Disclaimer: You know the drill – it ain't mine (although I desperately wish it were…)

Summary: Kirk has to participate in a local ritual – with some unexpected and hilarious results.

A/N: Challenge response from elsewhere. Write a story with the opening line: "I'm sorry, commanding officer or no, I can't let you do it, and orders be damned!"

My first attempt at humor, at Jim Kirk's expense, I'm afraid. ;-) Constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

Beta: Anna Amuse and SL Watson

Three Sheets to the Wind

"I'm sorry, Jim, commanding officer or no, I can't let you do it, and orders be damned!" McCoy stated gruffly. "Why does it always have to be you, anyway?"

They were on a diplomatic mission to Pollux VI, a planet close to the Romulan Neutral Zone, and rich in natural resources, including rytalin, dilithium, and pergeum. The Romulans had become quite a nuisance, attacking the more remote and unprotected areas of the planet. Once the Karelians realized their ability to deal with the Romulan raiders was woefully lacking, they sought out the assistance of the Federation, promising to allow the construction of a base in orbit around their planet, citing how this and the exchange of natural resources, so abundant on their homeworld, could be mutually beneficial.

The Federation immediately seized the opportunity, sending one Ambassador Gerard Yingling to finalize the details of the agreement. Being the closest vessel to the Ambassador's previous assignment, the Enterprise had been designated to retrieve the Federation representative and deliver him to the current proceedings. Admiral Nogura had been quite clear when ordering Kirk to render whatever assistance necessary to see that the talks proceeded favorably for the Federation.

Diplomats had ironed out the treaty weeks ago, only the formality of signing it remaining, after which completion of a minor local ritual would signify a successful conclusion to the negotiations. The Karelians were a proud warrior race, with an impressive military history, steeped in tradition. Once an agreement had been reached between warring factions, it was cemented by a representative from each side participating in the sharing of Horen, a particularly potent local beverage made from the Jenisa plant and the flesh of a Smisaniya, a small, indigenous lizard-like creature. The beverage was considered sacred to the native population, and only prepared specifically for this ceremony.

It might be diplomats who worked out the details, but just as it had been for eons in their planet's history, it was the military men who were responsible for completing this portion of the negotiations, allowing for the agreement to be finalized. And as the ranking military man present for the Federation, they expected Kirk to participate. Problem was, the alcoholic content of the drink induced an extremely high degree of inebriation, which in a human, could potentially last for days.

The three of them were in briefing room two, having just been informed by Ambassador Yingling of this development, and were trying to find a reasonable solution that wouldn't compromise the treaty.

"I find myself in complete agreement with Dr. McCoy for once, and submit myself as a suitable substitute…" Spock started.

"Sorry, Spock, not this time," Kirk interrupted. "They ferment that stuff with meat as a prime ingredient. I couldn't possibly ask or expect you to compromise your principles for this. Besides, I've done my fair share of bar-hopping on shore leave – I'll be fine."

"The hell you will! Do you have any idea how strong that stuff is, Jim? And the Karelian metabolism is quite different from ours. Who knows how it will affect you? Why can't you just arm wrestle the Chief or something to prove your worthiness?" McCoy asked, the concern showing clearly on his face.

"C'mon Bones, you know very well why I can't. One of the major tenets of the Federation is to embrace all cultures, respecting their differences, customs and traditions. Unless you can definitively prove this could cause me irreparable harm, I don't see how I can refuse," Kirk said, noting McCoy's worried expression, hoping for a solution that would save face for all of them.

"Blast it, I've already tried that! Chemical analysis of the stuff shows that it's not toxic to humans and won't do any permanent damage, but it's damn potent and frankly, I'm not willing to risk you getting your brain scrambled, and you shouldn't be either! It could wind up incapacitating you for days! Does the term 'drunk as a skunk' mean anything to you? The pharmacology lab has been analyzing the sample the Ambassador brought back with him for the past hour, and it turns out our standard detox shots will only be effective to a degree on this substance. It might reduce the period of inebriation from days to hours, but we just can't be sure without testing it."

