Feedback: Yes, please - send to kardasi@kardasi.com and I will forward it to Carlyn
Summary: In the aftermath of the Psi2000 virus, two crewmembers find themselves still suffering from the experience.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. No infringement of their copyright is intended and no money is being made from this.
Note: Part of the Spock fuh-q Fest, Second Wave http://www.kardasi.com/fuh-q-fest-2/
Author's note: Thanks so much to kira-nerys for the excellent suggestions, and for a title that put my original title to shame. <G> For those who love codes, lets just call this H/C, K/S implied, Riley/Tormolen implied, and a whole lotta angst in there for good measure. Also, this is my first ever attempt at slash, so in your feedback, if any, be gentle.
Beta: kira-nerys

NAKED FEVER

The virus was gone. Spock sat alone in his darkened cabin, staring at the small orange flame flickering in the firepot, willing his thoughts to control what his body could not.

"I am a Vulcan. The mind rules. There is no pain . . ."

In his mind he said the words over and over, his mantra of meditation, but this time found no peace in the ritual. This was the pain of emotions so long-buried, so overwhelming that he still trembled with the memory. In his mind, he saw Jim, saw him leaning across the table, heard him call his name, felt the sting of his hand as he slapped him back to reality. Jim, he-who-would-be his bond-mate, his lover. But that would never be. Even now, free from the virus, the ship once again safe, Spock burned with shame. He burned . . .

ONE WEEK LATER

Dr. Leonard McCoy frowned at the latest lab reports. Sickbay had been kept unusually busy since the PSI2000 incident, running physicals on all 400-plus crew members aboard the ship. Captain’s orders.

The results were in, and were for the most part satisfactory. Mentally and physically the men and women of the Enterprise had bounced back remarkably well. Bumps and bruises to bodies and psyches, nothing that couldn’t be handled.

Still, two reports had him worried. Both Spock and Kevin Riley were showing abnormalities in their Sigmund tests; not drastic, but enough to warrant monitoring, and retesting. In addition, Spock seemed to be under stress. His adrenaline levels were too high and he had lost weight. Both men had returned to duty, maintaining their regular shift rotations. McCoy had hesitated to relieve anyone of duty after the virus. The routine of work was, in his opinion, the best medicine for what they’d encountered.

Still, the captain needed to know that his first officer was not well, and that Lieutenant Riley, while not likely to commandeer auxiliary control again for his own personal concert stage, was harboring subconscious feelings of guilt and despair. McCoy marked the two profiles that still had him concerned, saved them to his secure file, and went to look for the captain.

LATER THAT SAME NIGHT

"Okay, Bones, so what does this mean? Are you placing them on sick-leave?" Kirk asked. He turned from the terminal in his cabin, where McCoy had called up the files on Spock and Riley. Worry, and something else, added to the tension in the captain’s cabin. It came as no surprise that Spock was ill; Kirk had felt his first officer’s distress for days, and didn’t have a clue how to help him. Instead, he’d kept his distance, allowing Spock his privacy, all the while wondering just what was wrong.

McCoy bit back the smart-aleck remark he wanted to make, about being a doctor, not a sex therapist, and directed a question back to the captain.

"Jim, have you seen Spock at all off duty in the past week?"

Kirk shook his head. In fact, he and the first officer hadn’t shared a meal, had not played chess, hadn’t even crossed paths in the corridor on their way to the bridge in days. It was as though they existed in separate worlds, worlds that maintained divergent orbits.

"You’ve seen him," Kirk said. "He’s as double-Vulcan as they come. I thought he was just recovering from the virus, but are you telling me there’s more?"

"You’ve read the medicals, Jim. What do you think? Weight loss, adrenaline activity increased . . . he might function well enough for an eight-hour duty shift, but what happens for the rest of the sixteen hours in a day? I suspect he isn’t sleeping, isn’t eating, and you just admitted he’s been closeted in his cabin when he isn’t on the bridge."

"Okay, Bones," Kirk said quickly. "What about Riley?"

"Near as I can tell, he’s having much the same problem as your first officer, only for different reasons. Spock’s withdrawn from the shame he feels in his loss of control. Thank god you were the one to find him in that briefing room. If anyone else had seen him in that state, I’m not sure he could’ve handled it. But you brought him out of it, at least long enough to save the ship. Now he’s got to retreat behind that Great Wall of Vulcan and try to repair the damage. Riley, on the other hand, is sufffering a loss too. The loss of a lover."

McCoy waited while Kirk absorbed this last bit of information.

"A lover? But no one died . . .except . . ."

McCoy nodded his head sadly. "Joe Tormolen. He and Kevin Riley had been lovers for almost a year, Jim. And Riley was there in the mess hall when Joe . . ."

"Killed himself," Kirk finished, almost whispering. "And when Riley shut down the main engines, he was in essence trying to do the same thing."

