infinite diversity in infinite combinations.

He wasn’t unkind though. He knew some patients, Vulcan or not, preferred a certain doctor and he didn’t want to make Spock feel uncomfortable. Firm but patient was his usual approach, and he was going to stick with it.

"Spock," he greeted with a drawl, and glanced around, "Don’t you worry about my Sickbay, that’s my job. Chapel’s got it all under control for now. There’s nothin’ needin’ my immediate attention."

He didn’t acknowledge the obvious fact that Spock was trying to get out of it, instead waving him over.

"The venue of the examination is irrelevant," he replied. He folded his hands behind his back and waited, considering for 4.03 seconds the answers to the questions posed.

David James McCoy was about to turn four years old and Leonard had been quite busy trying to plan something fun for their child. The little boy was currently seated at the table while the elder made dinner, he looked up when Spock came in and smiled .

When his son -- his and Leonard's -- came hurtling toward him, Spock was quick to scoop the almost-four-year-old into his arms. Fatherhood had not been in his plans; as a hybrid, he could not sire children, and he'd accepted this fact long ago. Yet here he stood, cradling a little boy who happily called him "Daddy".

8. My muse has poisoned themselves (accident or purposeful, up to the mun.) and become very ill while alone with your muse.

It was fortunate for Spock that Jim had a lot to say, so that his own silence was not noted. He had hoped that the Captain would have forgotten about their weekly chess match — or else have been too busy for it — but as the saying went, he had no such luck. The poison Spock had formulated and ingested (created thanks to one of Sulu’s beloved exotic plants) mere minutes before Jim’s arrival had yet to take effect. He wondered if it would be considered indecisive of him to hope that it would not do so until after the game. He willed his hand not to shake as he moved his queen to take one of Jim’s rooks. 

"Please…excuse me a moment, Jim," he half-muttered as he stood with none of his usual grace, knees bumping the table and sending chess pieces toppling. He barely made it to their shared bathroom before he was heaving. Cramps rippled painfully through his abdomen as he vomited a terrible combination of bile and blood into the toilet. He knew that his body was attempting to expel the toxins — Vulcan biology was efficient in that way — but he had also done his best to ensure that the poison would be effective despite this fact.

The Vulcan hit his ears like a flame and he looked up, eyes wide open.

" Sviriba’uh k’nash-veh, Spock. Please. Sviriba’uh k’nash-veh.. nohv’uh k’nash-veh.”

The last thing he expected to hear from Jim was his own language, returned to him, pleading. He looked up, exposing a wet face and eyes swollen and veined with dark green. Again, a trembling hand lifted and reached out, this time to touch his fingers gently to Jim's face.

8. My muse has poisoned themselves (accident or purposeful, up to the mun.) and become very ill while alone with your muse.

It was fortunate for Spock that Jim had a lot to say, so that his own silence was not noted. He had hoped that the Captain would have forgotten about their weekly chess match — or else have been too busy for it — but as the saying went, he had no such luck. The poison Spock had formulated and ingested (created thanks to one of Sulu’s beloved exotic plants) mere minutes before Jim’s arrival had yet to take effect. He wondered if it would be considered indecisive of him to hope that it would not do so until after the game. He willed his hand not to shake as he moved his queen to take one of Jim’s rooks. 

"Please…excuse me a moment, Jim," he half-muttered as he stood with none of his usual grace, knees bumping the table and sending chess pieces toppling. He barely made it to their shared bathroom before he was heaving. Cramps rippled painfully through his abdomen as he vomited a terrible combination of bile and blood into the toilet. He knew that his body was attempting to expel the toxins — Vulcan biology was efficient in that way — but he had also done his best to ensure that the poison would be effective despite this fact.

Were those tears on Spock’s face?

It was just a ruse, it had to be. Spock had just tried to kill him, after trying to kill himself. Even as his panic threatened to set in for the long run, Jim stood and walked to the door, putting in his code to keep anyone from interrupting them. Stupid move, dangerous move. Bones would have his hind if he made it out alive.

And so he should, his own thoughts whispered darkly. The constant vein of self-hatred which he always managed to stifle. You would have hurt him. You are broken, no better than a beast. The other children were right about you. Everyone was right about you. It was only a matter of time.

"I..." He could not summon the proper words. Knees drawn up, he buried his face like a child trying to hide. When he finally spoke, his words were muffled.

"I have — " Spock interrupted himself with a short, breathless giggle, " — consumed four bars of Terran chocolate. Mister Scott gave them to me.” His inebriation was clear, if not by the way his speech was slurred and expressive, then by the large grin plastered on his face. He leaned in and nuzzled against Jim’s cheek with a distinctly feline-sounding purr.