"It can't be helped, Bones, we have to do whatever is required of us to see that the negotiations don't break down. Besides, can't you analyze this Horen and come up with something to neutralize its effects? Or perhaps empty the contents of my stomach immediately upon returning to the ship?" Kirk was clearly grasping at straws now.

"Emptying your stomach isn't even an option – the alcohol content of the drink rapidly infuses into the bloodstream, usually within the first five minutes of consumption. It would simply be too late.

"And as for finding something to neutralize it – that's easy for you to say – you're not the one who has to come up with an untried and untested solution. The ritual is scheduled for 08:00 tomorrow. That leaves twelve hours to find the antidote. Maybe we can do it, maybe we can't – since it's made from the local flora and fauna, it may not be that simple. And besides, I hate it when you, or any member of the crew for that matter, has to be the guinea pig. What if we can't find something to reverse its effects and have to use the standard detox shots, only to find out they don't help at all once the substance is in the bloodstream? It's not gonna do serious harm, but you could be 'out of it' for quite a long while. If it's so all fired important to the Karelians that they have a military man perform this ritual, why couldn't Nogura have gotten his sorry ass involved in this mess? Old Heihachiro can afford to be out of it for a few days – hell, I'm convinced he's 'out of it' most of the time anyway – but we need you, Jim," McCoy implored, banging his palm on the desk.

"Perhaps that is the answer, Captain," Spock interjected. "If we can convince the Karelians of your indispensable position with regard to the smooth operation of the ship, then it is possible they will consider an appropriate surrogate."

"And just who would you suggest, Spock?"

"Myself, of course," Spock reiterated.

"Forget it, Spock," McCoy cut in, "the meat issue aside, you'd be a terrible drunk – ordering everyone to be more logical and analytical, to smile less, to make sure they carried all decimal points to at least six values when doing calculations, to have their uniforms pressed and boots shined above and beyond what's called for in the regs. Yeah, that'd be a hoot!" McCoy declared, rolling his eyes for emphasis. He turned to look at Kirk again. "What about Scotty, Jim? Much as I hate to see anyone have to do this, he's got the highest tolerance for strong alcohol amongst any of the crew, and he's been known to drink in the line of duty before," he remarked, blue eyes twinkling. "I'm sure he'd be up for the challenge, and if rank's an issue, you could always do a field promotion to full Commander for him."

"Sorry, Bones, the answer is 'no', and I mean it. We're close enough to the Neutral Zone that, if by chance, we were engaged by the enemy, Scotty is the last personI'd want incapacitated. I need his expertise in engineering if something were to go wrong. Spock can handle any command situation that might arise, I'm confident of that. And besides, I'm not in the habit of asking members of my senior staff to do something I'm unwilling to do myself. So I'll be three sheets to the wind for, at most, a few days – we've been through much worse. How bad could it be?"

***

The ritual sharing of Horen was a ceremony dedicated to celebrating the peaceful resolution of a conflict. It involved a warrior elder giving thanks to the four directions – east, west, north and south, spilling a small portion of the contents of his mug to each as a way to honor each spirit represented by the four points on the compass. The ritual was then completed by partaking of the strong brew with his enemies. In this case, however, it was meant to cement the signing of the treaty, a promise by both sides to honor and abide by the agreed-to terms. To break such a treaty after the ritual sharing of Horen was tantamount to an outright declaration of war.

As he watched the ceremony unfolding, Kirk stole a furtive glance at the contents of his mug, eyeing it suspiciously. It was thick…and goopy…and…green – like pea soup, only it had a particularly pungent odor, probably due to the meat they used when making it, tiny clumps of the greasy, stringy, gray matter swimming in the sea of olive-colored muck. More than anything, it reminded him of the substance that coated the outer surface of a Denebian Slime Devil. His stomach did a few somersaults, and he was thankful he hadn't eaten breakfast. Puking before even consuming the nauseating brew would not have been the best way to win friends and influence people. He wondered if it would be considered rude to hold his nose while drinking it…

His silent musings were interrupted by the arrival of Vorekh, who had completed giving thanks to the deities. All that remained was for the two of them to partake in the ritual sharing of Horen. "And with this drinking of the Horen, we pledge to uphold and adhere to the terms agreed to by our diplomats," Vorekh boomed, invoking the ceremonial words. He then seated himself and glanced across the table at Kirk, raising his mug, signaling they should now each consume their beverage.

