James T. Kirk carefully pulled his sleep shirt over the wounds he had sustained from the fight against Spock. Bones had treated them and they were healing, but he still didn't want to risk an argument with Bones over having accidentally reopened one with the rough fabric. Jim lay down in bed, relieved that the day had ended on a light note. Spock was back to his usual stoic, unemotional self and the ship was on its way to Altair VI, their brief delay approved by High Command. Jim was about to surrender to his exhaustion and drift into a blissful sleep when a raw feeling spread through his throat. He thought it a minor irritation at first, but it quickly developed into the urge to cough. His airways were constricted as he took a few wheezy breaths after some small coughs. He pushed himself into a sitting position to ease his breathing, legs drawn up, arms on his knees and head lowered. It didn't help.

Jim reached for the top drawer of his bedside cabinet and pulled out his inhaler. He shook it, then sprayed a dose. Normally it would ease the inflammation in his airways, but even after minutes it didn't have the desired effect. He took another dose. His airways were still tight; he could breathe, but it was taking a toll on him. Jim leant back on the pillows, making sure his upper body was elevated. He allowed himself to sigh at his situation, coughing afterwards. Was the hot, dry air from the Vulcan and the strain only now getting to him? Or was it an allergic reaction to the poison Bones had injected him with? What could have triggered it? Damn it, they were on their way to a celebration where the Enterprise had to look strong and powerful; they had to impress to keep the peace, and he, as her captain, had nothing better to do than suffer an asthma attack half a day before their arrival? Great, just great. How was he supposed to turn up in front of the president? Wheezing and with blue lips from lack of oxygen? Jim was considering to get Bones when he heard footsteps in the corridor, approaching his room,