DragonFly

As soon as Jim’s in sickbay, he knows Bones has awkward news. He’s frowning in that gruff way of his that isn’t just all the usual problems—it’s his doctor-having-to-give-a-bad-prognosis look. The exam took place in Bones’ private office, as per Jim’s request—he doesn’t need a swarm of nurses clamouring to examine his exotic pet.

Once Jim’s inside, Bones shuts the doors behind him, locking them casually like he always does—he hates interruptions. Spock’s sitting on the examination table, legs together and hands in his lap, pants still on, posture straight. Jim trusts Bones implicitly, but he still checks Spock’s face to make sure he’s comfortable. He’s unreadable, like usual. Jim softly strokes his thigh and turns to Bones.

Usually, they wouldn’t do this in front of a patient. But Spock’s technically considered property, and Bones holds up the PADD to get started. He flits through some scans and says, “He’s in bad shape, Jim.”

Spock’s thigh tenses under Jim’s fingers. Jim subtly glances up at him, but there’s no change to his expression. “Is or was?” Jim asks.

“Was,” Bones corrects. “I patched up most of it, but there was a lot of internal bruising and some considerable systems damage. He’s also malnourished.” Jim frowns. Spock had a rougher history then he let on, but Jim understands why he wouldn’t complain of pain. Being perceived as damaged goods would be grounds for a slave to be resold. On the one hand, Jim’s flattered that Spock would be concerned about having to leave Jim. On the other hand, he’s upset that Spock was hurt and didn’t get ‘patched up’ right away. “I did what I could, but I suggest regular weekly checkups to ensure that the injections have no adverse effects.”

“Understood,” Jim agrees immediately. Then he turns to Spock to order, “You’re to return to sickbay, same time, same place, each week until Dr. McCoy says otherwise; got it?”

Nodding curtly, Spock says, “Yes, Captain.”

“Cover your ears,” Bones says suddenly. Jim looks over at him in confusion, but Bones just passes two cotton balls out of a jar over to Spock, repeating brusquely, “Cover them.”

A flicker of annoyance spreads over Spock’s face—Bones isn’t his master. But when Jim doesn’t protest, he complies, holding the cotton balls up against his ears. It looks vaguely adorable, and Jim looks away with a snort.

“What was that about? We can’t just step outside?”

“Why bother?” Bones shrugs. “Listen, you know I don’t like to say this sort of shit in front of patients, but... he might not be worth it.”

...