The captain started to chug the contents, chanting the mind discipline Spock had taught him last night silently like a mantra. It proved ineffective. The god-awful stuff still tasted like an explosion of pus in his mouth. How on Earth do they do it? Making an enemy drink this is what should be tantamount to a declaration of war. And this was supposed to cement the friendship? Jim vowed to introduce Vorekh to a perfectly-aged bottle of Saurian Brandy when they were done – hell, even that rotgut Scotty liked would be a vast improvement over this stuff… He managed to gag it down in one go as he had been instructed to do, eyes squinted shut, a little of the thick goo dribbling down his chin. Dragging a sleeve across his face, he looked across the table at Vorekh, who had also finished his portion in one draught.

"Very good, Captain, not everyone can finish their Horen in one sip," Vorekh commented appreciatively. "It speaks well for the strength and endurance of the treaty signed here today. And how did you find our local delicacy?" the Karelian asked, regarding the human carefully.

"It actually was quite tasty," Kirk lied, grinning despite the fact that his head was starting to spin most uncomfortably. Hmm, maybe this stuff had something going for it after all…

"I am glad you found it agreeable. And now, with the sharing of Horen completed, both sides honor our commitment and dedication to the treaty signed today. May it endure until the end of all things," Vorekh chanted, repeating the symbolic words signifying a successful conclusion to the ritual.

Kirk rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet, engaging in the required traditional handshake with Vorekh.

Recognizing that the ceremony was now complete, Spock and McCoy, who had been observing from the sidelines, hurried to collect their Captain, who was engaged in a spirited discussion with Vorekh at the moment.

"—it was fairly palatable, but I've got some stuff on the ship that's as smooth as an Orion slave girl's—,"

"Sorry Jim, maybe another time," McCoy interrupted evenly. "You have a date with sickbay and a round of detox shots, remember?" McCoy reminded him gently.

Kirk shot him a dark glance, swaying slightly. McCoy noted the flushed face, the overly-bright eyes, and slightly slurred speech.

"Jeez Bones, you take the fun out of everything," Kirk pouted, turning and trying to wink conspiratorially at his Karelian drinking partner, but only managing to close both eyes.

Observing the state the Horen had already produced in his captain, Spock stepped away from the group, tugging his communicator off his belt and flipping it open with a snap of his wrist. "Spock to transporter room."

"Scott here," came the quick response.

"Mr. Scott, we will be beaming up shortly. As a precaution, please clear the corridors between the transporter room and sickbay of all personnel.

"Aye, sir. I'll be waitin' fer yer signal."

***

As they materialized on the transporter pad, Spock and McCoy were each holding one of Jim's arms. Kirk wriggled free of their grasp and started to walk toward the stairs, his gait unsteady and imbalanced.

"Please, Captain, allow us to assist you," Spock asked, reaching again for Kirk's arm.

"I'm fiiinnnee," came the slurred response, I think I kin handle gettin' down myself." And he stepped off into…nothing, dangling in mid-air for what seemed like an eternity before landing unceremoniously on his face at the foot of the platform. Scotty rushed from behind the console as McCoy and Spock scrambled down from the pad, all three of them picking an armful of Captain off the deck.

"Are ye alright, sir? That was a helluva tumble ye took." Scott regarded him warily.

Kirk shrugged off their supportive hands, tugged his tunic into place, and favored all three with his best commanding officer glare. "I'm purrfickly able to funkshun gentlemen, and now I'll just be goin' to th' bridge." He started for the doors, toddling like a two-year-old.

"Whoa Jim," McCoy said, stepping in front of him and grasping an arm once again, "you're not going anywhere except sickbay, especially after that last ballet move." McCoy could see the slightly befuddled expression on Kirk's face and tried his best to keep the laughter from his tone.

"I must concur, Captain. Surely you must realize it would be extremely detrimental to morale for the crew to witness you in such a state," Spock added helpfully.

"You really think I'm in that bad a shape, Spock?" The glassy eyes met his, and Spock saw the beginnings of a bruise forming on the captain's left cheek.

