I write the love stories, but I don't own the characters. Star Trek belongs to Roddenberry, as well as Abrams, and of course Paramount. Please don't sue me.

Jim awoke to an empty bed and not a little confusion. Reaching through his mental bond he shared with his husband of three years, he found the other end located in Science Lab Four. Jim sighed and looked at the chronometer. It wasn't even four in the morning.

Babe. He sent out a message to his wayward husband. For gods' sakes, tell me you came to bed last night.

There was a flutter of activity on the other end before a meek response bounced back. Not precisely.

Not precisely? So you've been up all night again. Great. You've got duty in four hours. Jim rolled over and began hunting down his sweats and t-shirt he wore at night.

Do not come, Spock's warning came back. I am in the middle of a crucial experiment and cannot leave the lab. I will see you on duty.

Jim snorted and dragged on his shirt. He certainly wasn't sleeping anymore tonight, that was for sure. So Spock didn't want him there. That was just peachy. Maybe he could take an early morning run in the gym. He pulled on his sweats and ratty sneakers and headed out the door to the turbolift.

When the lift arrived, it had an occupant, who brushed past Jim very rudely. Jim staggered backwards in exaggeration and glared at the other man.

"Excuse you, Bones." Jim gritted his teeth.

The doctor turned around slowly, as if his near-miss had just registered in his mind. McCoy sighed. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. I just did a four-hour surgery on a patient I hope to never see again."

Jim became alarmed. "Who was the patient?"

McCoy grimaced. "The neuroscanner. You know, the thing you say you can't replace for another two quarters because Starfleet won't give you the funds?"

Jim walked back to his best friend. "You've been working on the neuroscanner for four hours? Why? Did it break again?"

Leaning against a bulkhead, the doctor resigned himself to the conversation. "I'm guessing. Your dearly beloved was in Sickbay last night, and I did a scan on him. I got readings neither of us has ever seen before. Obviously it's broken. Unless," here McCoy laughed, "something's wrong with your husband and the readings were actually that wacky."

Jim took a deep breath. "What were the readings?"

McCoy narrowed his eyes at the younger man. "Are you up for a consultation, Doctor Kirk? Honestly, if something were that wrong with Spock, I would have known about it before now. It's the stupid neuroscanner. It's got a bug somewhere."

Jim shook his head and crooked a finger at the medic. "Come back with me to my room." The other man's eyes widened but he followed along peacefully. They walked back to the captain and commander's quarters and Jim let them in.

McCoy looked around and could easily see the influence of both men. Books were neatly stacked on a bookshelf in one corner of the room. But then there were jeans and socks balled up in front of the bookcase. The padds were lined up neatly on the desk. Right beside that there was a piece of paper with doodles all over it. The bed was even half-made, half-destroyed. It was quite clear the difference between the two men who lived here.

McCoy sat down at the desk. "What's up?"

Jim looked around for a while before plopping down on the corner of the bed. "Something's wrong with Spock," he began. "And I don't know what it is."

The doctor leaned back to give his friend the once-over. "What makes you say that?"

Jim swallowed. "Well, let's see here. This is the fourth night he's not come to bed."

"You mean he's … sleeping during the day?" McCoy asked slowly.

"No." Jim grimaced. "I mean he's not sleeping period. Well, as far as I can tell. Remember that one time I drugged him at your behest? He'd been up 90 hours and wouldn't come to you."

"Rashcela," the doctor recalled. "That was a particularly bad time for him. So, he's bound to be sleeping some time because he's not hallucinating, right?" The tired grumpiness had evaporated, leaving a concerned medic in its place.

"I don't know. I haven't caught him doing anything unusual, other than not coming to bed."

"Where is he? Right now?" McCoy tapped his temple in request for Jim to use his bond to find the Vulcan.

Jim checked once more out of desperation. "Still in Science Lab Four. He says he's in the middle of a crucial experiment and he doesn't want me to come." Jim stood up and began to pace. "I know I'm the captain and I have the right to know what my crew is doing at any given time, but I don't go checking up on random ensigns and lieutenants. I can't justify busting down his door just because he's not keeping me company in bed anymore."

McCoy sighed and watched his friend traverse the tiny room. Finally he stood up, slightly confused. "Is there anything else you're not telling me? Because this has got you more spooked than him just lollygagging around in the labs for four nights."

A soft crimson flush worked its way up Jim's face and he broke off with his movements. "Well…."

"Well what, kid? Something's wrong and I can't help you if you don't tell me." McCoy scratched his head lightly.

"He – " Jim broke off and took a deep breath. "Never mind. It's stupid. He'll be fine, I'm sure." He shook his head and walked over to smack the medic lightly on the shoulder. "I'll talk to you later, Bones."

McCoy wasn't moving. "Uh, no." Jim turned to look at the older man, who had folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not budging. Either you spit it out or I haul your precious little bunny rabbit down to my lab and have my way with him. You opened this can of worms. Tell me what else is wrong."

Jim grunted in frustration. "It's nothing, Bones. According to others he's not eating lately and he's really, really skittish. He practically bit Commander Demarcus' head off the other day, and she's his favorite crewmember. Well, would he deign to have favorites. But still, something's off and I can't put my finger on it."

McCoy was wracking his brains trying to diagnose anything wrong with the commander. "Well, I can't say anything for sure. But if you add what you've told me with what the scanner was showing last night…."

"Which was?" Jim prompted.

"Extremely high levels of adrenaline and heightened activity in the frontal lobe. Almost a storm registering on the neuroscanner. I asked him some questions and he seemed to be okay. Except…." The doctor paused. "He sort of went pale when I showed him the scan results."

"You showed him the test results?" Jim was aghast. "You never show me anything on my results!"

"You're an infant, that's why. Spock is a scientist; he can handle seeing his tests. You'd tell me everything is fine and try to escape without half the treatments you need." The words had no heat behind them; McCoy was still trying to figure out what to do about Spock.

Finally the doctor shook his head and then pinned the younger man with a harsh glare. "Something's not right, Jim. You say he's in Science Lab Four right now?"

"Yeah."

McCoy nodded. "I'm just going to borrow him for some tests. Can you spare him from Alpha shift?" The medic was halfway out the door, pausing only long enough to get his answer.

Jim nodded. "Go with God, my friend. Let me know what you find." When the door shut Jim's nervousness began to evaporate again. Bones would know what to do. It was probably nothing, anyway. Spock kept his body like a temple, and knew it better than anything else. He would have told Jim if something was wrong.

Wouldn't he?