation skills are amazing, Lestrade”, Sherlock hissed, but the pitiful sniff and cough that followed was sufficient proof that he felt miserable.

Ten minutes later, they both were in a car, Lestrade driving and Sherlock half asleep on the seat near him.

“Why did you come?” the elder man asked curtly. “You’re obviously not well.”

“I had… a crime to solve”, Sherlock answered. “You don’t call me that often. I could not miss the occasion.”

“I see”, the policeman commented, feeling sorry for Sherlock if the most exciting moments of his life were to sniff corpses’ hair while being insulted by all the policemen present on the crime scene. “Listen, it’s not that I don’t want to call you more often, but it’s… complicated. I’m not exactly supposed to let you help us.”

He expected a snort, a contemptuous remark, but Sherlock just nodded.

“Yes, I know that.”

The exhausted tone triggered a warning in Lestrade’s mind.

“Are you okay?”

“I thought it was quite obvious that I am sick”, Sherlock snapped, and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

The younger man shrugged and coughed roughly.

“Does your brother know that you’re unwell?”

“My brother is in France this week, a fact for which I am immensely grateful.”

Lestrade sighed and parked the car in front of the building where Sherlock lived, in front of Mycroft’s apartment.

“Sherlock? We’re here.”

Sherlock swallowed audibly and winced with the throat pain.

“Yes, I am coming. Is there another crime to solve?”

Greg frowned.

“What?”

But Sherlock’s breath became uneven and he pitched forward with a tremendous fit that left him breathless.

“Ehhh’TSCHHAH! HehhSCHAAahh! Ahh-AHHSSHuuh! HeeEEESCHSSHAH! Ehhh… ahhh.. hehhh…”

He had straightened up and was obviously waiting for a fifth sneeze, his eyes still closed and his head heaving up and down with each hitching breath.

“Sherlock?”

“Ehh… I’b cobing… Ahhh… EHhh…. HH’AAATSCHH’UH!”

Lestrade closed his eyes, torn between concern and exasperation. Sherlock’s last sneeze had been more than wet and has sprayed the glove compartment and the glass in front of him.

“Okay, now come on.”

They both went out of the car. Sherlock’s teeth were chattering and he couldn’t refrain himself from trembling. And yes, it was cold, but not that cold.

“Who is the victim?” he asked with a gurgling sniff.

The inspector frowned.

“What on Earth are you talking about? The case is closed, you found the murderer! I’m taking you back home, that’s all.”

Sherlock blinked.

“Yes, but where is the body? I have a crime to solve.”

Lestrade’s concern moved up and he gently put his hand over the younger man’s forehead. Sherlock barely moved.

“Jesus, you’re burning up!” he exclaimed.

He took his arm and dragged him into the building. Sherlock didn’t protest. Lestrade found the keys in the detective’s pocket and opened the door, and as Sherlock made no movement to enter the flat, he pushed him inside.

He had never been here. On the occurrences when Sherlock had really been drugged and the inspector had to drive him back home, they had always been welcomed by a very unhappy Mycroft Holmes, who had taken delivery of his young brother without a word. (But then, he had always called Greg back, apologizing and thanking him.) The mess wasn’t as horrible as he would have expected. Of course, there were clothes and books and strange stuff all over, but nothing… suspicious. Of course Mycroft probably inspected the apartment on a regular basis.

Sherlock dropped on the sofa and curled up in his coat, shivering.

“Do you… need anything?” Lestrade asked, ill at ease.

The only answer he received was a volley of wet sneezes, aimed at the floor.

“Hahh’ehhtchchah! HehhhSCHUHhh! Huh-HATSCHHhsh! EHhh... Hehh’HETSCHHHish!”

A very hoarse cough followed.

“Do you want me to call a doctor?” Lestrade added, sitting near the huddled form on the sofa.

Sherlock shook his head, swallowing with visible difficulties.

“I… don’t like doctors”, he answered in a raspy whisper.

Greg’s phone beeped and he looked at the screen.

The sister confessed her crime. She’s in custody.  – SD

That was a good thing, he thought with relief. He had feared that Sherlock’s feverish mind would have fail to come up with the right solution.

“Well, you were right. As usual. It was the victim’s sister.”

