Jim found himself in sickbay, on a bio-bed, having blood drawn and images taken of his insides, of which were projected on a big screen behind his head where he couldn't see them, while Bones complained at him to stop squirming. This was a normal occurrence. Jim was always in sickbay for some affliction or other, and being a difficult patient about it. What wasn't normal was what was wrong with him this time.
"Are you sure you didn't eat anything weird, or breathe any weird air?" Bones asked, not for the first time.
Jim rolled his eyes. "I've already told you, no. I haven't done anything out of the ordinary. I went on a planetary survey, but nobody else is coughing up these... things. Any idea what they are?"
Bones looked over to the surgical tray and scowled. "No," he said with distaste. "I haven't the faintest clue. I'll have to run them through an analyzer and see what they're made of."
Sitting in the surgical tray were a handful of small, slightly squishy objects. They were a blue-tinged white colour, and were mostly round but with small protrusions. They slightly resembled popped corn, but with a more spherical and uniform shape. The most important detail about them was that Jim had coughed them up an hour ago.
"Are you almost done with that thing?" Jim asked impatiently as Bones waved a tricorder over his chest continuously.
"Quit being such a brat," Bones said. "Besides, something's up with your lungs."
Jim sat up and looked behind him, wanting to see what Bones was seeing. Bones just sighed in exasperation and let him look.
"What am I looking at, exactly?" Jim asked, not having the medical knowledge to interpret the scan. He could tell that the two large shapes in the middle were his lungs, but that was about it.
Bones took out a lazer pointer and circled some little nodules on the image. "These are inside your lungs."
"Okay? And?"
"They aren't supposed to be there."
"What are they?"
"Unsure," Bones shrugged. "Some kind of growth. Probably related to those things you've coughed up. I'll have to do a biopsy."
Jim groaned.
"Don't worry, I'll knock you out for it," Bones assured him. "The sooner we get it done, the sooner I can find out what's going on with you and come up with a treatment."
To Jim's chagrin, Bones had a point. He sighed in resignation. "Alright, let's do it."
"Good. Lay down."
Jim laid down on the bio-bed, shifting until he was comfortable, then waited as Bones prepared a hypo. He winced as the hypo injected into his neck, and opened his mouth to complain about it, but before he could, he was out like a light.
Jim went about his day on the bridge, letting Bones run all the tests on the strange objects he had coughed up as well as his biopsy sample. He tried not to think about it too much. He was in good hands. If anyone could find out what was wrong with him and fix him, it was Bones.
Alpha shift on the bridge wasn't terribly busy, however. For Jim, at least. They were doing an atmospheric survey on the large gaseous planet that they were presently orbiting, which was plenty of work for the science division, but pretty boring for everyone else. He glanced around the bridge, checking on what everyone else was doing. Nyota wasn't in her chair—her legs were sticking out from under her console as she took the opportunity to do some repairs and calibrations on her station. Hikaru was in his place at the helm, on standby to perform any adjustments to their orbit, but he was reading a book to pass the time between manoeuvres. Spock and Pavel were working together on the survey. Spock was staring into the viewer, reading off all sorts of numbers and chemical compositions, while Pavel transcribed them onto his PADD with a deadly precision.
Jim thought about bothering someone, but the only person he really wanted to bother—Spock—was currently very busy, and would surely scold him for interrupting his work. So instead, he just shifted in his chair and yawned. He watched Spock out of the corner of his eye, so that if anyone glanced at him they wouldn't notice him staring.
Spock was Jim's best friend, but lately, Jim felt his feelings towards Spock changing. The feelings weren't any better or worse, just different. But the difference intimidated him.
He had only noticed the shift recently, during one of his and Spock's post-alpha shift chess games, when he found his gaze getting stuck on Spock's warm brown eyes and finding his heart rate spiking and and instinctive urge to look away whenever Spock caught him staring. When Spock was contemplating his next turn, Jim found himself studying Spock's thin, pale lips, idly wondering what it would feel like to kiss them.
Needless to say, Jim had very complicated feelings about his newfound feelings, and as he watched Spock studying his PADD and complimenting Pavel on his good work, Jim couldn't help but smile. He liked how encouraging Spock was of his young assistant, knowing how much it meant to Pavel to have the ship's first officer tell him he'd done a good job.
Jim was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden coughing fit. He leaned forward in his chair, elbow to his mouth, feeling like he was dying. Internally, he cursed, knowing that he was probably going to cough up those stupid objects again, and in front of everyone, to boot. This was clearly not his day.
The strange objects eventually dislodged and he started to expel them, awkwardly catching them in his hands while being painfully aware of his crew staring at him with concern.
