Chapter Text
McCoy leaned over the creature lying on his autopsy table, trying to peer into its big, round eyes. They were covered by its matted hair, but he found he didn’t want to brush it back. He hadn't touched the creature at all yet. He’d just been looking at it from various angles since his team brought it into the infirmary an hour ago.
Jim had suggested he take a break before dealing with this thing. Spock hadn’t said anything. He just stood there looking judgmental because, yeah, maybe McCoy hadn’t wanted to kill it even though it was attacking Jim. Maybe this one time, he’d had a selfish impulse at the expense of Jim. As if Spock never had!
Well, maybe not a selfish one, but a logical one. Which really was worse, wasn’t it? McCoy had been caught up in emotion. There was nothing cold-hearted about it. Jim would understand, even if Spock thought less of him. Who cared what that pointed-eared computer thought anyway?
McCoy stood straight again and took a deep breath. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, so tightly that he was beginning to lose feelings in the tips of his fingers. If he were a patient, he would tell himself to go get some rest, and to talk with one of the nurses with psychiatric training over the next few weeks. He had, in essence, killed the one woman he’d truly loved. He’d pulled the trigger and watched her fall to the floor. She’d looked up at him with Nancy’s sad, dark eyes. Even if that thing wasn’t Nancy, it had been Nancy to him for a little while. He could practically hear Spock telling him how illogical that was.
McCoy heard the door of the infirmary slide open, but he didn’t look up. He furrowed his brow and tried to look thoughtful rather than scared out of his mind and on the verge of some kind of breakdown. He could still appear professional, even after this, couldn’t he? Of course he could.
“Doctor, I'm surprised you’re still here.”
Now, that did startle him enough to show it. He looked up at his visitor with his eyebrows raised. It was Spock, as if summoned by his thoughts, standing straight with his hands behind his back. McCoy unclenched his own hands from each other and let them hang at his sides, trying to appear casual. It was usually easy for him. He’d been berated a thousand times by various professors and superiors at various hospitals and infirmaries that he was too casual. He’d give just about anything to seem too casual now.
And damned if that Vulcan bastard wouldn’t notice he was behaving differently than normal. “It’s a…” McCoy cleared his throat. “Fascinating specimen, isn’t it?”
Spock quirked an eyebrow in that irritatingly sober way of his. “Indeed.”
McCoy scoffed and walked over to his console screen, pretending to look at something, even though he couldn’t make out the words there. “I’m sure that’s all you think it is. A matter of some limited interest.”
“Nearly everything has a limit, Doctor, but I would not use the term limited in this case. It implies a small quantity, and I have no small interest in this creature. It is—was the last of its kind.”
“Well, it’s dead now. What’s the point of dragging it over the coals?” He held up his hand to stop whatever Spock was about to say. “I know: research. I’m a doctor, not an anthropologist. I don’t care how this thing came to be or why the rest of them died out or how its insides used to work. It’s dead. I don’t have anything left to do for it. I can’t bring anyone back from the dead.”
“Fascinating,” Spock said.
McCoy rolled his eyes. “What’s so fascinating about it? It’s a corpse.”
“While that too is fascinating, I was referring to you. First, you claim to be here because it’s fascinating, then you berate me for sharing that conclusion. Then, you objectify the creature by using the neutral pronoun, but you say ‘anyone’ rather than ‘anything.’”
McCoy stared at Spock, too tired to make sense of his textbook dry rambling. “What are you getting at, Mr. Spock?”
“I believe that this incident may have had an… emotional toll on you.”
“What do you know about emotions?” McCoy snapped. “I don’t like how you say it. Emotional.” McCoy couldn’t quite mimic the Vulcan’s cadence, or the distaste when Spock said the word. “Of course I’m emotional. That was—” He gestured toward the body on the table. “That was Nancy.”
“As you know, Doctor, Nancy was never aboard this ship.”
McCoy took a deep breath. What was the point of talking to Spock about this? How could he understand how something like this felt when he thought feelings were anathema? “No. Nancy’s dead. The thing is, she wasn’t an hour ago. She was alive. As real as you or me. The fact that she wasn’t really doesn’t change that. In my mind, she was. Can you understand that?”
“Not entirely,” Spock admitted. “However, it is unfortunate that this had to happen in a way that must have been very unpleasant for you.”