When no pompous or obnoxious response came, Lestrade felt even more uncomfortable.

“Okay, I’m calling Mycroft.”

“Heh’AHTTSCHUUhh! Please don’t.”

“Sherlock, be reasonable. You have a pretty high fever and you’re coughing your lungs out.”

“It is better than being drugged, don’t you think so?”

Lestrade sighed and stood up. He went to the bathroom and took a (relatively) clean cloth. He dampened it and came back in the main room, where Sherlock, lying on the couch, was still shuddering. The policeman gently applied the wet cloth on the young man’s forehead.

“I don’t need you, Lestrade”, Sherlock hissed, removing the cloth and throwing it away.

Greg opened his mouth to answer, but what could he say? Sherlock was right. He wasn’t his father, brother, or anything to him. Sherlock wasn’t ready to let anyone help him in any way. Maybe one day he would allow someone to worry and care for him, but for the moment he was completely closed to the world, refusing to let anyone in. The only moments when he had social interactions were when he was solving crimes, Lestrade suddenly realised. He found it very sad.

But what could Gregory Lestrade do for Sherlock Holmes?

Not much.

Of course, he called Mycroft as soon as he exited the apartment.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Poor Sherlock (of course) and poor Greg. It's not easy wanting to help someone who is refusing your help. 

* "Welcome to my world," says Mycroft. *

[AngelEyes]

Poor baby. Yay for Greg!

[Shamaël]

@Subtly Clashing Wishes and @AngelEyes: thank you for your continuous support!  I apologise for the awful delay I have on this thread. December has been a very complicated month, and I've had very little time to write, in French or in English... I'm back to Star Trek TOS, featuring a sick McCoy and a worried Kirk. My headcanon is that when Bones is sick, his fever spikes and he becomes rapidly delirious, even if it's just a mild cold. When it happens in the reboot, as Jim is phobic, poor Leonard doesn't get much help. But in TOS, Jim doesn't have the same problems as his alter ego and he stays with him all night long to take care of his ailing friend. (Yes, I wanted to write this scene.) This will be a 2-part drabble because you know me, I can't resist the temptation to throw Spock between them. It's not slashy, at least I didn't write it this way, buuuuut let's say it's a bit more ambiguous than in the reboot. For me, those three have a unique relationship and I don't really care if it's friendship or something else. So just read it the way you want... I hope I'll be able to write the next drabble soon enough.

This one takes place just after "The deadly years", you know, when Jim, Spock, McCoy and Scotty grow suddenly and rapidly old? At the beginning I wanted to do something with an ill Spock, since he's cold and doesn't manage to regulate his inner temperature due to old age, but McCoy decided it was his turn to catch a cold and I didn't protest.

17 - Friend

Fandom : Star Trek (TOS)

Sneezing person: Leonard McCoy

Reason: illness

Warning: none

Music: The sound of silence (Simon and Garfunkel) - well, maybe it IS a bit angsty (but there's also fluff, I promise!)

 

I believe he’ll need you tonight. Good luck. CC

Kirk looked up from his PADD and surreptitiously erased the laconic message, mentally thanking Christine for her efficiency and discretion. Their partnership regarding McCoy had worked surprisingly well since the beginning of their mission and the CMO had not yet fully understood the part she often played in the captain’s ‘hunches’, although he probably suspected something. Bones wasn’t stupid after all.

Alpha shift ended, but Jim had to take a call from the Admiralty and deal with very boring stuff. Fortunately Spock helped him with the figures and statistics, and after three lonnnnnnng hours of strenuous explanations about their last mission, he was able to cut the communication off.

“Captain, would you care for a game of chess tonight after dinner?” the first officer asked with his usual emotionless voice.

Jim wavered. He would have loved a peaceful evening with Spock, drinking herbal tea and playing in silence in the captain’s quarters, and putting aside the last events (and the fact that he had, under pressure and because of the disease that had affected them all, called his best friend a traitor after all these years of unconditional loyalty). He was eager to bond with Spock again, to prove him that what had happened was beyond his control and how sorry he was for what he had implied. Of course the Vulcan, being Vulcan, had sternly denied any form of feeling related to the insulting way his captain had talked to him, but Kirk knew better. He knew he had hurt Spock, and he did not want any resentment to be left between them.

