“Doctor McCoy, I believe that Lt. Uhura would benefit from your medical care.”

“Spock, we’ve been over this.  Half the people on the ship have come down with some form of the flu.  Uhura’s case is mild, I can’t spare the room in sickbay so you’ll have to make do.  Just make sure she stays hydrated and see if you can get her to eat something.  Damned space travel and interplanetary mingling.  Let me know if she gets any worse.  McCoy out”

It was true that more than half the ship was unwell.  Captain Kirk had been dispatched to keep watch over Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekhov, while Mr. Scott was serving as the officer on duty.

Spock returned to the bedroom where Lt. Uhura drifted in and out of sleep.  He debated waking her.  She had been up half the night regurgitating but she also hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for some time.  He sat next to her and placed the back of his hand against her forehead, much as his mother used to do for him.  As expected, she was very warm.

“Lt. Uhura, can you hear me?”

Her eyelids flutter open and she regards him quietly.

“What do you need?”

A single glance tells him so much.  Right now it tells him that she needs him to stay.

“Would you like something to drink or perhaps something to eat?”  She shakes her head to indicate a negative response.

“Doctor McCoy indicates that I need to feed your fever.”  She’d closed her eyes, but at this pronouncement she reopened one eye.  “I did not think it logical either, however he is a trained medical professional.”  She rolled to her side with her back to him.

“Very well, I shall allow you to sleep for an additional hour.  I will be in the other room should you need assistance.”

Spock sat down at her computer station intent on performing work, but first he needed to do some research.  Shortly before her hour was up, he heard her stir in the other room and cocked his head, listening in case she needed him.  All was silent until her heard her give a frustrated shout.  Racing into the bathroom he found her sitting on a stool, her hair wet in places.

“Lt., what happened?”

She sighed, “I tried to wash my hair in the sink.”

“That does not appear to be a good use of your limited physical tolerance, Lt.”

Tears glittered in her eyes, threatening to spill over to her cheeks.  “I feel sticky and dirty.”

“Are you certain this cannot wait until you are well?” He was certain that Dr. McCoy would not approve and considered making contact with him once again.  One fat, illogical tear trailed down her face and he closed his eyes.  “I shall assist you.”

She smiled in thanks and watched as he considered his options.  He could either warm water and pour it over her head as she leaned over the sink or have her stand under the shower and set the option to water instead of sonic spray.  She watched him fidget before he spoke.

“It would seem the most logical choice is to stand under the shower, however that would presume an ability to support yourself for a period of time while in the shower.   I do not presume as much.”

He was unsure how she would react to his next words.

“As I have identified the most logical choice, it will necessitate that I assist you as you stand under the shower.  You will of course wear clothing.“

If she hadn’t been so sick, she would have laughed at him, she did manage to point out that it would be illogical not to take advantage of the shower to let the water wash away some of the grime from her body as well.

Spock supports her with an arm around her waist but she tires attempting to wash her hair.  He avoids looking at her naked form as he takes the shampoo bar from her hand, he adjusts them so that she is leaning against him, her back to him.  He rubs the bar between his hands before applying the resulting lather to the length of her hair.  He softly touches her scalp, only until she commands “harder.”  He digs his fingers in and massages firmly, astonished that she appears to be purring.  He draws out the process, massages from the nape of her neck forward and then reversing direction.  He reaches around and touches her chin, tipping her head back as the running water washes away the lather and fans the strands of her hair outward. 

“Do you feel sufficiently clean, Nyota?”  She nods and turns facing him.  His eyes drop to her collarbone before continuing down and observing as a droplet of water clings to her nipple before falling away.  He raises his eyes to meet hers before turning off the water.

She steps out of the shower and wraps herself in a towel, heading to the sleeping area.  When she is out of sight, Spock slips out of his clothing, now soaking wet and dries himself, slipping into the robe hanging from a hook on the wall.  A yellow robe.  Covered in ducks.  Clearly not regulation issue.

She has curled up on the bed, her long hair plaited in one fat braid and a smile on her face as she watches him fight to keep the robe closed.

“Would you like something to eat or drink, Nyota?”

She shrugs, clean and tired from the shower.  Her eyes drift closed as he steps out of the room.  He contacts the Captain.

“Captain Kirk, please secure a set of clothing for me and bring them to Lt. Uhura’s quarters.”

“Spock?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Why do you need clothing?  What’s going on in Uhura’s room?  Why can’t you go get them yourself?”

In the background, Spock can hear Mr. Sulu  shout, “Why is he naked in her room?”

He closes his eyes and exhales deeply.  “Lt. Uhura regurgitated on my clothing.  And I would appreciate it if you would keep your voice down.  I do not wish for someone to misconstrue what I am doing here.”

“All right, keep your pants on.  Wait, you are still wearing pants, aren’t you?  No Mr. Sulu, I did not say that Commander Spock was pantless in the Lt.’s room”

****
Uhura woke to a waft of steam tickling her nose.  She looked down and found Spock sitting on a chair next to the table, with a tray holding a bowl of steaming soup, toast and a glass of juice.

“Where did you get this, Spock?”  Peering closer, she could make out broad noodles, celery, carrots and chunks of what appeared to be chicken.  “Is this chicken soup?  How did you know?”  She sat up fully in bed and he placed the tray over her lap.

“I researched the best way to feed a fever.  According to human records, chicken soup cures everything.”  He was pleased with her response as she picked up a spoon and tasted the broth, smiling widely.

“This is delicious.  Where did you get the recipe?”

He paused for a moment.  “I reviewed historical records my mother kept.  The recipe apparently belonged to her great, great, great grandmother.”

At her smile of thanks, he inclined his head.  “Is there anything else that you need, Nyota?”

“No, thank you for staying with me, Spock.”

“I will be in the other room working should you need me.  It does appear that you are over the worst of it.”

As he sat at the computer station, he mused that human pleasure seemed to be closely tied to touch and caring.  Illogical and yet intriguing, as was his sudden desire to replace the droplet of water with his touch.