“Unpleasant,” McCoy repeated hollowly. He slumped into his chair, feeling another wave of exhaustion. The sleeping pills he’d taken hadn’t entirely worn off yet, and he kept feeling the effects of them trying to sooth the edges of his mind and lead him back to his bed. When he thought of his bed, though, his heart pounded, and his head ached. All he could think of was Nancy sitting over him in that bed, telling him to sleep.
He’d trusted her. He should’ve known something was wrong, but he’d trusted her because he’d wanted to.
Quietly, he watched Spock inspect the creature. Its feet, its hands. He pressed his fingertips through its shaggy hair to feel the shape of its cranium.
“Why don’t you look in its eyes?” McCoy asked.
Spock blinked at him. “Ah, the Human misconception that the eyes are… ‘gateways to the soul’ I believe is the axiom? While eyes can be useful in interpreting behavior and intent in several species, once a being is dead, eyes are as important to examine as any other—”
“Could you stop? Is that even possible for you?” McCoy ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Spock, did you come here to make me feel worse about all this?”
Spock furrowed his brow, but only slightly. “Doctor…” He paused and stepped around the autopsy table, closer to McCoy. “I was hoping that you would be here. I would like to discuss this creature with someone who is educated enough in exobiology for educated discourse.”
McCoy stared at Spock for a long moment, then he laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m the last person who is capable of educated discourse right now.”
“Perhaps you would prefer discourse… of another nature.”
Now, McCoy was confused. He raised an eyebrow at Spock, unable to think up a retort.
“Someone with your medical experience must have faced many troubling situations in the past, and being a particularly emotional person, I would expect that you have learned to control yourself to an extent. I have seen you restrain yourself quite admirably many times after losing a patient, for example.”
McCoy rubbed his forehead. That headache was getting worse, but he couldn’t mix anything with his sleeping pills unless he wanted to be out of commission for a week. “Spock…”
“This incident seems to have had a much greater effect on you than any other that was required for the captain’s safety.”
McCoy’s head snapped up. “What are you saying? Are you saying I don’t care about Jim enough just because… because I hesitated?”
“No.” Spock furrowed his brow quizzically. “Is that what you are saying?”
McCoy glared at Spock for a long moment, but he just didn’t have that much rage left in him at the moment. He leaned back in his chair again. “I did hesitate, but it’s not because I don’t care about Jim.”
“I am quite aware of your loyalty to him.”
“It’s just…” McCoy paused. Was he really going to pour out his guts to Spock of all people? Was he that bad off? But he was too ashamed to go to Jim like he usually would, and… Well, one thing he knew was that Spock wouldn’t go around gossiping about it. He probably wouldn’t even mention it again if McCoy asked him not to. Why not?
A million reasons why not, surely, but he couldn’t think of any of them. “It was Nancy. She came to my quarters—it did, shaped like her. She told me that my feelings for her were strong, that she liked how they made her feel more than her husband’s feelings. Now, I’m not the kind of guy who goes around sleeping with married women, but Nancy isn’t… Nancy wasn’t just any woman, Spock. I don’t know if you can understand this or not. I don’t know if Vulcans have true love, but she was the one. She was the only one. Sure, I had a wife for a while, but that was like a flame that just kept burning even though it had no reason to go on. All we did was fight and make up and fight again. Nancy was different.” McCoy took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure he felt any better after saying all of that. “I left her, and she ended up on that planet, and now she’s dead.”
Spock stood straight as ever, his eyes cold, but thoughtful. “You cannot blame yourself for what happened to her.”
“I can if I damn well want to!” McCoy pushed himself up to his feet and went over to the autopsy table again. The thing was wearing some kind of garment that looked like a fishnet. He plucked it up and dropped it, angry at it for not being Nancy’s dress. “It’s not just Nancy. It’s this thing too. It killed everyone else it got close to, but it didn’t kill me. It must’ve been hungry too. I was asleep right there in front of it, and it must’ve been tempted, but it didn’t kill me. Why?”
“Mm. I see your dilemma now.” Spock moved next to McCoy, looking down at the creature. “It chose not to kill you, but you killed it.”
McCoy’s heart twisted and he had to close his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Spock. I killed it.”
Spock straightened his back even further. “You believe that the creature did not kill you, due to it’s preference for your feelings over Dr. Crater’s feelings.”
“I do,” McCoy said flatly.
Spock had that light in his eyes that McCoy knew meant he found the situation intriguing, but he seemed to be holding back any commentary. McCoy was so grateful for the silence that he actually laughed a little, earning a perplexed look from Spock.