But his other best friend, and brother in arms, needed him.

“I’m sorry, Spock, but unfortunately I will have to decline the invitation. Perhaps tomorrow?” he added in order to lighten the rejection.

“Of course, Captain”, the Vulcan answered.

Jim nodded and left the bridge with a yawn. He was tired (growing suddenly old was no picnic, and revolving to his normal age had also been exhausting) but apparently the trial had been worse for Bones. He went directly to sickbay.

The chief medical officer was still there, sat or rather slumped on a chair, writing stuff on a data PADD, head resting over a hand as if it was too heavy to hold by itself.

“Bones?” the captain called softly.

The doctor immediately jumped on his chair and twisted his head to look at the intruder.

“Damnit, Jim, why did you sneak up on here like a thief? You startled me!”

Kirk shook his head slightly. His friend wasn’t looking too good – bright and bloodshot eyes, dark circles under them, a hectic flush upon each cheek and a very pink nose.

“It’s almost 22:00”, Jim pointed out. “Your shift ended four hours ago and I know you’ve been working since early this morning. Don’t you think it’s time to go to bed?”

McCoy’s eyelids fluttered briefly, and he hurriedly sniffed hard, putting two fingers under his nose to keep it under control. It miraculously worked.

“Do you think these reports are going to write themselves down, captain?” he said angrily, turning his head towards his PADD and pointing at it with his chin. “I’m late because of that crazy business on Gamma Hydra and I… hhehh…”

The aborted sneeze returned with vengeance and the doctor’s head briefly bobbed down while he turned it on his shoulder.

“HuhAHTSHeww!”

“Bless you.”

Bones sniffed and shrugged.

“Yeah, thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Jim sighed. He didn’t understand his friend’s need to fight him relentlessly each and every time he was sick, until the illness finally took its toll on him and hit so hard he could hardly remain on his feet. After all, Kirk knew. He had seen Bones helpless and delirious so many times now it couldn’t be just pride or shame, for those feelings didn’t exist between them. They had saved each other’s life too many times.

“Bones”, he said wearily.

“What?” the CMO snapped back with another sniff and a discrete wipe of the nose with his handkerchief.

“I am tired and I don’t have time for this. Do you really want me to put you off duty for the next 48 hours when you could by yourself yield to the logic of the situation and let me accompany you to your quarters without protesting?”

McCoy’s eyes widened.

“You… ehhh… You wouldn’t dare ATchTCHYew! HehEHPtTchEW!”

He sneezed harshly in his conveniently available handkerchief, which was already soaked with bodily fluids, trying to find a dry spot to dab at his irritated nose.

“Try me,” Jim answered.

The doctor closed his eyes.

“Can’t I… stay for a while in sickbay?” he asked tentatively. “I’d go to bed when I’m really tired.”

The captain felt his heart clench a bit at how vulnerable his friend looked right now. He put a hand on the elder man’s shoulder and flinched at the unnatural heat radiating from him.

“You already have a pretty damn fever, don’t you?” he asked more softly.

Fever was always the problem with Bones. No matter the gravity of the illness that struck him, his temperature immediately rose ridiculously high, and no antipyretics was able to put it down to a comfortable level. He repeated with a shrug that he was accustomed to it, but Jim knew by experience that it was by no means pleasant. Hence their tacit agreement…

“Bones, I’m not tired enough not to stay with you”, he whispered, and McCoy shivered and turned away.

They never discussed this. Never. Why had he brought the topic on? It just happened. They didn’t mention it before, they didn’t mention it after. But Jim always received a “thank you” hastily muttered when the things had gone back to normal.

“Come on”, he insisted, and was answered with a half-muffled sneeze.

“Huhpsshheew!”

The chief medical officer surrendered and got up with unsteady feet. Jim grabbed his arm and held it as long as he felt dizzy, then he released him and they left sickbay without a word. The corridors were empty and everything was silent, and McCoy did his best to stifle the three sneezes that erupted from him, not to wake up or disturb anyone. When they reached the physician’s door, he turned towards his friend and mumbled:

“It’s all right, Jim, I can do it on my own. I’m not a five-years old boy.”