Eventually, the coughing fit finished, and Jim closed his fist tight around the little white objects, hoping that nobody saw them. He looked up, and saw everyone watching him.
He put on his best smile, hoping it didn't seem strained. "Don't worry, I'm not contagious," he joked, then frowned. He hoped he wasn't contagious. He thought about calling Bones to ask if it was possible that he could spread whatever this was to someone else, but didn't want to make that call where everyone else could hear. Instead he decided to just go down to sickbay himself.
"I'd better go down to sickbay for an antihistamine shot," Jim said casually. "You know how my allergies are. Spock, you have the conn." He got up and walked to the turbo-lift, trying not to walk any more speedily than usual, even though he felt like sprinting.
"Mr Sulu, you have the conn," Spock's voice said from somewhere behind him.
Jim looked over his shoulder and saw Spock following him onto the turbo-lift, and his heart started to pound in his chest. He smiled and hoped Spock wouldn't notice how anxious he was. "Which deck, Mr Spock?" He asked politely.
"G deck," Spock said, and Jim's mouth went suddenly dry. G deck was where sickbay was.
"Oh," Jim said, and set the turbo-lift moving. "What are you doing on G deck?"
"Following you," Spock said, raising an eyebrow at Jim. "It is rather unusual for you to visit sickbay on your own accord, indicating that whatever is wrong is more severe than your typical allergies. I wished to see if you were alright, and if I could be of any assistance."
"Uh, I appreciate your concern, but I'm good," Jim said, clutching the strange objects tighter in his fist, hoping Spock wouldn't notice and ask about them.
Spock studied him carefully, and Jim felt himself shrink under the scrutiny. Finally, Spock relented. "I will at least walk you to sickbay," he said.
Jim laughed. "Worried I won't actually go in?"
"Yes," Spock said flatly. "It would not be the first time you had a medical episode on the bridge, stated that you were going to sickbay, and then dawdled in the corridor for a while before returning to the bridge, not having visited sickbay at all."
Jim grimaced. "I didn't realize it was such a pattern."
The turbo-lift doors opened, and they stepped out, heading down the corridor to sickbay. When they reached the big double doors, they stopped, and Jim turned to Spock.
"Do you trust me to go alone from here?" He asked. His tone was joking, but he really hoped Spock wouldn't insist on accompanying him into sickbay. He wasn't ready for anyone else to know about what was happening to him until he had a better picture of it himself.
"Of course," Spock said. "Once you go through those doors Doctor McCoy can be trusted to keep you from running away."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Oh, ha ha. Now get back to the bridge, mister."
"Aye, Captain," Spock said, and turned on his heel, smartly walking back down the corridor. It took all of Jim's willpower to not watch him go. Instead he walked into sickbay and tracked down Bones.
"Hey," Jim said, walking into the open doorway of Bones' office. When the doctor looked up at him, Jim opened his fist, revealing the little white objects resting in his palm. "It happened again."
Bones didn't look surprised. Instead he sighed, and waved Jim into his office. "Close the door behind you," he instructed.
Jim raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. "Am I in trouble?" He joked as he sat down in a chair across the desk from Bones.
Bones' grim expression didn't change. "Depends on how you define trouble," he said. "I have your biopsy results. And the analyzer was able to tell me more about those things you're coughing up."
Jim winced, sensing bad news. "Alright. Hit me," he said, wanting it to be over with.
"Well, these little white things—" Bones pointed at the objects in Jim's hand "—are some sort of plant. And the sample from your lungs matches its composition pretty closely, which is to be expected. Essentially, you have some sort of plant growing in your lungs."
"Prognosis?"
"Don't have one yet," Bones admitted. "But I'll get these... flowers or seeds or whatever the hell they are down to botany for identification. Maybe that'll provide some leads."
Jim felt disappointed that there weren't any answers, but he knew it was still early. These things took time. "Alright, well, thanks. Let me know if you find out anything else."
"Will do," Bones said. "And keep me updated on the coughing up plants thing, don't go hiding that from me."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Jim entered the botany lab to find Bones and Hikaru already there, deep in conversation. They stopped when they heard the door open, and waved Jim over.
"We have some good news and some bad news," Bones said ominously.
Jim grimaced. "Alright. Hit me, then."
Hikaru took up the mantle. "The good news is that I know what you're coughing up—they're immature cones."
"Cones?" Jim asked, not following.
"You know, like pine cones," Hikaru shrugged. "Except they aren't from pine trees. They're arborvitae cones. Immature female cones, to be exact."
Jim nodded. "What's an arborvitae?"