"I believe your condition warrants some time in sickbay, until the effects of the Horen begin to dissipate," Spock supplied, knowing it was not the answer his captain wished to hear.

"Really gentlemen, doncha think yer bein' a little overly-caushus?" Kirk asked, stepping around McCoy and starting off once again under his own power for the transporter room doors. "Just watch, I'm fine," he repeated. But just before he tripped the sensor, the captain caught the toe of his boot on his heel and pitched forward, arms coming up just in time to prevent his already-abused face from impacting the closed doors. As he slid down the panels, the sensor finally activated, causing them to open, dumping him into the corridor.

Spock was instantly at his side. "If you will allow me, Jim I believe I can provide the necessary assistance – to sickbay." He reached a hand down to Kirk's outstretched one, once again rescuing the captain from the deck of his ship.

Kirk swayed on his feet. "Okay, you win. Maybe you'd better help me, Spock. I'm starting to have a personal rapport with the deck of my ship. And I don't like it." A lopsided grin broke over Kirk's face, and the Vulcan felt an air of protectiveness settle over him like a cloak. He was unused to seeing a Kirk not in complete control of his faculties. Pulling Jim's arm across his shoulders and wrapping his own arm securely about the captain's waist, the two of them started off for sickbay.

McCoy hung back a moment. "Scotty, were you able to clear the decks?"

"Aye, and a good thing, too. The captain would never forgive us if we let the crew see him like this. I've never seem him so drunk, even on shore leave. How long will it last, doctor?" Scotty asked, the brown eyes raking McCoy with a concerned air.

"Hard to say, Scotty. We weren't able to isolate an antidote as of yet, so all we have are the standard detox shots, which will be marginally effective at best. Could be several hours, or several days – we'll just have to wait and see." He hurried after Spock and Kirk, leaving a very confused, yet very amused Chief Engineer in his wake.

"Good luck, doctor," he called after McCoy's retreating back, "ye're gonna need it."

***

Once they reached sickbay, McCoy dismissed all of his staff save Christine. She could certainly handle the couple of patients who were currently here. If a medical emergency were to arise, he could easily page whoever he needed to assist him, and he wanted to keep Kirk's exposure to the crew to a minimum.

"Okay Jim, let's get started with the detox shots." He pressed a hypo against the captain's arm, emptying the contents. "Let's give that a few minutes and see if you notice any improvement," he added calmly, helping Spock steer his CO into an empty chair. Kirk sat without ceremony – or protest, slumping over the desk, resting his head on his arms.

His ever-present scanner appeared in his hand and the doctor waved it over the captain, checking for any unexpected physiological effects from the substance he had consumed. Leaving Kirk where he was, he drew Spock aside. "Except for being sloppy drunk, I haven't detected any side effects of the Horen. Now we just have to wait and see if the detox shots will work. There's really no point in you staying here, Spock, and besides, you know how the bridge crew worries if you're here hovering over Jim. Your presence up there when he is here reassures them that it's not a critical situation."

Spock opened his mouth to protest, but McCoy raised a hand to stop him. "I know, it's not logical at all, but it's human nature – just trust me on this, okay Spock? I'll call you if I need you, scout's honor," he said, a grin suffusing his features with merriment.

"Very well, but I will expect hourly reports on his condition."

"Done, now beat it."

"I do not understand – what am I to strike at the moment?" Two could play at this game.

McCoy let out an exasperated sigh. "Just get up to the bridge Spock, Christine and I can handle Jim just fine," McCoy assured him.

Spock paused to look at his captain, still sprawled across the desk. McCoy could see the Vulcan's fingers twitch slightly, as if he wanted to risk a touch to the golden arm to reassure himself that his captain was well, but wouldn't allow himself the luxury. Seeing that McCoy was observing him, he left without a backward glance.

Crossing to the desk McCoy rested a hand lightly on Kirk's shoulder. "You okay, Jim?"

"Jus' feel kinda tired, kinda weird at the moment," came the muffled reply.

"Well, I have some work to finish. Let's get you into my office where I can keep an eye on you," McCoy said in his best professional tone, helping Kirk to his feet.

