THe BLTS Archive - Muddy Waters by Lyrastar (watergal@liquidfic.net) --- Disclaimer: The characters and all things Trek are the exclusive property of Paramount/Viacom so don't believe Harry Mudd even if he does try to sell it to you. Notes: The story opens just after the animated episode Mudd's Passion closes. There are some discrepancies between the broadcast version and the novelization, the stardate being one of the most notable. In general, I chose to accept the broadcast version. Written for Round V of the Spock/McCoy Haven challenge at http://members.tripod.com/spockmccoyote/thespockmccoyot esden/ Archiving: The McCoyote Den, ASC*, BLTS and my page. Thanks: To Dina for the inspiration, to Birgit for helping me fix it even though she despises it, and to Janet, for getting me into it and helping me get out of it again. In answer to a challenge to have Harry Mudd instigate a S/Mc story. --- Captain's Log Stardate 4978.7: --- Harry Mudd is back in custody and the last of his 'miracle love-crystals'have been destroyed. The Enterprise remains in orbit around the only class-M planet in our newly discovered binary star system and we are still planning to complete a planetary survey-- eventually. Unfortunately, it seems that we must wait for the after-effects of Harry's badly misnamed love-potion to dwindle before we can proceed with any part of our mission. Kirk snapped off the log recorder on the arm of the captain's chair. After all, he thought ruefully, it's pretty hard for a starship to function as a team when half the crew can't stand to be in the same room with the other half. They had picked up Harry earlier today in the midst of yet another swindle: pawning crystals containing an alleged love-potion off onto the lonely miners of Motherlode. When the potion was accidentally distributed through the Enterprise ventilation system, no one had been more shocked than Harry to discover that it actually worked! Well, sort of. A few minutes of heady rapture ensued to be followed by hours and hours of pure hostility. With most of the crew now at odds with someone or another, work had come to a virtual standstill. Even now Scotty's burr buzzed across the bridge. "Well, if' you would keep yer big fat paws where they belong instae o' bangin' around on me finely tuned controls, ye would nae be having that problem, would ye?" M'ress snarled back at him. Her tail twitched dangerously back and forth. "Finely tuned, my behind! This panel is so badly miscalibrated it's a wonder we can even signal--" "M'ress! Scotty!" Kirk barked. They immediately fell silent. Kirk took a breath and started again. "It's just the drug talking, you two. Drop it, before one of you says something you'll really regret. "Scotty, why don't you see what you can get done in engineering? We won't need you on the bridge for the next several hours." "Aye, Captain. A fine suggestion indeed," Scotty agreed heartily. He stopped just short of the turbolift door, turned and took one parting shot at M'ress. "Me bairns may be poor company on a foggy night, but at least they dinnae turn on ye like some people do!" And then the lift doors slid shut in front of him. Kirk heaved a sigh of relief. One down. He hit the comm. link on the arm of the chair. "Sickbay." McCoy answered. "Sickbay, McCoy here." Without warning, McCoy's tone suddenly became acerbic. "Dammit, Mayer, I said Vitalizer-B, not D! Can't you get anything right?" A high-pitched squawk reverberated in the background. Kirk groaned inwardly and rubbed his forehead. "Bones, how much longer is it going to be?" "For what?" McCoy grumbled into the comm. "But if you don't get me some half-decent help down here soon, it will be a cold July in Savannah before anything at all gets done." There was the sound of glass breaking and Kirk felt the all-too familiar headache pressing in on his temple. No way was it bad enough to get him anywhere near sickbay today, though. Kirk twisted his lips and tried again. "How long until Harry's potion wears off, Bones? The side effects? If it isn't soon I may not have much of a ship left to run." Over the intercom there came the sound of stomping and a hiss, as if the sickbay door had slid open in the distance. McCoy's voice came back calmer now. "Oh, that. I dunno Jim; it's a previously unstudied substance. Looking at the decay curves, I would say two to three hours, but the tissue release is difficult to predict. I can't be sure." Spock's voice broke in. "Since Doctor McCoy seems unable to properly use the rubidium spectrograph--" "You conceited, elf-eared, hypocritical prig! Why, I was running compositional spectrographs when you were still in a test-tube. You're the one that--" "Bones! Spock!" Kirk's voice interrupted. "Knock it off! Spock, get to a library computer and review everything we have on Harry. We'll need to take a formal statement from him and I want to go in with as much background information as possible. "Bones, stay there. Do what you can to counteract this drug, or at least let me know when the effects will wear off naturally." Their voices chimed in together. "Captain--" "Jim--" "DON'T...argue! Just do it! I have had about all that I can take of this. Kirk out." He smacked the panel harder than he had intended. Arex swiveled and stared at him dubiously. "Captain, you don't think that