That, too, was new, and Kirk didn’t know how to react to the unexpected (although faint) protest. He decided to play it casual and shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“You said you were-ehhh… you were- Hah’AAHHtchew! Ugh- you said you were tired.”

Bones rubbed his red eyes with the palm of his hands and shuddered once more.

“Okay, I know what you’re trying to do but it won’t work. I know you don’t want to go to bed, believe me, I understand perfectly, but as a doctor you know that it’s the best thing to do. Tell me what will happen if you do as I say and try to rest tonight.”

“It will help the natural cure.”

“Exactly. And if you don’t and tire you out, as it is clearly your intention?”

“It will get worse”, McCoy groaned, eyes half closed and breath hitching. “Heh-TSCHEW! Hhh’ACHOO!”

He didn’t manage to smother the two rapid sneezes. The last one visible burned his throat and triggered a coughing fit. Kirk took the opportunity to open the door with his override code and gently pushed his friend inside his quarters.

“Lights, 30%. Temperature, 22°C.”

Bones stumbled into the room and looked around, hand pressed under his running nose.

“Here, some tissues”, Jim offered, grabbing a pack on the bedside table.

Considering the number of used ones on the bin, McCoy’s cold had started the day before. Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly.

“I've heard that doctors are the worst patients”, he said, half-amused and half-exasperated. “Let me tell you you don’t give the lie to that proverb.”

The CMO, who was too busy blowing his nose to answer, gave him a tired glare.

“Okay, go and get ready for bed, I’ll wait for you here. Don’t close the door.”

McCoy nodded with a thick sniff and disappeared in the bathroom while the captain collapsed on the comfortable chair in front of the desk. His friend had already fainted in the shower during an intense bout of fever, and Jim had to break down the door to help him.

It was that night he had decided to stay for the first time, he remembered. Then it had become like an odd routine. And tired as he was, he didn’t wish to break it for an empire. Bones was an emotional man (Spock regularly reproached him this specific aspect of his personality) but he didn’t show his weaknesses easily, nor did he accept help. The fact that he had let his friend comfort him in this way meant a lot to Kirk.

Bones came back after a few minutes. He had not even bother to shower, which meant he was really exhausted and worn out. He had just changed into pyjamas and brushed his teeth. He slipped between the cold sheets with an irrepressible shiver.

“Do you need anything other than a glass of water?” Jim asked softly, gently putting a hand over his friend’s forehead.

Which was burning. The captain winced. That was going to be a bad one.

“Another blanket please?” The physician’s voice was quiet, shy, almost childlike, and Kirk’s heart melted.

“Of course.”

He went to the bathroom to fill a glass of water, and then to the cupboard where he found an extra blanket. His friend was shivering and he couldn’t keep his teeth from shattering. He couldn’t go one minute without sneezing, sniffling or coughing.

“It sounds like a nasty one”, Jim pointed out empathetically. “Have you taken any medicine?”

“As usual, a fever reducer and a decongestant. They were both useless. I don’t even know why I bo- HuhhTSHHHeew! Sniff – why I bother.”

“Bless you. Try to sleep now.”

“You stayin’, don’t you?” The plea in the voice was heart-wrenching.

“Yes, of course.”

McCoy closed his eyes and turned on his left side. Two minutes after, he tossed and turned again, coughing in his upper arm, clearly uncomfortable. Kirk stood up silently, sat on the bed and started to massage his friend’s temples as slowly as he could. It didn’t always work, but it was worth a try.

After ten minutes of the slow movement, Jim heard McCoy’s laboured breath evening, and he couldn’t repress a victorious smile. Then he sat back on the chair and settled for a nap, knowing by experience he should take advantage of the elder man’s rest to sleep too, because he didn’t have all night.

A scream woke him with a start and he immediately leant towards his friend.

“It’s all right, Bones”, he said, voice raspy from sleep. “It’s all right, just a bad dream.”

The CMO was sitting in bed, breathing heavily, sweating and trembling.

“Here, drink this.” Jim held him out the glass full of water and Bones took it with a shaky hand.

“Jim? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. It’s 3:00 in the morning and you need to rest.”

McCoy’s gaze became unfocused and with a forceful gasp, he doubled over with a tremendous sneeze:

“HuhhEHTCH’CHYEW!”