"Sure Bones, whatever you want." He sounded very tired. Surely the stuff couldn't be wearing off so soon? His scanner had shown the alcohol levels in Jim's blood were still quite high. If Kirk was able to just sleep it off, they had gotten lucky, indeed. What was it Jim said – 'How bad could it be?' If this was all the worse things got, it was not going to be bad at all.

He helped Kirk lay down on the cot he kept in the corner of his office, and then seated himself at his desk, rapidly becoming absorbed in the quarterly report he was finishing for Starfleet Medical.

McCoy's peace and quiet lasted all of fifteen minutes before Kirk was on his feet again, listing to port. "Something wrong, Jim?" McCoy asked, glancing up at his captain.

"Isn't there something I can help you with, Bones? I'm tired of just lying here." So much for making him sleepy – the captain seemed alert and agitated once again. He teetered slightly before crossing to the shelf behind McCoy's desk. "Maybe I can just clean these off for you," he said, reaching for one of the ancient skulls located there. It slipped through his grasp, clattering to the floor, splintering in a shower of tiny fragments. "Whoops, that was totally unexpected." He rounded on the doctor, childlike innocence and remorse visible in the wide, slightly glazed, eyes.

"Jim, will you please sit down?" McCoy's tone was edged with exasperation. "Staggering around here breaking things isn't helping the situation."

Kirk plopped himself in a chair. His face was still flushed, covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He seemed jumpy, nervous, unable to sit still, fidgeting with the arm of the chair, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "I can't help it, Bones. Usually on shore leave when I've had this much to drink, I have opshuns open to me to relieve my stress – if you get my meaning." He grinned wickedly, starting to giggle.

"Well I'm sorry Jim, but that option is one that's not available to you at present," McCoy replied, making a mental note to keep Christine as far from the captain as possible. "Anything else I can do? You hungry?"

"Famished."

"Then what would you like? I'll send Chris for it."

"I'd love a cheeseburger with a double serving of fries," Kirk said, mischief playing in the hazel eyes.

McCoy knew when he was being taken advantage of. Normally, he would never agree to such a request, but given the circumstances, he'd feel like a heel if he refused.

"Done."

***

Ten minutes later, Kirk was happily munching on his lunch, and McCoy was once again trying to finish his report.

The doctor looked up when a shadow crossed in front of his desk. Kirk had moved from the reader where he had been seated for the last hour, and had once again climbed onto unsteady legs, heading for the door to McCoy's office.

"And just where do you think you're going?" McCoy had gotten to his feet, waving the scanner over Kirk once again. Alcohol levels were still very high, well beyond normal, but not as high as before. Kirk seemed a little steadier on his feet, and his speech had improved.

"Just tired of sitting, Bones."

"Well, there's nothing you can do out there."

"There must be something I can do to help out around here." He was listing slightly again, to starboard this time.

"Yeah, sure, because it went so well the last time you helped me," McCoy answered dryly.

He saw Kirk's face color slightly, and immediately regretted his words. It wasn't as if Jim went out and got plastered on his own – he had no choice. "Jim, would you like me to call Spock down here to keep you company?" he inquired.

Seeing the shift in Jim's features was enough. He knew Kirk would never request it outright. He began to regret his earlier decision to send Spock away – the Vulcan always seemed to have a calming effect on the captain whenever he was sick or injured. I'll say it's for a game of chess – that should keep the bridge crew from being concerned.

***

Draping an arm about the Vulcan's shoulders, Kirk steered him into a corner, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "C'mon Spock, I know we can get outta here. A workout in the gym would do me good." His words were slow and slurred, a mischievous grin quirking the corners of his mouth. "Let's get Christine to distract Bones, and while he's busy checking her out—," he paused to snicker at his own joke, "—we can make a break for it."

"Jim, 'getting out of here' is not currently a tenable option. You are in no condition to be seen by the crew," Spock reminded him.

"Crew, schmew! What's to see? I'm the Captain, remember? I can have the corridors cleared and we can go unobserved," he stated triumphantly, grinning like he'd just invented trans-warp drive.

"That is true, Captain, but it would interfere with the smooth operation of the ship."

Kirk's eyes widened suddenly, becoming glassy. "Uh oh, Spock, I don't feel so good," he announced, turning pale, his complexion becoming waxy and translucent, the sweat standing out on his forehead.