“All it needed was some goddamn salt.” McCoy shook his head, and he laughed again.
“I don’t see the humor, Doctor.”
McCoy pushed his hair back again. It kept falling down into his eyes. “It’s not always humor makes a man laugh.” He looked at Spock. “Jim was taunting it with salt. He could’ve just fed it. I wouldn’t ‘ve had to shoot it if he’d fed it.”
Spock glanced down, his mouth a tight little line. “I’m sure the Captain saw it as a threat. However, if you have doubts, you should consult him. Or go through the proper channels to—”
“Oh, shut up, Spock. I’m not filing a report against him.”
“Very well.”
“It’s just I wish it hadn’t happened like that.” McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes felt like they were covered in sandpaper. “Need some sleep, that’s all.”
Spock nodded, his eyes slightly unfocused with thought. “Doctor, once you have had the proper amount of rest, I would like to aid you in your work with this creature.”
“Sure,” McCoy said with a shrug. They’d worked closely together a few times since McCoy had been posted to the Enterprise a couple months ago. “Let’s say… is 1300 good for you? It’ll take that long to be sure the medication I took is worn off.”
“1300 is acceptable.” Spock nodded tersely, and without so much as a ‘sleep well’ he left.
McCoy stood there for a long moment, trying to figure out what had just happened between them. Were they becoming friends?
He shook his head. No chance. Spock was a Vulcan, after all. McCoy wasn’t even sure they really made friends. Just agreeable acquaintances. Anyway, McCoy didn’t really like him very much. He was a good science officer, but on a personal level?
McCoy wasn’t in the mood to think about it now. He left a note for the staff not to touch the creature’s body until he got back, then headed to his quarters. Maybe he was tired enough just to fall face first into bed and not think anymore. At least, for a few hours.
______________________________
The pills and general exhaustion afforded McCoy a few hours of sleep before he woke up to the dim red light of a simulated night. He made it about five seconds of blissful forgetfulness before he remembered, and his heart started thumping, and his skin started crawling.
There was no way he was getting back to sleep. Not now.
He wandered around his quarters for a little while, but all he could see was Nancy. Jim taunting her with salt. Spock attacking her. Spock flung across the room. Jim sitting there helplessly while Spock urged him to shoot.
The mess they’d left was still there. The books Spock had knocked over. The chair twisted around.
No, this wouldn’t work. Usually, he’d hide in the sickbay if his quarters were bothering him this much, but that wasn’t really an option either. He could hide in the recovery area or his office area, but there would only be a wall’s separation between the two of them wherever he went. That wouldn’t work either.
He grabbed his flask of Saurian Brandy and started down the corridor. Before he’d even fully registered what he was doing, he was punching Jim's door chime.
He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, McCoy could tell he’d woken him. A few strands of his hair were even out of place. “Doctor…” he said. McCoy couldn’t tell if it was a greeting or a question. Probably a bit of both.
“Have you been getting those electrolytes, like I ordered?”
Jim drew a deep breath, narrowly keeping himself from rolling his eyes. “Come in, Bones.” McCoy grinned and stepped in. “I didn’t realize Saurian Brandy had electrolytes.”
McCoy chuckled. “Let’s say it does. I don’t feel like being a responsible physician tonight.”
Jim sat heavily at his desk, and McCoy pulled up his usual chair opposite Jim. Jim had the shot glasses out (he kept them tucked in a drawer) and McCoy began pouring.
After a few sips, Jim finally said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Y’know, Spock said the same thing. Well, not the same thing. The Vulcan version.”
Jim furrowed his brow slightly, his eyes shining as he waited for McCoy to get around to answering him.
“Look…” McCoy set down his glass heavily. “I’m sorry, Jim. I let you down. If Spock hadn’t been there… I hate to say this, but if Spock hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”
“If Spock hadn’t been there, you would’ve come out of it on your own, Bones.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Jim smirked. “I am.”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Jim, I’m trying to apologize here.”
“No, you’re trying to beat yourself up about it.”
McCoy pushed his lips out in something like a pout. “Fine.”
“Fine.” Jim raised his glass and downed what was left in it before pouring himself another. “Now, let’s get to what you really want to talk about.”
“What in the hell are you talking about now, Jim?” McCoy asked as he held out his own glass for a refill, but he couldn’t quite make it a convincing question.
Jim answered anyway. “Nancy.”