Kirk gave him silently a cluster of tissues. Bones took them and brought them some inches from his face which was still scrunched up with the need to sneeze.

“Ehhh… Jib, what… what happedd? Ahhh… hhhehh… HEESSHHuhh! HehHISHHOO! HahHAT’SHOO!”

He pitched forward in the tissues and sniffed pitifully.

“You caught a nasty cold and I stayed with you.”

“Huhhn’Tshhheew!”

The last one came less forcefully, as if Bones didn’t have the necessary strength to expel whatever his body needed to expel.

“It’s ndot a cold, is it?” he asked in a husky voice before coughing wetly in his elbow. “please Jib tell be the truth.”

Jim chewed his lower lip. That was the kind of hallucinations he liked less, when his friend was absolutely sure that he had caught some dreadful, incurable disease, instead of the very normal head cold he really had. Personal night terrors were certainly not agreeable, but it was always easier for Jim to calm his friend down. When he was caught in a medical delirium, his thought were perfectly logical and it was very difficult for the captain to answer to the scientific part of it.

“It’s just a cold, Bones”, he answered, forcing his friend to lie back in the bed. “I promise you.”

“But how can you know this?” The CMO’s voice was panicked now, and he started to stir in the sheets. “Maybe it’s… something we’ve never seen before. I have the feeling it’s something different. It’s not a cold, Jim. Please let me go and work in the lab to find out what it is.”

He tried to stand up, but Jim had anticipated the move and had firmly grabbed his arms to maintain him in a horizontal position.

“You’re going nowhere. Your fever is very high and you’re delirious, that’s all.”

“Jim… Space is disease wrapped in darkness, you know that. What if…”

A coughing spell cut him off and Jim took advantage of it to go and fetch a cold cloth in the bathroom.

“You’ll be fine, I promise”, he said gently, wiping his friend’s burning forehead with the cloth.

He hated to say that kind of things, because he knew he was lying. He was aware that one day, an unknown disease could slip into the ship and devastate the crew. He was aware that he could lose his best friend because of something that would look like something as banal as the common cold, and that McCoy had every right to be worried about his symptoms.

“HuhUHHSHhSHuh!”

It was going to be a long night, he thought, his heart sinking when Bones started to hyperventilate, completely panicked and unaware of his surroundings. Jim took him carefully in his arms, whispering comforting words, gently stroking the back of his head, alarmed at the intensity of the heat emanating from his friend’s body.

He was seriously considering calling Christine Chapel when someone knocked at the door.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Oh my, Bones sounds like he's quite the handful when ill. Jim is a wonderful friend to stay with him. (Btw, I loved Nurse Chapel when I was a kid watching this show.)

[AngelEyes]

Yay! Star Trek! You rock! Poor Bones!

On 1/10/2018 at 3:14 PM, Aliena H. said:

“Jim… Space is disease wrapped in darkness, you know that. What if…”

Love this quote!

[Shamaël]

@Subtly Clashing Wishes and @AngelEyes: Did I ever tell you that I love you for all your sweet comments? 

SCW, yes you had already told me that you liked Nurse Chapel (was it because she was in love with Spock??? and had the opportunity to take care of him when he was sick? )! It's a pity she isn't in the reboot, in my opinion, because she's a great feminine character in a show where most of the heroes are men.

Well, this part is... my favorite duo. Vulcan comfort. And maybe a bit ambiguous at the end. (shrugs)

 

18 - Tactile (continuation to 17 - Friend)

Fandom : Star Trek (TOS)

Sneezing person: Leonard McCoy

Reason: illness

Warning: same as the precedent

Music: Latin Simone (Gorillaz)

 

Spock looked warily at his PADD which indicated very clearly the captain’s location.

Dr McCoy’s quarters.

At 3:00 in the morning. That was not… logical. The captain had implied he had business to attend to, and therefore could not play tri-dimensional chess with his first officer. What kind of business could be waiting for him in Leonard McCoy’s room? the Vulcan wondered, but he did not allow himself to look puzzled in front of Mr Scott and raised his head from his PADD to answer him:

“I am going to fetch the captain. I will be returning with him in approximately 16 minutes. In the meantime, please do not touch to anything.”