"Jim, please—," Spock began, but it was too late. His boots were suddenly splashed with the contents of Kirk's stomach, a large, chunky puddle slowly oozing over the deck.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry, Spock – I didn't mean to get sick all over your boots," Kirk said softly, his eyes plainly conveying his regret.

"Please do not be concerned. It is inconsequential. Come Jim, let's get you cleaned up," Spock stated purposefully, helping Kirk to the nearest fresher. Once inside, Spock grabbed a towel, dabbing at the sweat on Kirk's brow and wiping the traces of his CO's revisited lunch from his lips. He pressed a glass into Kirk's hand. "Here, rinse your mouth out with this, Captain." Jim did as he was instructed.

"Jim, perhaps you should lie down for a time," Spock said patiently, grasping Kirk's arm and leading him out of the fresher, attempting to steer him to the nearest sickbay bed.

"Yes, perhaps I should," Jim replied, gazing at the Vulcan, his tone and deportment a perfect imitation of Spock, right down to the slight twitch of a muscle at his jawline. He managed to maintain the illusion for several seconds, and then dissolved into a fit of giggling that left him breathless, his rapid-fire and staccato peals of laughter shrill and biting, like the high-pitched whine of a phaser on overload.

Spock suppressed the urge to sigh heavily. It is not Jim's fault. He only drank the Horen since duty required it of him. He was only fulfilling his obligation to Starfleet. Then why did that thought offer him little consolation? "Come Captain, allow me to assist you. You will recover more quickly if you allow yourself to rest." Once again, he attempted to ease Kirk into the closest available bed. "Besides, we must clear the deck so the maintenance crew can clean up your…dishonorable discharge," he said somewhat reproachfully, his attempt at humor totally lost on Kirk.

"Okay Spock, if you say so." The laughter was subsiding, to be replaced with a bit of quiet introspection.

Jim lay down on the bed, but became tense almost immediately. "Spock, tell Sulu to stop doing barrel rolls! He's gonna tear my ship apart!" he ordered in the best command tone he could muster at the moment. His eyes were tightly closed, his hands gripping the sheets convulsively, as if he could somehow will the ship into submission.

"I can assure you, Captain, the Enterprise is in standard orbit around Pollux VI, and is not currently spinning. I am fairly certain Mr. Scott would not condone such an action on the part of our helmsman in any case," Spock tried to reassure him.

"Well, my head tells me otherwise," Kirk said weakly, eyes still closed, face still pale.

"Perhaps a slightly elevated position will help to alleviate the dizziness," Spock supplied helpfully, grabbing an arm and gently raising the captain to a semi-seated position. Kirk pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. He looked small and forlorn, the normally broad shoulders appearing shrunken, shaking slightly. In an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness, Spock brushed back the unruly lock of hair from the sweat-soaked forehead, allowing his hand to continue on and come to rest between the trembling shoulders.

"Have you noticed any improvement, Jim?" he asked softly, the swell of protectiveness surging to the fore again.

"It's a little better, if I sit this way and keep my eyes closed. At least the ship doesn't seem to be trying to complete the obstacle course at the Academy anymore." Evidence of the toll this was starting to take on the captain was audible in his voice, as well as his demeanor.

"If you will not require my assistance for the next five point seven minutes, I wish to discuss something with Dr. McCoy and then have a short errand to run. I shall return at that time, if that is agreeable."

"Go on, Spock, get. I'm sure I can manage for the next few minutes on my own."

Spock found McCoy working at his desk. "Can't you sedate him, Doctor – perhaps render him unconscious for a few hours? He vomited and is now experiencing a severe case of dizziness," the Vulcan informed him, trying to hide his discomfiture and concern behind his usual relaxed stance and impassive face. McCoy could see the worry clouding Spock's eyes, however.

"With the Horen still in his bloodstream, I daren't give him anything else. I'm not sure how a sedative would react with the strong alcoholic content, and I really don't want to risk it. Besides, he's not in danger the way he is now, but the symptoms do seem to fluctuate quite a bit – one minute he seems steadier and alert, the next he's staggering around and acting positively goofy. An unexpected side effect." McCoy met the Vulcan's eyes steadily. "Can't you just nerve pinch him or something?" he prodded.