“Nancy,” McCoy repeated. It seemed easier to say her name now that Kirk had. He laughed weakly. “You know, I think I was just starting to get over her.”
“No you weren’t,” Kirk said.
McCoy frowned. “Now, look, if you want to have this conversation by yourself, I can just leave.”
Kirk raised his eyebrows, still smiling, although McCoy could see the sympathy in his eyes.
“I was just starting to feel better about it, in any case. Like I could move on without it being… without expecting her to drift back into my life. Now, it’s like I have to start all over again. Do you know, I poured my guts out to that green-blooded calculator a few hours ago?”
Kirk chuckled down at his glass. “You have to admit, he’s a good listener.”
“Yeah, but then he opens his mouth.” McCoy snorted, not wanting to admit how much he’d needed that conversation, even though he wasn’t sure how much it helped. He spoke again, in a quieter voice. “Do you think I’m a coward, Jim?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“Can’t you just answer a—” McCoy stopped himself before he started yelling. “I didn’t leave her for Starfleet, Jim. You and I both know I could leave Starfleet if I needed to. I left because I was scared. I saw her, and I didn’t want to lose her like I did Jocelyn, and I was scared, and I just ended up losing her anyway.”
Kirk set down his glass and leaned forward, looking McCoy straight in the eye. “You’re not a coward. When you look back on decisions like that, it’s easy to simplify them. When you’re in the middle of it, though?” Kirk backed off again, shrugging a hand. “There’s more to it than one thing. Maybe you were scared, but you weren’t just scared.”
McCoy folded his arm on Kirk’s desk and rested his cheek against it. He was starting to get drunk enough to care how pathetic he looked. “What if she was my last chance? I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“If you want someone, you’ll find her,” Kirk said with that patented confidence that made it seem like he could see into the future and he really did know for sure how everything was going to turn out. “I don’t think you’ve been ready to want anyone yet.”
“Oh, I’ve wanted,” McCoy said, smiling faintly. “It’s needing I’m not that sure about.”
“So, why are you so afraid you won’t have another chance?”
McCoy closed his eyes, feeling more relaxed now. “Dammit, Jim,” he muttered. “A man needs… he needs someone.” He looked up at Kirk. “Except captains, of course.”
“Of course.” Kirk got to his feet and went over to McCoy. “Come on. You’re not going to drool on my desk.”
He began to pull McCoy up to his feet. McCoy groaned and grumbled. “’R you trying to kick me out?”
“No,” Kirk said. He dragged McCoy over to his bed and tossed him in. “Get some sleep, Bones. I’ll just get some work done before my shift starts.”
McCoy may have said something after that, but he definitely didn’t remember it.
______________________________
By the time afternoon rolled around, McCoy was still feeling that brandy he’d shared with Kirk, and he was sucking down coffee as the nurses prepared the creature’s body for its autopsy. He’d almost forgotten that Spock was going to join him until he saw him strolling into the sick bay, right as the ship’s chronometer rolled around to 1300.
“Doctor,” he said, nodding politely.
McCoy attempted a smile, but the way he felt, he was pretty sure it didn’t read as one. Whatever the case, Spock didn’t care. He stood by McCoy as the nurses finished up. McCoy asked them to leave, then. They were confused by the request, but they did as they were told. At Spock’s raised eyebrow, McCoy explained, “I think four hands is enough. Don’t want too many people at an autopsy. How would you like twenty hands looking at your insides?”
“Your concern for the dead is… admirable, if misplaced.”
“Think two people with our experience is more than enough.” He set his empty coffee mug aside and began to sterilize and glove his hands. “Sound logical to you?”
“Certainly, Doctor.”
There wasn’t anything more to say, and Spock wasn’t one for small talk, so they got to work. McCoy had done enough autopsies on crewmates—sometimes friends—that it wasn’t long before he could shut off that part of him still mourning for Nancy and feeling guilt about killing the creature and focus on the work at hand.
Anyway, he’d made a promise to himself after he’d woken up in Kirk’s bed, with Kirk at his desk catching up on work while McCoy snoozed. He’d stared up at the ceiling, and he knew that they only way he’d be getting any sleep in his own bed was if he found a way to feel okay about all of this.
There wasn’t much to the autopsy, as far as McCoy was concerned. He knew the cause of death. Hell, he’d been the cause of death. The rest of this was just exploratory; the kind of thing Starfleet liked on reports. They’d want to send in thorough body scans and information as well, for research. Starfleet loved its research.