“Aye, Mr Spock”, the engineer answered with a yawn. Clearly, he had been dragged out of bed by members of the night shift and was not completely awake. Had he been, he would have asked the computer to locate the captain instead of asking to the first officer (who was awake, since he did not need as much sleep as his human crewmates) where he was when it had become obvious that Jim would not answer his communicator.

Considering the damage done in Engineering, it was a sabotage, and only the captain was allowed to take care of this problem. Whatever he was doing in the chief medical officer’s room, he had to be disturbed. Spock thought it was better if he disturbed him instead of Mr Scott, who was not always discrete.

Not that the situation required discretion, of course, but…

But it was not the first time the Vulcan had seen Jim slipping off McCoy’s quarters in the early hours. In fact, this had occurred twice, and the captain had seemed very anxious not to be seen.

Spock slightly shook his head while he was walking along the Enterprise’s empty corridors. He did not have to speculate about his superior’s night habits and activities.

He knocked at McCoy’s door, retreated a step back, and waited.

“Spock? What on Earth are you doing here?”

James T Kirk was standing on the threshold, barefoot, his Starfleet uniform jacket off, in black t-shirt and looking slightly worried or concerned about something Spock could not quite imagine. The room was plunged into half-darkness and Leonard McCoy was nowhere to be seen (or heard, which was disquieting).

“Captain, Mr Scott requires your immediate presence in Engineering. There has been a mild sabotage and he needs your help, expertise and decision on the matter. He tried to reach you but your communicator…”

“Oh, crap, I’ve left it in my room.”

Kirk huffed and glanced back into the room before biting his lower lip in hesitation.

“Spock, can I… can I ask you a favour?”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Okay, come in then.”

The first officer wavered. He had rarely been invited in the doctor’s rooms, and although their relationship had considerably improved over the months and even years they had been spending together on the Enterprise, he was not sure the physician would be glad to see him enter his personal space.

“Come on”, Jim repeated. “Bones is in no state to complain about you right now.”

Spock’s incomprehension was growing by the minute, but he complied and the door closed behind him. A feeble moan coming from the bed prevented him from asking anything and he frowned when he saw how sick the chief medical officer looked. His head was propped against three of four pillows but his breathing was quick and shallow, as if he couldn’t get enough air. His hands, resting on the sheets, were shaking feebly and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. He looked at the new comer with some confusion and started to cough into his palms. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and gently pushed his friend back.

“Can you stay with him while I take care of the problem in Engineering? It’s just a cold, but his fever is quite high and I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“Hah’AAHH’ATCHuhhh!”

The physician sneezed harshly into the pillow. Spock was not sure he was fully conscious of what was happening around him, since his eyes were closed and he mumbled incomprehensible words for himself.

“It’s just a cold”, Jim told him gently, brushing McCoy’s forehead with the palm of his hands. “I was about to call Chapel”, he added at his first officer’s intention, “but I’m not sure Bones would be at ease with her.”

The Vulcan opened his mouth to interject that he was sure that the doctor would not been at ease with him at all, but Kirk anticipated his comment.

“I know you two have had your disagreements, but maybe you’ll be able to convince him that he’s not dying. After all, you’re the logical one.”

Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Dying, sir?”

Jim sighed again and grabbed his golden sweater.

“When Bones is ill, he can be… delusional. I’ve known him for years, and it’s always been like that. The fever spikes and there’s no way it will drop or break so soon. It generally lasts one or two days. He works until he just can’t take it anymore. He’s afraid to go to bed and sleep, because it means he’s going to dream and hallucinate, so I… I just stay with him and comfort him the best I can. He would do the same for me”, Jim added with a shrug, as if any justification was necessary.

That was an explanation for what Spock had witnessed – the captain slipping off McCoy’s room early in the morning – but not for his previous statement.

“I understand, Captain, but it does not give me any indication as to why I should convince Dr McCoy that he is not dying.”

“When Bones is feverish, he generally believes that he’s ill with the worst disease in the universe and that we’re lying to him about his state. Wandering into deep space isn’t really helping, as you may have guessed.”

The Vulcan nodded. They had witnessed so many dreadful illnesses and diseases which had started benignly… The physician’s terror was not illogical after all.

“All right, Spock, I’m leaving. You… you didn’t tell Scotty where I was, did you?”

“Negative, Captain. Only that I would find you and bring you to Engineering.”