"An evergreen tree from Earth," Hikaru said.
"Okay. Does it normally grow in peoples' lungs?"
Bones cut in. "That's the bad news."
Jim felt a surge of anxiety flash through him as the possibilities ran through his mind. Maybe there wasn't a cure. Maybe this was terminal. He cleared his throat. "What's the bad news, exactly?"
"Identifying the plant hasn't gotten us any closer to figuring out what's causing this," Bones said.
"It should be completely impossible for this to be happening, from a botany perspective," Hikaru added.
Jim relaxed visibly. "Oh, I thought the bad news was going to be something bad," he said with a laugh. "At least it isn't deadly."
"Well, it still could be," Bones warned, then turned to Hikaru. "Thanks for getting an ID on this."
"Any time, doc," Hikaru said, seeming rather proud to be using his botanical knowledge to contribute to solving a problem such as this.
As Jim and Bones left the botany lab, Jim glanced over to the doctor. "You don't think it's deadly, do you?"
Bones sighed. "I have no idea. I sure hope not."
Jim was on the bridge, sitting in the command chair, once again finding himself with nothing to do while the science types did a survey of another uncharted planet. He idly watched Spock do his work, until a comm from sickbay interrupted him.
"Sickbay to Bridge," Bones' voice crackled over the comms. "Are you there, Jim?"
Jim tapped the key to respond. "I'm here. What's up?"
"If you're not busy, can you come down to sickbay?"
Jim's brow twitched upwards. "Sure. I'll be right down."
When he looked up, he saw Spock giving him a curious look. Jim flashed him a reassuring smile. "I'd better go see what Bones wants. You have the conn, Spock."
"Yes, Captain," Spock said. Jim could feel Spock's eyes on him as he walked to the turbo-lift, and he shivered. The feeling of being watched disappeared as the doors shut behind him, and the turbo-lift took him to G deck.
Walking into sickbay, Jim didn't see Bones in the immediate vicinity, so he decided the doctor must be in his office. The door was open, so Jim poked his head around the corner. Sure enough, Bones was sitting behind the desk, looking down at a PADD.
"You wanted to see me?" Jim asked, getting Bones' attention.
Bones looked up. "Yeah, get in here and close the door."
As Jim did so, he felt the nerves resurface. He sat down and wrung his hands below the desk. "What is it?"
"I have a diagnosis for you," Bones said bluntly.
Jim gulped. "And?"
"The good news is that it isn't going to kill you or get markedly worse, so you can stop looking like you're ready to faint."
Jim relaxed. "Is there bad news to go along with that?"
"Well, it won't go away on its own. It's chronic without the cure," Bones explained.
"So, what's the cure?"
Bones grimaced. In lieu of answering, he slid a PADD across the desk to Jim. Before picking it up, Jim raised an eyebrow at Bones. Then, he read the article summary on the screen:
Hanahaki Disease
An illness characterized by coughing up flowers or other plant material, caused by unconfessed love. The only cure is to confess that love, otherwise the symptoms remain chronic.
Jim blinked. "Unconfessed love?" He asked, incredulous. "What kind of disease is this?"
"A weird one, that's for sure," Bones grumbled, clearly displeased that such a thing existed. "Anyways, the cure is easy enough. You just have to tell Spock how you feel."
"It's not that easy—Hey!" Jim exclaimed, cutting himself off as he came to a realization. "How did you know it was Spock?"
Bones sighed. "Jim, you aren't exactly subtle, you know."
"It's that obvious?" Jim asked, despairing. "Does Spock know?"
"Spock is oblivious," Bones rolled his eyes. "If you want him to know, you have to tell him straight."
"But I don"t want him to know," Jim said, deflating. "That's the whole problem. Telling him would be a disaster."
Bones regarded him curiously. "What do you mean?"
Jim shook his head. "It would ruin everything."
"Ruin what, exactly?"
"You know," Jim said, waving his hands nebulously. "Our friendship. What we have is good. I don't want things to get awkward between us because I have these feelings and he doesn't."
Bones sighed. "Well, would you rather be coughing up pine cones for the rest of your life, or suffer a little awkwardness?"
"I'll go with the pine cones," Jim said, then grumbled, "they aren't pine cones."
"You're being dramatic," Bones said.
Jim scowled at him. "I am not." He insisted.
"Look," Bones said, suddenly stern. "I think you should just tell him. Yeah, it might be awkward, but it isn't going to ruin your friendship. Spock isn't one to get hung up on stuff like that. And besides. Things may change in a good way."
"Like how?" Jim asked with a sigh.
"Well, maybe Spock reciprocates those feelings of yours," Bones suggested.