Spock was quiet for the most part, which McCoy appreciated. He was worried that he might bring up what they’d talked about before and break McCoy’s concentration. Instead, he only pointed out things he found interesting, like the placement and size of the creature’s gall bladder, and how intricate the amygdala was; probably enhancing its telepathic abilities.
When it was over, McCoy felt like he always did after this kind of procedure, bleary eyed and achy. It was a relief to finally close the creature up for the last time, and prepare to close it in its capsule. Once he had his gloves off, he rubbed at the back of his neck.
“Wait,” McCoy said before Spock closed the lid. He pulled a little vial out of his pocket and pulled the lid open, sprinkling the contents over the creature.
Predictably, Spock was looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Dirt,” McCoy said. “From its planet. I got it from the guys in geo. They said they could spare a little.”
“May I inquire as the purpose of such an action?”
McCoy ran his palm along his hair. “I don’t know if you’d approve, Mr. Spock, but I felt like the creature deserved some kind of send off instead of just shooting its body into space. I’m going to give it a little funeral.” McCoy arched an eyebrow. “You’re free to join me, if you want.”
McCoy fully expected a no, and perhaps a lecture on the illogical nature of his undertaking, but instead he said, “Yes, Doctor. I would be honored.”
“Oh.” McCoy shifted his feet back and forth, suddenly a little self-conscious. What if Spock didn’t find the ceremony appropriate? What if he made a comment or two that ruined the whole thing? Would it still work? “I was just going to say a few words. In memory and all that.”
“Yes, a common tradition among many Earth cultures.”
McCoy nodded. “Well, if you’re going to be here, you’ve got to say something too. I’m not going to be the only one standing here talking.”
“If you wish.”
McCoy furrowed his brow. He’d once again expected a no that Spock hadn’t given him. “All right…” McCoy put his hands behind his back and stood straight, staring out into nothing. He’d rehearsed the words in his head all morning. “I didn’t know your name, but you came to me as Nancy, and we shared a kind of closeness I…” He cleared his throat. “I hadn’t in a long time. It must’ve been lonely being the last of your kind, so I guess maybe you hadn’t been that close with anyone in a while too. I know you killed her. I know you killed some other people too. You didn’t kill me, though, and I thank you for that much. I just hope there was some good in all of this, and that wherever you are now, you aren’t alone.”
McCoy took a deep breath and his eyes came back into focus. He’d kept himself from crying; that was good. He didn’t want to shed any tears in front of a Vulcan.
“That was quite eloquent, Doctor.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all.”
“Well…” McCoy felt the tips of his ears warming, and he wasn’t sure why. “Well, now it’s your turn. Go on, then.”
Spock nodded tersely and mimicked McCoy’s stance. “I respect that you had needs, and that you tried to fulfill them the way that you considered most logical. It would have been preferable to develop a mutually beneficial relationship between us rather than a violent one. However, as you experienced the drive for survival, we too share that need. I believe that, if you were indeed a creature capable of advanced reasoning as your physiology would indicate, you would understand and accept this outcome given the circumstances. Our scientists will research the data we’ve just gathered from your remains as well as your planet, so that your species will not be forgotten.”
When he was finished, Spock looked at McCoy, as if waiting for McCoy’s approval—or at least his opinion. McCoy just shook his head, although he was smiling. “Mr. Spock, your ability to make everything sound cold and clinical never ceases to amaze me.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Shall we close the body capsule now?”
McCoy nodded and together they closed the pod. “Help me take it to the airlock?”
“Although this would generally not be the duty of two senior officers, I suspect it holds some symbolic significance for you to go against protocol in this matter.”
“Is that a yes?”
Spock quirked his eyebrows, as if surprised by the question. “Of course, Doctor.”
The two of them carried the capsule to the airlock and set it inside to await depressurization. “Spock,” McCoy said after a moment.
“Yes, Doctor?” Spock asked expectantly.
“There’s another tradition on Earth. Some cultures, anyway. A wake. Sort of a… celebration of life, y’know. Have a few drinks with friends and talk about good times. The body would usually be there, but. I guess I could just use a few drinks and some good times.”
“Ah…” Spock furrowed his brow, apparently not following McCoy’s intention.
“What I mean is. Could you come to my quarters for a while, share a few drinks, maybe talk about… about something.” McCoy didn’t know why his palms were so sweaty, or why he wasn’t just coming out and asking this. Hell, he wasn’t sure why he wanted to ask it at all.