the doctor and Mr. Spock might have been affected by Mudd's potion together, do you? I know that Mudd said it doesn't work that way between two men, but they certainly sound like the people who have been drugged." The headache pounded furiously at Kirk's temples and he sagged back in his chair. "I don't know, Mr. Arex. The way those two act all the time, how could anyone tell? All I know is that all this is just a temporary, drug induced side-effect, and I can't wait for it to be over and to have my crew back to normal." --- The mood in Spock's quarters was in sharp contrast to the chaos that Mudd's drug had wrought around the rest of the ship. Plush curtains damped the vibrations of the bulkhead and the red glow of the firepot kept the harsher spectra down. The warm scent of aromatic herbs from his native planet soothed the room and from nowhere unseen fingers played soft lyre notes that sang and died in the air. It was a haven of Vulcan serenity and reason amidst the din of human turmoil and emotion. Or, at least, it should have been. Uneasily, Spock tapped the data chip on the table for the third time but still, illogically, he did not insert it into the slot. Odd this, his reticence to be taken back to the beginning. Back to the time when Harry had come along and stirred the perfectly becalmed waters of his life. The long years of futile yearning were something that no Vulcan should ever have had to know. But the fates had played their hand most cruelly. It seemed that he was to be just Vulcan enough to be tormented by the call of the empty bondspace and yet just human enough to fall in love. Just human enough to fall in love with a man who could not be his. But stalling did no good. Even as he held the datacard between his fingers, all the old memories resurfaced. Harry again. Ironically, it had all started with Harry. At once, the chip took him back to the past. It was Stardate 1330.3. Mudd's women had all elected to stay on Rigel XII. Harry Mudd was back onboard and the hard-won lithium crystals had been installed. Spock, McCoy and Christine had been assigned to get a statement and psychological assessment from Mudd. That meeting in sickbay had been the beginning of the end of any delusions Spock had had of being able to call himself truly Vulcan. "Why this is outrageous!" Harry bellowed aloud. "A conspiracy! I know my rights! I demand a neutral party." "Mr. Mudd," Spock said blandly, "you have crippled this ship and endangered everyone aboard. Whom do you propose to be neutral toward you?" "Not neutral towards me, you nincompoop," Harry growled, "neutral towards you. Is it just a coincidence that the ship's First Officer, come to interrogate me, has brought with him the two people who are in love with him? Who would do anything he says? Corroborate any allegation? I think not? This is a conspiracy, I say." Harry crossed arms across his generous bulk and turned huffily to the wall. Christine burst out in gales of hysterical laughter. "Leonard? In love with Mr.Spock? Oh, Harry, you don't know how wrong you are. They can barely stand each other." Harry drew himself up to his full and not inconsiderable height. "I am never wrong on such matters, m'dear. Reading people is a con man's stock in trade. How do you think I got where I am today?" McCoy jibed, "You mean under arrest?" He folded his arms defensively across his chest and rocked back on his heels. Harry feigned a long-suffering look. "The circumstances of my arrest may be attributed to my misjudging the space-worthiness of the vessel that I elected to appropriate; an entirely separate matter. I assure you. On the subject of mans' desires, I am never wrong." Spock said evenly, "I would not waste time with you, sir. Are there any other officers to whose presence you would raise objections?" "None save these two. Unless you have others in your harem. Remove them or remove yourself," Harry said self-righteously. "Dr. M'Benga, Nurse Cho: report to sickbay." Spock spoke flatly into the intraship comm. "I don't believe this," McCoy mumbled under his breath. "Spock, you're not going to listen to this, are you?" "Dr. M'Benga's psychological evaluation will serve as well as yours, Doctor. And resolution of this situation is our primary concern, not the exact composition of the teams involved. You are dismissed." McCoy flushed bright red but left, nonetheless, without further protest. Spock sat down at a biocomp in the anteroom to wait. Christine, equally red, had glanced over at him, but he appeared to be immersed in his computations. In a voice that no human could have heard at an equal distance, Christine continued the discussion. "Harry, I won't deny that I have a certain...attraction to Mr. Spock, but Dr. McCoy? That's just ludicrous. If you could only see how they tear at each other at every opportunity. Wherever did you get such an idea?" Harry smiled beneficently, reminding her of the fast-talking beguilers she had seen at the Kansas county fairs of her youth. In the same way something in his voice held her attention. "Ah, my dear Christine, back when you were a wee lass in school, wasn't there some boy who tormented you? Called you names? Teased you mercilessly? And then one day someone whispered in your ear that it was all because he really liked you all along. "Some boys just don't