"Under the influence of the virus, mind you," McCoy offered quickly. "But yes, that’s what I suspect."

"So what now? Can you help him? Help them?"

"I think they might be able to help each other, Jim. And that’s where you come in. Give them a project to work on. Together. Just the two of them. Let’s see if they can heal each other."

Kirk frowned. A project?

McCoy stood, and went to the cabin door, ready to leave. He paused as the door opened, and turned back to the still-seated captain. "Think of something, Jim, and soon. Spock is sick, and getting sicker. And Riley just might figure that Joe Tormolen had the right idea. At any rate, that virus may well claim two more lives before this is over."

THE NEXT DAY

Spock reported for bridge duty at 0800 hours. The first thing he noticed was his station already occupied by Lieutenant Johansen. He hesitated, briefly wondering if his own fatigue had caused him to mistake his shift rotation. But no, this was Alpha shift. Kirk was there, in the center seat, talking with Kevin Riley. Sulu at the helm, Uhura at communications.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Spock," Kirk said, turning to greet the first officer.

"Captain," Spock said, stepping down to stand near him. "Sir, " he began.

"Spock, you and Lieutenant Riley here are to report to Science Lab Three. I want you to show him exactly how you were able to cold-start the engines. Take him through the calculations, see if there is some way to do it more efficiently next time . . ."

Spock raised one brow. "Next time, Captain?" he asked.

Kirk smiled. "Right. Let’s hope never again. But just in case, I’d like to know we are more prepared. And from an engineering standpoint, I think Mr. Riley might have some valuable insight."

Riley shifted uncomfortably. "Begging the captain’s pardon, sir, but Mr. Scott . . ."

"Mr. Scott suggested you himself, Lieutenant. You’re both relieved from your regular duties for the day. Take as long as you need, and let me know when you want to resume your scheduled shifts." Kirk turned back to the main view screen, saying, "Dismissed."

Once in the lab, Spock began setting up the test sets they would need to simulate a cold-start engine. He programmed the computer for main engine shutdown, and added the time factor that was a key component of the PSI2000 incident.

Riley, meanwhile, took up a position near the lab door, neither wanting to interfere or wanting to participate in the first officer’s task. Still, as he watched Spock work, he remembered. Joe had been like that - full of purpose, decidedly one minded, putting his heart and soul into every assignment. It was what he loved about Joe, what had made him love Joe. Never had he met someone so dedicated to his duty, so dedicated to him. And here was Mr. Spock, also dedicated to his assigned duty, yet distant, alien. He sighed, waiting for the Vulcan to finish, and leaned wearily against the bulkhead.

Spock added one more sequence to the program he’d constructed, and started to rise from the computer terminal where he’d been working.

"Mr. Riley, I believe we can begin . . ." Spock stopped mid-sentence, gasped, and began to crumple to the deck.

Riley was by Spock’s side before he hit the floor.

"Mr. Spock!" Riley caught the first officer and supported him across his shoulders as Spock struggled to remain conscious. Even through their uniforms, he felt the raging heat of the Vulcan’s body.

"Do not touch me," Spock said, his voice a hoarse whisper. He twisted sharply, rolling away from Riley’s grasp, ending up near the computer console. There he knelt, trembling, both hands pressed against the deck.

Riley started towards the comm terminal. "Sir, I’m calling Sickbay," he said to the huddled figure.

"NO!" Spock lifted his head, almost shouting. His eyes were glassy, and a thin film of sweat covered his flushed face. He reached for the table top, and with agonizing deliberation pulled himself to his feet. "I . . .beg forgiveness, Lieutenant," he said slowly. "But this weakness will pass shortly. I do not need medical attention."

Like hell, Riley thought. But Spock was a senior officer. You didn’t argue with a senior officer, even one on the verge of collapse. Instead, he pulled a large swivel chair around closer to Spock, saying "At least sit down, sir, until you feel better."

He watched uneasily as the Vulcan sank into the chair and closed his eyes. Eventually, the constant tremors stopped, but once in a while Spock’s body still shook with some hidden spasm.

Uh-oh, Riley realized suddenly. Not completely hidden. As the first officer shifted uncomfortably, Riley saw the tight black fabric of his uniform pants stretch across an impressive erection. While he watched, another spasm twisted through the lean body and Spock grimaced. A moan escaped through clenched teeth and the Vulcan arched his back and strained against the pressure at his crotch. He stiffened, drawing harsh, ragged breaths that hardly seemed to provide enough air. Finally, endless moments later, the rigor subsided and Spock collapsed back against the chair, limp with exhaustion.

Riley wanted to flee. Every sound the Vulcan made, every thrust of his hips was a reminder of Joey. Once, he’d made love to Joe here, in this lab. They thought it would last forever . . .