Kirk, who had put back his sweater and boots, went to the door with a last concerned look at his friend.

“If the fever gets too high, just call Chapel, right? She knows.”

“Of course, Captain.”

The door closed behind Jim and Spock turned back to the chief medical officer, who was shivering in his sleep, face contorted in pain or at least heavy discomfort. He was breathing through the mouth, his nose being completely blocked off. Spock looked at him for a minute before sitting on the chair near the bed, unsure about what to do. He had no reason to be here, he thought, and he could not understand why the captain had not called for Nurse Chapel, as he had the intention to do so. Surely Spock, as a Vulcan, was not the ideal caretaker for a highly emotional being such as Dr McCoy. Compassion and sympathy did not come to him naturally and saying that he was not very good at comforting people was an understatement.

Not to mention the fact that the physician did not particularly appreciate his presence.

“Spock?”

The Vulcan looked at McCoy, who was awake and had straightened in his bed, sniffling and shuddering.

“Yes, doctor? How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

He supposed those were relevant questions, as they were frequently asked in sickbay to people who woke up after being sick or injured. But McCoy did not answer immediately, staring at the first officer with astonishment.

“What… What are you doing he-here?” he whispered.

Before Spock had time to answer, the doctor’s head whipped on the side with a powerful double sneeze that left him coughing and breathless:

“Heh’HATTCCHHOO! HAHTSHHShhhew!”

Spock silently handed him a fresh tissue when he saw that the one he was clutching in his left fist was completely soaked, shredded and useless. The doctor blinked at it with confusion, as if he had absolutely no idea why the Vulcan was giving him this little white square.

“Doctor, you should…”

“HATTTISHOO!”

McCoy’s body shuddered with the power of the nasal outburst and he snuffled helplessly. Spock gently forced the tissue into his shaking hand, not allowing himself to express any surprise or concern when he felt the unnatural heat emanating from the physician’s fingers. Slowly, McCoy took the tissue and wiped his nose, eyes still fixed on the first officer.

“Spock”, he finally whispered, voice hoarse and trembling. “Spock, what are you doing here? What happened to Jim?”

“The captain left to attend to a matter in Engineering”, the Vulcan explained. “He asked me to remain here and ensure that you…”

“Bullshit, Spock”, McCoy cut him off curtly. “Tell me what happened.”

Spock frowned.

“I do not understand the meaning of your enquiry, doctor.”

And it was true. Was that so unbelievable that he had replaced the captain at the doctor’s bedside? Did McCoy think he was too insensitive or “cold-hearted”, as he used to say, to actually take care of an ailing friend? (The word friend had come naturally to his mind, which was not frequent, he noted.) But the problem did not lie here, he understood when the physician spoke again:

“Is Jim ill too? Did I contaminate him?” he gasped anxiously. “Jeez, Spock, you shouldn’t be too close either!”

The Vulcan froze, taken aback by the intensity of the question. McCoy was completely panicked at the idea that he could have contracted (and spread all over the ship) an infectious lethal disease when he had a mere rhinovirus. Delusional, the captain had said. Spock started to understand why. But he was a science officer (and a Vulcan one), not a doctor. His bedside manner was practically inexistent, for he had never comforted anyone in this kind of situation, friend or family. He did not know what to do, and the only thing he could think of was to be logical, which could certainly not be a comfort for Leonard McCoy. But logical words would probably be preferable to him remaining silent.

“May I remind you, doctor, that I am not susceptible to human illnesses?”

McCoy frowned deeply, as if he was trying really hard to remember Spock’s anatomic specificities. He coughed wetly into his elbow and nodded almost frantically.

“Yeah, you’re right.” But almost immediately, panic spread on his features. “You didn’t answer me about Jim. I know you, Spock, you’re a master in evasive manoeuvres, but you won’t fool me. Where is Jim? Is he ill? Is he… dead?”

The last question came in a whisper, but the first officer flinched ever so slightly when he understood that McCoy, in his feverish delirium, really believed that if his best friend was not in his room, it was because he had been killed by an unknown virus.

“I assure you, doctor, that you are mistaken”, Spock answered softly, leaning towards the bed. “Jim is in perfect health and he will come back as soon as the problem…”

“Hahh’ISHHHYEW!”