know what do to when they meet someone who they like. They don't know how to...relate on any level but that of the schoolyard. And then again some boys are so...sadly desperate for attention that they will do anything, welcome any kind of attention, even the wrong kind, rather than be ignored." Christine's eyes were fixed hard and fast, her gaze locked intently on Harry's face. Not a trace of the incredulity remained. Harry smiled gently and stroked her chin paternally. "Ah, yes, m'dear, I see you do know that little boy. And I regret to inform you that some little boys never do grow up. And we entrepreneurs do thank heaven for that." The sound of Harry's deep belly laugh rang through the sickbay chambers. "No, m'dear. Some of those little boys never do grow up at all." In the next room Spock sat frozen to his chair, his head reeling, possibilities dancing to the tune of Harry's words. The opening of the corridor door startled him out of his reverie. M'Benga and Cho walked in as ordered. With chagrin he noted that it had been 3.74 minutes since he had entered anything at all into the biocomp. Realigning his mind to the task at hand, he stood up and walked coolly with his fellow officers in to the next room to take the detainee's statement as duty required. --- Outside the dispensary, McCoy was waiting when Spock came out. "Wait a minute, Spock." McCoy jogged up to him. "We have to talk." Spock stopped in his tracks. He locked his wrists behind his back and stood completely at ease. "About what, Doctor?" Spock asked placidly. "About what!" McCoy blustered. "Why you T-negative, copper-plated, overgrown pixie! You know damn well what!" The words had barely fallen from his lips when his whole aspect changed. The bluster vanished, his body deflated and the lines of his face began to shift and move as if they couldn't decide where to come to rest. "About the fact that Harry is right. I am...drawn to you. This-- thing that has been brewing between us, we have to face it. We're both adults here. We have to confront it and make sure it doesn't screw up our working relationship. Or anything else." A crewman glanced backwards at them, a curious expression on his face, but McCoy stood his ground. Spock's masked expression never changed. "Come with me." In four long strides he disappeared into the nearest conference room without even looking back. By the time McCoy had entered, Spock had already settled himself at the head of the table. He gestured the doctor to a chair and opened as if to lecture. "Doctor, I suggest you not concern yourself with Mr. Mudd's outburst. He has shown himself to be dishonest, manipulative and willing to say anything to further his objectives. I do not give overly much credence to any statement made by said gentleman and certainly do not take anything he has said as a reflection upon you or your motivations." "Yeah," McCoy snorted ruefully. "Well, even a broken watch is right twice a day. And liar or not, Harry is an astute observer of human interactions and, in my case at least, I can tell you that he is right." McCoy squirmed in his seat. "I seem to have fallen in love with you and have been expressing it, or should I say, trying not to express it, very badly." "Indeed?" Spock's eyebrows shot up to their limit. He licked his lips, gone suddenly quite dry, and made his choice. "Then, Doctor, would it surprise you to hear that the same is true for me?" McCoy leaned back in his chair. His eyes shone cornflower bright and held nothing but infinite compassion. He shook his head wistfully. "No. No, actually it wouldn't." Somehow, Spock's eyebrows rose even higher. "Fascinating," he said softly. McCoy added gently, "And I am very, very sorry, but I don't know what to do about either. I said we have to face this, we have to. I have to be able to go on working with you. And right now I am not doing too well at coping with the dichotomy." He shifted uncomfortably. "You see, it's complicated, but, uh, it can't go anywhere. Any--feelings we may have for one another are going to have to stay just that and nothing else. It's quite a mess. I'm sorry." McCoy shook his head. Spock cleared his throat and continued a little louder. "I confess, Doctor, I fail to see the problem. If you are concerned about any rumors you may have heard about Vulcan mating practices--" McCoy broke into a short and humorless laugh. "Vulcan practices! Yeah, this is ironic isn't it?" He sunk down in his chair and threw his head back in resignation. "No, Spock, you're in the clear. This time I can't pin the blame on Vulcan. This mess comes from good old Terran traditions and emotions--mine. This mess came from doing as I always say, from following the heart." He thumped his chest twice with his fist. Hard. McCoy said, "It turns out that you were right about raging emotionalism. It just gets you into trouble, all right." Spock regarded him carefully. "Doctor, you are making no sense. As you initiated this discussion, I would appreciate your providing some resolution. And sooner would be preferable to later." McCoy shot up in the chair and stared at him point-blank. He rose from the table and slammed his palms down flat, stinging him up his arm. He blurted out the words, his voice hard and angry. "You want resolution? Fine, it's resolved! We can't have anything together