Jim barked out a laugh. "Yeah, right."
Bones frowned. "Don't be so quick to dismiss the possibility."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Jim said, pushing himself to his feet. "Was there anything else? I need to get back to the bridge." The bridge was fine without him, but he was done with this conversation.
Bones waved him away. "Go then. But think about what I said."
"Sure," Jim said, in a tone that said he would absolutely not think about what Bones had said.
Jim had to force the next couple of weeks to retain some semblance of normalcy. He couldn't keep his mind off of Spock and his own pent up feelings. It kept him up at night, his thoughts racing whenever he had downtime. He was also coughing up the cones more frequently, often at night, which also didn't do him any favours. And, during his chess games or other interactions with Spock, Jim was trying so hard to not reveal his feelings that he was coming across as cold and disinterested. Eventually he just started cancelling his games with Spock altogether. Between the sleep deprivation and strained relationship with Spock, Jim was absolutely miserable, and yet determined not to say a word to Spock about the way he felt.
Jim was up coughing up cones one night. When he had finished, and tossed the cones into the trash, he heard a knock at the bathroom door—the bathroom he shared with Spock, which connected their two quarters.
Wiping the spittle from around his mouth, Jim croaked, "Come in."
The door opened, and Spock's head peered out, the light from the bathroom bright against the dim of Jim's quarters.
"Are you alright, Jim?" Spock asked.
"I'm fine," Jim answered, waving him off. "Go back to sleep."
"I could call Doctor McCoy for you—"
"I said I'm fine, Spock," Jim snapped, then winced inwardly at the slightly startled expression on Spock's face. He hadn't meant to snap, but his lack of sleep gave him less control over his emotions.
Spock nodded. "I understand, Captain," he said, then retreated.
Jim almost thought of calling him back to apologize, but he didn't. With a sigh, he went back to bed.
"Captain," Spock said, catching up to Jim in the corridor after alpha shift. Jim had left the bridge the moment his relief arrived, and was quickly making his way back to his quarters to get some sleep. He couldn't help but sigh as he stopped and turned to see what Spock wanted.
"What is it, Spock?" Jim asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
Spock hesitated. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."
Jim raised his arms before letting them drop back down to his sides. "You're talking to me now, aren't you?"
Grimacing slightly, Spock shook his head. "I meant that I would like to speak with you privately, if possible."
Sighing, Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can this wait until another time?"
"I would prefer if it didn't."
"Alright, fine," Jim said, giving in. He waved for Spock to follow him. "We can talk in my quarters."
They walked the rest of the way down the corridor in an uncompanionable silence. Jim lead Spock into his quarters, commanding the lights up, and crossing the room to the table where they usually played chess—when they still were playing chess, at least.
Spock sat down across from him, perched on the edge of the seat as if wanting to be ready to flee at a moment's notice. He was silent for a long moment.
"Well?" Jim asked impatiently. "What is it, then?"
Spock shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I wanted to ask you what it was that I did to damage our relationship."
Jim's brow rose in surprise. "What? You haven't done anything. What are you talking about?"
Tilting his head to the side, Spock gave him a curious look. "You have been avoiding me. We haven't played a game of chess in weeks. And you have been treating me with an uncharacteristic terseness. Clearly I have done something to upset you, but after all of my meditations on the subject, I cannot determine what it was that I have done."
Jim deflated in his chair as he sighed, now feeling bad. It was hard for him to admit to himself that he hadn't thought about how Spock would feel when he distanced himself without any explanation, and he supposed he had been rather sharp in his interactions with the crew—especially Spock—over the last few weeks.
"No, Spock, you haven't done anything wrong," Jim said, the hard edge in his voice melting away. "It has nothing to do with you. I'm sorry I've been treating you poorly."
Spock allowed himself to sit further back in his chair, looking both relieved and concerned. "I am glad to hear I have done nothing wrong, but I am also concerned. You seem rather unwell."
"I've been sick," Jim allowed. "I don't want to go into details, but it's been keeping me up at night. I haven't been able to get much sleep, and it's driving me crazy."
"Have you seen Doctor McCoy about this?" Spock asked.
"Of course I have," Jim said, as if he never hid his ailments from his doctor.
"Is there anything to be done about it?" Spock asked. "A treatment, a cure?"
Jim hesitated, then shook his head. It was better if Spock didn't know. "No, there's nothing to be done about it."
"You can't endure like this," Spock said, worry now prominent on his face. "If nothing can be done I am not sure how long you can be considered fit for command."
Jim gritted his teeth. Spock was right, but this wasn't really something he had considered before. The constant lack of sleep wasn't good for him. He knew that it was already slowing him down and impairing his judgement. "I'll figure something out," was all he said.