"Mr. Riley," Spock said weakly, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Yes, sir," Riley said. He hoped his voice didn’t betray the intensity he felt from the scene he’d just witnessed.

"Leave me, Mr. Riley. Report to your cabin. Engage the security lock on the lab door as you exit." The words, though softly spoken, were no less orders.

"No, sir," Riley said, equally softly. He knew what the Vulcan was asking, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

Spock cracked his fever-bright eyes open to stare at the lieutenant.

Riley met his gaze squarely. "You want to die, don’t you, Mr. Spock? Well, that’s not an option. Joey wanted to die, too, and I was too stupid to save him. I won’t let that happen again."

Spock shook his head slowly. "You do not understand," he murmered.

"Oh, don’t I?" Riley snapped. "Joey needed me, but that damned virus made him question our relationship. I didn’t realize, until it was too late, until he was so consumed with fear and self-loathing that he wanted to die. And when they told me . . ." Riley stopped, choking on emotion and memories. Joey...

Spock held out one shaking hand towards the distraught lieutenant. "I did not know... Mr. Riley," he whispered, placing his hand on Riley’s arm. "I grieve with thee . . ."

The Vulcan’s hand, so hot against Riley’s arm, suddenly gripped his wrist in an iron clasp. Spock shuddered, groaning as if in agony, his entire body stiffening as he tried to pull himself out of the chair. He staggered, and Riley caught him before he fell, wrapping his arms around the shaking body and gently lowering him to the deck. This time, the Vulcan’s arousal was even more pronounced, pulsating erratically, threatening to split the seams that held it fast. When Spock began to convulse, Riley straddled him, throwing his own body across the writhing Vulcan’s, pinning his flailing arms to the deck. Normal Vulcan strength would have easily dismissed Riley’s attempt to subdue, but Spock was too weak to fight.

Riley felt the staccato rhythm of the too-fast alien heartbeat pounding against his ribs, smelled the musky scent of Spock’s sweat, and gradually realized that the convulsions had become a deliberate grinding of penis-to-penis, despite the uniforms that separated them.

"Let me help you, sir," Riley panted. His own erection was growing. He carefully released his hold on Spock’s arms, but continued to lie there on top of him even as he wriggled out of his pants. He kicked them aside, then proceeded to remove Spock’s. The Vulcan’s rigid penis, finally released, was as hard as a rod of durasteel, throbbing the length of its double ridges, almost glowing with heat. Riley slid down closer, and began to stroke the fiery shaft.

Spock moaned, but did not resume his wild thrashing. Instead, with hands that seemed to move in slow motion, he found Riley’s penis and started stroking it with the same measured pace. When Riley’s hand slid under him and found the opening between his buttocks, he stiffened briefly, then sighed as fingers found their way inside him.

Their independent motions seemed to merge in a symphony of stimulation. Riley probed deeper, stroked faster as he felt his own erection grow. He lost himself in the hard, hot body beneath him, crying tears of happiness, tears of love, and pain. Finally, on the verge of climax, he cried out. "JO-EY!"

And Spock, as he felt the release of his seed, as his fever spiked and burned his very soul, cried, "JIM!"

LATE THAT NIGHT

Spock awoke in the warmth of Sickbay with no memory of how he’d arrived there. He was lying on a biobed; a light coverlet had been placed over him. And for the first time in over a week, he did not burn. The fever was gone, as though it had never existed. Gradually, he became aware of someone else in the dark room with him. Then he recalled the final moments in the lab.

"Mr. Riley?" he asked tentatively.

"Spock, it’s me. Jim." The captain came closer to the bed. "Computer, lights at fifty percent."

As the lights came up, Spock looked up into his captain's face, where a smile quickly replaced the look of concern.

"Welcome back, Mr. Spock. How do you feel?"

Spock thought about how to answer.
I will be fine, Captain, if only you love me....
Your love makes me well, Captain.

"I am . . . tired . . . Captain, but otherwise functional. I am, however, somewhat at a loss to explain why I am here."

"You passed out in the lab, Spock. You and Riley were working on the cold-start project, remember? He said you were just about finished when you collapsed. McCoy says it’s just exhaustion, but he wants to keep you here overnight." Kirk placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze. "I’ve been worried about you, Spock, but you wouldn’t let me close. I knew you were hurting, but I didn’t know what to do to help."

Spock took Kirk’s hand in his own, holding it tightly. "I did not know what I needed."

"And now?" Kirk asked.

Spock pulled the hand closer, held it against his cheek, brushed it softly with his lips.

"This. You," he said simply. He let go of the hand, and closed his eyes.

Kirk smiled as he smoothed the dark bangs, letting his fingers trace the outline of one pointed brow.

"Sleep well, my friend," he whispered. "I’ll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, Jim." Spock said.

And just before he drifted off, Spock’s thoughts were with the person responsible for his healing.

And thank you, Kevin Riley.

END