because I'm already married! So there! Are you happy?" His voice broke as he repeated, fading now, "I'm already married, Spock." Spock stared at him blankly. "Marriage contracts--" McCoy cut him off roughly. "Not a contract--Holy wedlock. The real thing. A church, a minister, 'til death do us part, a vow--forever." McCoy took a deep breath and continued more calmly, but his body was shaking. He fell back, drained, into his seat. "Joy--Jocelyn--came from a Southern Baptist fundamentalist church. No divorces, no premarital sex, no contracts--just 'what God has joined together let no man put asunder' and all that. It's not my way of thinking, but I was young and in love and would have done anything to be with her. And I did. So help me, that's what I did. I married her in her way with her vows. And now I have to live with that." "Doctor, certainly you are aware that such a marriage can still be easily dissolved by legal means. While such a dissolution is not accepted by the church, if the religious aspects are not of concern to you, it matters little." "No, Spock, you're wrong. It matters very much to me but not because of any church. It doesn't matter where or why or how, the fact is that I made a vow, I gave my word. I meant it at the time and I did it of my own free will. Spock, I gave my word. How could I break that and ever make another promise, to you or to anyone, ever again? How could I ever believe myself again? Don't you see? The church has nothing to do with it, but my own morals do. I will not break marriage vows or any other promise that I have made. Ever." McCoy's voice now cracked, but his body now radiated utter calm. Far calmer than Spock himself felt. "That 's part of what makes me what I am, Spock. Can you see why this has to be?" "Yes," Spock lied. "And I will, of course, respect your wishes. You are dismissed." McCoy blinked. He ran his hand over his face and head and chuckled humorlessly into his palm. "Dismissed, huh? Spock, listen--this doesn't change anything; however we live our lives, I love you. And it isn't reasonable or healthy to just ignore that. I don't like it any more than you do, but that is the way it is. And it is just going to have to be enough." "Doctor--" "No, you listen! I haven't loved Joy in over ten years. She hasn't loved me in much longer than that. We did what we did and that can't be changed any more than I can change my feelings for you. But I can't just ignore my word of honor because it is no longer what I want. So you can dismiss me, or insult me, or transfer me off this ship, but you can't change those feelings and you can't change yours that easily either. We have to make this work somehow. Together. You're supposed to be the expert on control of emotions, so why don't you tell me how?" He spread his hands helplessly. "Because I am fresh out of ideas." His voice shook just a little, but his eyes held steady. Spock searched his face intently. Truly a remarkable man. "In that case, I submit, Doctor, that if, as you say, this changes nothing, than nothing need change between us. We go on as before. Unless or until circumstances become different." "Logical." McCoy smiled wanly and reached out for his hand. "And 'before' wasn't all that bad, when you think about it." Spock pulled back his arm. "But now, Doctor, I would prefer to be alone." McCoy's eyes shone bright with compassion. And perhaps something else. "And that I can understand. But you know where to find me if you want to talk. Above anything else, I am still your friend and always will be." McCoy got up and walked the long way around the table, dragging the tips of his fingers across the back of Spock's rigid shoulders before he found his way back out the door. And they had fallen back into the comfortably safe distances of the precisely measured parries and the carefully selected barbs. A Human would have said that the years would dull the pain. A Vulcan would have said that there should be no pain. They both would have been wrong. Nonetheless, they carried on that way for days and weeks and months and years. Until one day Spock had felt the burning. --- Down in sickbay McCoy crouched cleaning up the shattered beaker of trans-7-oxy-hydronium with a prickly feeling of deja vu. Nurse Mayer had thrown it such that it landed in almost exactly the same spot that one did when Spock hurled it a little more than three years ago. Seeing something was off, McCoy had approached Spock privately, solicitously. In retrospect, that had probably been a mistake. Better to have done it impersonally, as if he were just another one of the crew due for just another quarterly exam. Spock had said, "You will cease to pry into my personal matters, Doctor, or I shall certainly break your neck." And then the beaker went sailing. McCoy had left that little detail out of his report to Jim. Not that he had needed any more hints that the problem was bad. Thousands of years of Vulcan mysticism be hanged, you didn't have to be a forensic anthropologist to figure out what was going on. It was obvious enough in his pants. Christine and he had discreetly called in a few favors from colleagues familiar with the Vulcan wards. They got some sketchy basics including the role of plomeek and the bumsen girl. Christine had been more than willing, but Spock had not and