"Not advisable Doctor. It would be a short-term solution to a long-term problem. Perhaps I can take him to my quarters, keep him there until the drug is purged from his system," Spock offered helpfully.

"He really needs to be here, Spock, in case some unforeseen complications arise. I've been checking him every hour, just to be sure."

"Then perhaps I could retrieve my lyre and play it for him; it might prove soothing," Spock suggested.

"Sure, it can't hurt to try…"

***

Spock began with a selection by Mozart, and then a Vulcan piece, but Kirk hadn't been in the mood for either, requesting his favorite song, 'Beyond Antares'. As Spock had started to play, however, the captain felt compelled to sing along, at the top of his lungs no less, the dizziness obviously having subsided.

"What in the name of Hades is happening out here? Sounds like someone is strangling a Centaurian Ceil Cat," McCoy commented, bursting into the room, his exasperation clearly showing.

"The Captain was regaling me with his exceptional singing voice," Spock remarked, his brow furrowed into a frown.

"Well, he needs to cease and desist." McCoy turned to Kirk. "Jeez Jim, I'm trying to save lives here, not make my patients wish for death." His own eardrums were still ringing, his head smarting from the painful assault on his auditory senses. He could only imagine what Spock was feeling, given the Vulcan's more sensitive hearing and keen musical acuity. It was amazing Spock was still able to speak, let alone function.

"Your singing does leave quite a bit to be desired, Captain," Spock agreed, permitting himself a small wince and shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Yeah Jim, don't give up your day job."

***

The effects dissipated in about eight hours, leaving a massive headache untouchable by McCoy's hypo or even Spock's best attempt at helping Kirk to block the pain via Vulcan mind techniques. Now that the foreign drug was out of his system, McCoy simply knocked him out, allowing the captain to finally rest after his ordeal. As they were observing Jim, who was sleeping at long last, Ambassador Yingling entered sickbay, and seeing them standing beside Kirk's bed, approached quietly.

"How is he, Doctor?" the Ambassador asked, genuine concern evident on his face.

"He's sleeping now, thank goodness. He's still in a lot of pain – that stuff sure makes for one helluva hangover – but he'll be okay," McCoy remarked, the relief clear in his voice.

"Glad to hear it. I thought you might like to know the Karelians were most impressed with his performance, and the treaty has been approved. The mission was a complete success." This comment was directed at Spock, but the Vulcan had not taken his eyes from the face of his friend, finally at rest. He failed to acknowledge the Ambassador altogether.

"Uh…thanks Ambassador. He'll be pleased to hear that when he wakes up," McCoy replied.

"Well, I still have a few details to wrap up, so I'll be going. Please express my sincere thanks to Captain Kirk when he wakes up," Yingling intoned, turning to leave.

"Will do, Ambassador," McCoy called after him.

"You might as well go, too Spock. There's nothing you can do here, he'll be asleep for at least eight hours, and he's not in any danger. Go on, go get something to eat and catch some zee's, or meditate, or whatever it is you do to rest yourself." Spock still remained immobile, refusing to leave Jim's bedside.

McCoy risked a touch to the Vulcan's arm. Troubled eyes met his. "Go on Spock, shoo – he's fine. I promise I'll call you as soon as he shows signs of coming to," McCoy assured him. Spock glanced at Kirk once more, his expression shifted slightly, and then he turned on his heel and left.

As he looked at the face of his captain, peaceful and serene now in the drug-induced sleep, he hoped Kirk wouldn't remember any of it in the morning. If that was the case, he and Spock certainly wouldn't supply him with all the sordid details. And yet, he couldn't help thinking of an old Earth proverb: Even though it wasn't Jim's fault – he had been acting under orders, of course – 'As ye sow, so shall ye reap' sprang incongruously to mind. Some rough seeds were sown today, and Jim was certainly suffering the consequences at the moment. But other seeds were sown as well, and it would be the Federation which would reap the benefits for years to come. McCoy rested a gentle hand on the younger man's arm. Sleep peacefully, Jim – you did good today.