Another week passed, and Jim tried to do whatever he could to get a sufficient amount of sleep. He tried various medications to try and suppress the cones, but nothing Bones came up with worked. He was being woken up too often by the cough to get a full night's rest, and he had to leave the bridge frequently to hide in his ready room until the fits passed. Spock's concerns about Jim being fit for command were realized when Bones started to warn Jim that he couldn't let this go on much longer, and soon he would have no choice but to declare Jim medically unfit.
Jim was lying awake, staring at the ceiling, once again unable to sleep. This time it was the inevitability of losing his command that caused his sleeplessness. It was a fate worse than death for him, he knew. But was it a fate worse than destroying his relationship with Spock? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that losing command probably also meant losing Spock. Spock would stay on the Enterprise, ideally as its captain. But Jim would likely be sent off to some medical facility, or back to Riverside if he was lucky. Far away from Spock, in either case.
A tickle scratched at Jim's throat, interrupting his thoughts, and he rolled over onto his side, angling his face downward as he coughed. The little whitish-blue cones pattered onto the bed beside him, and he sighed heavily in frustration. Suddenly unable to take another moment of this, he got out of bed, walked into the bathroom, and knocked on the door that lead into Spock's quarters.
When there was no answer, Jim knocked again, belatedly realizing that he hadn't waited a sufficient amount of time for Spock to actually answer. Then, the door opened in front of him, and Spock stood there, dressed in his sleeping robes, looking at him groggily.
"Jim? What is it?" Spock asked. "It's 03:31."
"I know, I'm sorry," Jim said, then threw himself into a rant before he had the chance to stop himself. "Look, I need to tell you that I have feelings for you. Like, different-than-friends feelings. When I see you at work being a good mentor to Chekov or any of your science officers, I feel warm inside, and whenever we play chess and you take a moment to really think about your next move all I can think about is how it would feel to kiss you.
"I really didn't want to have to tell you any of this, because I don't want things to be weird between us, but this stupid illness I have means I cough up pine cones all day and night unless I confess my feelings to you, and at this rate if I didn't say anything I was going to get removed from command and sent to who knows where, and I'd probably never see you again, which I guess is worse than making things awkward between us." Breathing heavily, Jim finally paused for a moment. Spock was silent, and Jim couldn't meet his eyes.
After a deep breath, Jim added in a much calmer, lower voice, "I'm sorry if this makes things weird between us. I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't give up command, and I couldn't give up you."
Another long silence. Jim stared at his feet, waiting, convinced that Spock was going to shut the bathroom door in his face and never speak to him again.
Finally, Spock spoke. "Our friendship means this much to you?" Was all he asked.
Jim finally found the courage to look up at him. Spock looked surprised. "Of course it means that much to me," Jim said. "It means everything to me."
"I appreciate that, but I do wish that you didn't sacrifice your health to this extent on my account," Spock said, slightly scolding Jim.
"I didn't want to make things weird," Jim repeated.
Spock tilted his head to one side slightly. "In what way would you have made things 'weird'?"
"I just... You know, if you didn't share those feelings, then maybe things would be awkward between us," Jim stammered out.
"I don't believe that's a problem," Spock said.
"No?" Jim asked. Then he laughed a little, nervously. "I guess maybe Vulcans don't feel awkward after their friend tells them they love them but they don't feel the same. Maybe that's purely a human thing."
"I wouldn't know," Spock said. "Perhaps that is the case. But the reason I don't feel strangely about your confession is because I don't feel differently than you."
It took Jim a moment to process what Spock had just told him. He blinked. "What?" He asked dumbly.
"I feel the same way about you," Spock repeated.
"Oh," was all that Jim could say. Then, he sagged against the door frame with relief. Then, he began to laugh, slightly hysterical. He felt so, so relieved, and yet so, so tired.
"Are you alright, Jim?" Spock asked, concerned.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Jim said, banishing the tears that had spilled over onto his cheeks with his sleeve. "I'm just... I haven't slept in like a month."
"But you should be able to sleep now, correct?" Spock asked. "Do you stop coughing up pine cones immediately after making your affections known, or is there a delay?"
"I have no idea. I guess I'll find out."
"Is there anything I can do for you that would help?" Spock asked.
"A hug?" Jim asked before he could stop himself. He grimaced, then shrugged at Spock sheepishly. "I... I could really use a hug right now. If you're okay with that sort of thing."
Spock shook his head in amusement. "Of course." He stepped forward and engulfed Jim in a close, intimate hug. It was the best feeling Jim had after felt.