the soup, as they say, had hit the fan. McCoy had known what was going on. He had known why during that long trip to Vulcan Spock would admit Christine, Jim, anyone but him. What he hadn't known was that Spock was already married too. That hypocritical, two-faced, unscrupulous, double-crossing son-of-a- bitch! All that time and he had never said a word. Oh, afterwards they had talked. Afterwards Spock had said he would have willingly broken the kal-'i-farr, broken tradition, broken the last of his family ties if only he would have agreed to do the same. But McCoy had been adamant, the necessities of Vulcan biology had loomed and so Spock had kept the secrets of Vulcan ritual sacrosanct until they had burst forth, painfully obvious to see. There was a way in which that made it worse. To know that Spock was willing to do what he could not. Just walk away from a pledge because it was no longer fitting. But it wasn't the same, he knew. Spock's obligation was of his parents' making; Leonard's was of no one's but his own and once sworn he could never do less than what he had said. So, upon the return from Vulcan, when it became clear that the pon farr still must be satisfied, he went to him as his doctor and as his friend. He cited logic and biology and science and duty. To his confusion, Spock had turned him away. It was only later that he found out that Spock had gone to Jim. --- Spock finished up the compilation of the data collected from their first encounter, then reached for the second chip. Reviewing the information about Harry and his estranged wife Stella gave Spock more than a little chill. He had come closer than he had cared to think to being joined in a not so dissimilar fashion. More than once since Mudd's revelation Spock had entered T'Pau's comm. code prepared to inform her that he would break millennia of Vulcan tradition and protocol. He was prepared to become, as he had already been called, an outcast--not truly of Vulcan. He was prepared to accept the accompanying ostracism and all that it entailed as it became increasingly clear that that was not any kind of a life he could desire. That he had not made the call was not out so much out of reluctance but more perhaps that he had always believed that his human blood, his human weakness, would spare him the ordeal of the pon farr entirely. A human would call it wishful thinking or denial. As a Vulcan, he found it--logical. But the burning had come and the bond had flared and he had been drawn home to take a mate he did not want in front of one he could not have. He remembered little else until the plak tow broke and Leonard put his hand upon his wrist as he let the ahn woon fall. "Get your hands off of him, Spock. It's finished. He's dead." With the contact he actually felt the pon farr cycle reset in his mind. Not over, only redirected. Freed from the broken link with T'Pring, the cycle now turned to same man who had laid his hand upon his and with the touch some vestigial, bleeding stump in his mind flared violently. And then the touch was gone. Seeing his dead friend fall away from his hands, absently he thought it mattered little. He would die in custody, an elegant solution all around. But human ingenuity--the doctor's ingenuity--had triumphed over the ways of Vulcan yet again. While Jim would live, there would be no easy way out for Spock. Of course the doctor had found out. It was evident in the first post- incident medical exam. Of course the doctor had volunteered. Spock couldn't have said what his plans were when he turned him away the first time except that he would not have the weakness of his biology force upon them what Leonard so adamantly had rejected. Of course, as beings all across the galaxy did in times of great trouble, Spock had turned to Jim for help. --- Surveying his bridge, Jim had to wonder himself. Was it really possible that Spock and Bones had fallen under the spell of Harry's magic potion? Take the bridge full of victims: dark scowls, defensive posturing, pointless bickering and acerbic replies--it sure did seem familiar. He had known about the attraction between them for at least two years. No, that wasn't true. He had seen it much earlier than that. But for all the years that he had known him, Bones had always stayed firm in his decision to honor his joke of a marriage to Joy. Before that night en route to Altair VI, it had just seemed inconceivable that anything might change. Jim smiled to himself the irony. What outside observer would have guessed that it was Bones, not Spock who would be the holdout? The humor evaporated as he remembered the sharp reality of that night. "Come!" Jim got up from the bed, shirtless in drawstring sweatpants. Spock entered, in full uniform, of course. "Captain, may I speak with you? It is of some importance." Jim stretched his sore shoulders and met Spock halfway. He would have liked another day of rest, but he would do what he must. "Yes, I've read McCoy's report. You're still in pon farr." "Yes. The combat terminated the plak tow but the pon farr has only recycled and reset. The mating drive must still be appeased within the next ten days." "I see." Jim paced the floor in front of Spock, his muscles rippling with each step. "And without the bond to T'Pring, the drive may be fulfilled with any partner?" "Yes." Jim