“… is settled”, Spock finished, unfazed, despite the droplets of mucus and saliva that had landed on the sleeve of his uniform. “You should lie back and try to get some sleep.”

He gently pushed the physician, who dropped on his pillows with a growl.

“I still don’t believe you, you know?” His voice was breathless and shaking, and Spock understood with utter dismay (if such a thing existed in a Vulcan mind) that he was about to cry.

“M’sorry, Spock. I know how hard it must be for you.”

McCoy closed his eyes and swallowed hard. His fist were clenching the sheets and blankets. Spock noted the tense jaw, the white knuckles, the strained shoulders, and he realised with shock that the human was doing his best not to cry in front of him. Because if James Kirk had really died, that was probably what he would do. Try not to upset his Vulcan… friend (the word did not come that easily, because he was unsure whether McCoy considered him a friend or not) with his emotional reaction, leave him some personal space to mourn and grieve in his own Vulcan way.

Spock was speechless. (And it did not happened very often, the doctor would have generously commented.) He did not know what to do to help the man in front of him, he did not know what to say, and he was about to call Nurse Chapel because he was sure he could not handle this on his own, when an idea struck him.

Contrarily to Jim or Leonard, Spock was by no means a tactile man. His touch-telepathy made random contact rather difficult. But he came from a kinaesthetic species, where healing meant at the same time intimacy and touching. The first officer had not been initiated into healing methods, but he knew the procedure.

He rose from the chair and settled on the end of the bed. Then he raised his mental shields and gently put a hand over McCoy’s scorching forehead.

“Spock, what are you…”

“Please refrain from talking, doctor. You need to rest and sleep.”

He took the physician’s tense fist with his other hand and slowly unclenched his fingers until they completely open. Then he started to press some nervous points on the sick man’s palm. It was not a massage, it was not a stroke, it was… something completely Vulcan, a gesture he could not explain, but he had seen his people’s healers do hundreds of time. McCoy sighed heavily and his eyelid fluttered while his shoulders started to relax. But suddenly, his body seized up, his head twisted a bit on the left, and he sneezed explosively. Twice.

“Huh-EHTCH’CHYEW! AAAHH’ATTCHEW!”

The first officer looked at his damp sleeve and repressed a human sigh.

“Sorry, Spock”, the chief medical officer slurred, almost half asleep. “You’ve got a good bedside manner, you know that?”

“Sleep, Leonard”, the Vulcan answered gently.

His hand on McCoy’s forehead had easily found the tensions he was struggling with and he was now conveying soothing feelings into his feverish mind. It took him five minutes to convince him that no one was dying and that he could take some rest.

“Nightmares…” the elder man moaned.

“There will be no more nightmares tonight”, Spock assured him.

He was answered by a gentle snore.

Two hours later, when Jim came back from Engineering, exhausted and craving for his bed, he found Spock sitting on his friend’s bed, a hand on McCoy’s forehead, the other softly massaging the physician’s fingers, and watching him with an intensity he had rarely seen in his first officer’s eyes.

“Spock? Are you all right?” he prudently asked.

“Everything is under control, Captain” was the quiet answer. “You can rest if you wish to.”

Kirk wavered. He was reluctant to leave his two best friends, even if the situation was back to normal (if Spock stroking McCoy’s hand could ever been considered ‘normal’).

“There is a blanket near the desk”, Spock pointed out casually.

Jim was too tired to wonder why the Vulcan behaved so strangely, so he took the blanket and came back towards his friends without any question. While he laid down at the bed end, he couldn’t help but to brush Spock’s arm.

“I’m sorry”, he said, retreating his hand. “I know you aren’t a tactile person.”

The Vulcan half-smiled in the darkness.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Another wonderful drabble. You are right, the 3 men have a very close "bromance". It is nice to explore their vulnerable moments.  

44 minutes ago, Aliena H. said:

It's a pity she isn't in the reboot

Yes, it is. Nurse Chapel has been relegated to a passing comment. 

@Hedgehog you might want to check out these last two drabbles "Friend" and "Tactile". It isn't necessarily your fandom, but the fever is right up your alley.  

[AngelEyes]

Poor Bones. I love Spock using his touch-telepathy to calm and reassure him!!!