paced back to the desk. He drove his palms flat into it. "And so you have come here--" "To ask your opinion as to what I should do with Doctor McCoy," Spock finished smoothly. Jim blinked. "Doctor McCoy?" "Yes. Last night he approached me to suggest a...logical solution to the dilemma. I turned him away." Jim's head spun. "He offered...but you?..." "Yes. I found his offer to be in direct contradiction to his stated fidelity to his marriage vows. And I would not wish to be the cause of any--difficulties--within his marriage or within himself. I would like your opinion upon the matter." Spock clasped his hands behind. Jim stood, nonplussed, and searched Spock's face for cues. There weren't any. "You want my opinion on whether you and Bones should--" He clamped the brakes down tightly on that thought and forced his mind to the issue at hand. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, Mr. Spock, this situation is somewhat different." "I should say," Spock said without a trace of irony. Jim continued doggedly. "Doctor McCoy can be counted on to hold the best interests of this ship and crew primary at all times. If he suggests a course of action, I am sure it is in the best interest of your health and welfare." Spock stood mute. Jim cleared his throat. "But if you could choose, you would choose him?" "Of course." "Of course," repeated Jim pensively. His expression shifted through three or four emotions, then he said, "But you are concerned that he will regret his actions. Resent you. " Spock declined to answer directly. "Until now he his specifically and consistently declined a sexual relationship upon the grounds of other commitments. I see no reason that a physiological imperative of my people should alter his mind." Jim shifted his stance and his voice softened considerably. "As I suspect you are already aware, ever since I have known Bones, his so- called marriage has been in name only. There is no feeling there anymore, only some sense of honor that I don't really understand. "Spock, there is a difference between 'biology' and marriage vows. Between love and need. They may coexist, and when they do it's wonderful, but I can say that, as another human male, I don't see a conflict here. "Seeing you through a time of...biology...is pragmatic and compassionate and entirely within his nature as a doctor and as your friend. It is as irrelevant to any marriage vows as a medical exam or a rape. And if love does happen to coexist, that's not a bad thing, Spock. In fact, it sounds--nice." Jim tried his most cherubic expression. Spock said, "You are saying that I should accept his offer." Jim replied brusquely, "I am saying that McCoy is a grown man who does what he pleases and is as capable of making choices as you are. In fact, I dare say he has done some what better in that arena than you have recently." Jim shifted emphasizing the crimson scar across his chest. It took the grand sum of his control, but Spock flinched only minimally. Jim continued, "He came to you because he believed it to be the right thing for the both of you. If you wish to accept his offer, do it. If you don't then don't. But he doesn't need to be coddled and protected from himself. It's not necessary, it's not respectful, and it's not right." Spock conceded with a nod. "Perhaps. But his feelings--our feelings- -add a certain element of complexity to the equation." Jim snorted. "Welcome to puberty," he said ruefully. "And it doesn't get any easier either. Trust me on this." "I see." Spock rose. "I thank you, Captain. There is much logic to what you say and I shall consider it." Jim paced over to Spock's side and stood very close; he turned and faced him, chest-to-chest, eye-to-eye. His skin rippled with the sudden movement as he reached up and grabbed the Vulcan by the shoulders and pulled him closer still. Another man might have termed it an embrace. "Spock, you do know that I am your friend, right? That whatever else I am a friend--to both of you--and I will willingly do anything-- anything at all--to help, if I can." Spock's eyes ran down to the tender gash above Jim's nipples, which twitched and thrilled with each beat of the captain's heart. He said, "Yes, Jim. I know." Spock pulled away and said coolly, "By your leave, Captain?" Jim nodded and dropped his arms. "Of course. You do know where to find me if you need me?" "Indeed. However, I regret to inform you that I may not make our breakfast meeting in the morning." Jim chuckled to himself and firmly chased the mental image from his mind. "I'll get by." Spock turned to go. Jim caught him. "Spock--" Spock looked at him inquisitively. Jim shook his head, a curious mixture of expressions on his face. "Just...good luck." His eyes twinkled with amusement. Spock's eyebrows shot up to their limit and he left the room leaving only that look as his parting response. --- Sighing, McCoy wiped up the last of the hydronium and tossed the beaker fragments into the 'cycler. Sickbay was again spic and span, but the reactivated memories of his sudden foray into Vulcan biology were not to be as easily disposed of. It was certainly a once-in-a-lifetime moment. He would have given a lot to see the stupid look that must have been on his own face when Spock had come to sickbay the next day and nonchalantly requested that he report to Spock's own cabin for 'a personal matter'. Some nights when he was alone and everything was dark, the memories haunted him still. The taut grimace on Spock's face as need overtook civility he fell victim to the most elemental of forces, Spock's dry breath scorching his neck, teeth gouging sharp into his flesh. Spock's fingers biting into his hips hurting him to the bone, the deep burning pain as they-- McCoy stopped the thought short. It was not how he had wanted it to be. Spock had warned him, sure enough. Almost as soon as he had arrived, Spock had reached for his mind. McCoy had jumped back. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked. "I must form a mating mind link between us," Spock said. "More than a betrothal but less than a marriage?" McCoy surmised. "Yes." McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Is it permanent?" "Under circumstances less extreme than those which you have witnessed, yes." McCoy snapped. "Then I refuse. I told you, I can't marry you. I can't have a link with you. I am here because it is the right thing to do, but it is just biology, so let's get on with it." Spock hesitated. "While the link is not strictly imperative, without it I believe you will find the ensuing events--extremely unpleasant. I do not relish that idea and I resist the idea of proceeding without the link." McCoy began to strip abruptly. "Yeah, well we don't always get what we want in this life, do we, Spock? And according to my calculations, you won't be able to resist much in another five days, so we can do this here and now or we can do it in the grand ballroom on Altair Six. It's just a job to me and I couldn't care less, so you pick." McCoy had riled himself up for a fight, but in the end Spock ceded to the inexorable logic. The physical pain had been bad, but nothing compared to the utter lack of recognition in Spock's eyes as together they moved together on the bed. But Spock would live and even the sharpest memories dim with time. He had crawled out from under and found his med scanner. The stigmata of the pon farr had receded and Spock's vital signs approached normal. Aside from exhaustion, only his brain epsilon wave patterns were still off--at near basilar levels. It was not clear if Spock would remember any of this in the future. At that moment, McCoy could not decide which way would be worse. He regarded the man lying disheveled and spent on the bed. He lay so helpless and vulnerable. It was a Spock McCoy both hoped and feared he would never see again. The room was utterly still. Only the pulse of the ship's engines thrilled through the floorboards and into his bare feet. Leonard leaned over the bed and tenderly brushed Spock's bangs again straight and smooth down his forehead. "I love you, Spock," he said just once under his breath. And then he hurriedly donned his clothes. "Leonard." A weak voice came from the bed. McCoy came back to his side. "It's Doctor McCoy," he corrected gruffly. "And I'm here. And as far as I can tell, it's over." "Yes, it's over," Spock repeated blankly. Softening, McCoy rubbed Spock's arm through the sheet. "Get some sleep. I'll send Christine by in a few hours to check on you." "Leonard--" "Doctor McCoy!" he had shouted harshly. "For the love of God, Spock, don't call me that. I just can't take it right now." Angrily he drew his palm across his forehead, grabbed his medikit, and made a dash for the door." --- Spock finished with the old data and began on the more recent information that had led them to track Harry to Motherlode. As he switched the datacards, he marveled at Jim's human insight. Jim had been right yet again. For Spock had never really reconciled the great mass of paradoxes that was Leonard H. McCoy. He seemed to personify every human weakness, and yet he matched Spock daily, surprised him often, and mesmerized him constantly. Certainly Leonard had shown no sign of weakness that day. His resolve had been far less shaky than Spock's own. "Well, what do I do," McCoy had asked nervously. He had been accepting of anything. Anything except what they both wanted most. And trepidation or not, he had borne the pon farr without the benefit of the mindlink, making no complaint then or since. Spock remembered little of that day. A smell, a caress, a mouth, a stroke, a lunge, a warmth, a depth, a unity. And when the madness again dissolved, McCoy was already up and dressed and composed. "Leonard--?" "Don't, Spock. It's Doctor McCoy. And I'm here. And as far as I can tell, it is over." As if hearing them from a great distance Spock considered the possible meanings of the words. But then Leonard had taken his arm through the sheet--perhaps neither of them could bear any more--but Spock had to know. He wiggled his had and touched Leonard's bare skin. He touched pain, such great psychic pain that it overwhelmed anything a Vulcan had ever had to learn to control. "Leonard--" he barely managed through the haze. But his mind tumbled too badly to hear any reply that might have been before Leonard ripped his hand away and disappeared through the door. As Spock now sat pensive in the very same cabin, the very same door slid open. Spock looked up and a trace of the smile he had only recently discovered rippled across his face. He made no effort to staunch it. "Leonard," he said gravely. McCoy grinned crookedly as he crossed the threshold. "You done yet?" he asked. He leaned over to kiss the top of Spock's head. "Negative. I have been, as you might say, reminiscing. And you?" McCoy plopped heavily into his favorite cane-backed rocker. He argued, "No, 'reminiscing' is what *you* might say. I would say 'dawdling'. And, yes, I'm done. Harry's damned drug affected me with one nurse, Mayer, but no one else, and I got the analysis done pretty quickly once she left." McCoy pulled off one boot and then the other. "It's a serendorpin derivative. There's no known antidote but it's hepatically metabolized under first-order kinetics. The half-life in the human hypothalamus is only ninety-seven minutes, give or take, so most of us should be clear within two or three hours." McCoy tossed the boot aside and rocked back in the chair with a wicked grin. "Of course, since you and Christine were exposed through direct tissue contact, you have exponentially higher levels. If I were you, I'd steer clear of sickbay for at least a week. Christine's got a nasty left hook." "Duly noted, Doctor," Spock said looking distinctly unamused. Spock changed the subject. "Have you reported your findings to the captain? And have you yet informed him of your self-designated cabin reassignment." "My self-designated--" McCoy floundered for words. "Why you stuck- up, self-centered, arrogant leprechaun! The nerve of you, acting like this was all my idea! You've been after me ever since that shore leave on Starbase sixty-eight!" "Perhaps," Spock said mildly. "But that does not answer either of my questions." McCoy snorted. "Well, at least you admit it." He peeled off his shirts and tossed them over to his side of their bed. They landed only inches from the 'cycler and on top of the steadily growing pile of his used uniforms. "'No', to both questions. And as for my, uh, reassignment, I have been trying to get a minute alone with Jim but it's been so crazy lately. I'll catch him tonight, I promise." He bent over and pulled off both socks, adding them to the heap. "And as for Harry's love-potion, I was on my way to the bridge with the report, but since there is no antidote, we can't really do anything differently. So I figured that in this case discretion is the better part of valor. Jim doesn't seem to be in the best of moods right now and breaking the news of this finding sure isn't going to help." "That much is certain," agreed Spock. He eyed the pile of Leonard's dirty clothing that was rapidly taking over his otherwise ordered cabin. It gave him more satisfaction than he ever would have believed possible. "And so you intend to exercise the better part of valor?" "Oh, I intend to exercise something all right," McCoy raised his forehead meaningfully. "So I thought I would report to the First Officer instead." Spock rose to the moment. He summoned his most military bearing. "Indeed? Then, doctor, report." McCoy chuckled and pushed up from the chair. He spun Spock's chair around and settled himself on the Vulcan's lap. "Well, my report, Sir, is that that we--" He stroked his knuckle thoughtfully over the lines of Spock's jaw as he spoke. "That is, you and I--and I suppose the rest of the crew too--are stuck here with nothing much in particular to do for the next few hours." McCoy flipped his wrist and, using the pads of his fingers, toyed lightly with the sensitive ridges of the Vulcan's lips. He watched in wonder as the disciplined officer dissolved away under his touch. McCoy leaned in and nuzzled his face gently along field of Spock's cheek. He stopped at the ear and breathed hard and deep. "So, now, what are your orders, Sir?" Spock's world swirled and swiveled in a dizzying blur. The blood rushed to his head and the fever buzzed in his ears. He wondered for the millionth time how this one human could stir the demons of Vulcan with just the merest look. Warm arms held his shoulders and warmer lips wrapped his own and in less than a heartbeat he was gone. Spock managed only one single word. "Fascinating," he breathed. A hand reached for his waistband and then he was lost for good in the feeling. --- It had been less than two weeks earlier that the subspace message had arrived. Jim had delivered it personally. Not that there was much to it. Three sentences. Thirty-seven words. The sum of her life-- and death. Jim had read the subgram, dropped the chip on his desk and left McCoy alone in sickbay at his own request. McCoy had not been the slightest bit surprised when Spock had come in just a few minutes later. He never asked if Spock had guessed, if Jim had told him, or if it was something else entirely. Spock simply seemed to know. He said, "I grieve with thee." McCoy didn't turn around. His voice was quiet but rough. "I loved her once. Very much." "Of course." "I dreamed of this for so long, but now--" He shook his head. He could not go on. "How did is happen?" Spock asked. "A traffic accident. There were no survivors. It must have been painless. At least--" McCoy's voice trailed off. "And now, you are free." "And now, I am free." McCoy repeated the words. And then, for the first time in twenty-three years, Leonard H. McCoy, MD began to cry. Commander Spock 'cha Sarek ran to him and fell down on his knees and held him with all his might. --- The End --- ~Lyra June 2003