Spock seemed equally perplexed. “Doctor, I do not see the purpose in such an activity.”
“It’s just…” McCoy grit his teeth, feeling silly for having asked. It wasn’t that he needed a wake; he just didn’t want to go back to his quarters by himself. Everything was still a mess, and he’d need to clean it up if he ever wanted to stop thinking about this every time he went back there. “Nevermind. Forget I asked. Anyway, thanks for doing this with me. Probably couldn’t have carried that pod here by myself, so. Y’know. Yeah.”
Spock nodded, although he didn’t seem any less perplexed than before. “Very well, Doctor.” He nodded again, then turned on his heel and left down the corridor.
McCoy looked out at the pod waiting to be sucked out into space when the engineers got around to it. Maybe he should wait until they did, so he could actually see it leave the ship.
No, he couldn’t do that. He knew he was just trying to put off going back to his quarters, and he’d had just about enough of being a coward.
______________________________
One thing his dad said that always stuck with McCoy was that a man should never drink alone. It was a sign of weakness, he’d said. A sign of avoiding problems rather than facing them.
McCoy hadn’t followed his advice on numerous occasions, especially that particular piece of advice, but he always felt a twinge of guilt when he was alone in a room with a flask and a glass. He couldn’t ask Kirk to join him this time, though. He never drank two nights in a row. He couldn’t think of anyone else to ask either.
He didn’t really want anyone else to turn him down.
Why was it bugging him so much? It was like a mosquito on the back of his neck that just kept hanging on no matter how much he swatted at it. The thought that he’d gone out on that limb and asked Spock, and Spock had turned him down. No, that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that he’d wanted so much for Spock to say yes. That it hurt when he’d said no.
It had hurt.
McCoy shook his head, then leaned it back on the wall. He was sitting on the floor, because he didn’t want to sit at his desk chair. It was still twisted around from Kirk being in it when he was attacked. He didn’t want to sit on the bed, because he kept imagining that it still smelled like Nancy’s perfume. He didn’t want to leave his quarters and sit somewhere else entirely, because he was a mess right now, and he didn’t really want anyone to see him.
McCoy’s eyes traced the crooked horizon of his books, some fallen from the shelf, and others leaning precariously on each other near the edge. He remembered Spock there, first using logic to break through the haze in McCoy’s mind, then using his loyalty to Kirk.
So, the Vulcan could use emotions when he wanted to. He just didn’t have to feel any of them. That hardly seemed fair.
McCoy put his glass and his flask down on the floor next to him and pulled his knees up to his chest. He remembered sitting that way that last night with Nancy--the real Nancy--when he knew he was going to leave her in the morning. He’d sat like this naked at the head of her bed, and she’d leaned on his shoulder and petted his hair, and he had come so close to calling everything off and staying with her. He couldn’t remember any more why he didn’t, in the end. He just remembered the whisper of her breath against his skin as she told him all the things they would do together when they saw each other again.
He never really told her that he didn’t plan on coming back. Just like she never told him she was going to get married until after it was all over. Maybe she’d known they were through back then just like he did. Maybe she was scared too.
McCoy’s door chime startled him. He just sat there, wondering if he’d imagined it. No, it chimed again. He pushed himself up to his feet, nearly toppling himself right back to the floor, and brushed his hair with his fingers.
Hell of a time for someone to show up. If it was Chapel she’d probably drag him to the sickbay and strap him down for some detox, because he was pretty sure he looked like he was on Death’s doorstep, clawing to get in.
He took a deep breath and did his best to pull himself together before pushing the door mechanism.
It was Spock.
“What’re you doing here?” McCoy snapped at him before he could stop himself.
Spock’s expression remained placid, although he just barely crinkled his nose. “Doctor, I reconsidered your offer, but it seems you started on your own.”
McCoy blinked at him, then barked a laugh. “You reconsidered my… okay then. Why don’t you come in and join the party.” He was slurring his words more than was absolutely necessary, but he didn’t care. He just stepped back to let Spock in, only stumbling slightly.
Spock glanced around the room before his eyes landed back on McCoy. “I am… concerned.”
McCoy snorted, then went to retrieve his flask. Bending over was proving more problematic than he’d expected, however. “You want a drink?”
“I’d prefer your offer of conversation,” He replied stiffly.
“Yeah, okay,” McCoy swung his hand a few more times before it finally came in contact with the flask. “Oop, there we go.” He sniffed in a breath, then leaned against the wall to take a drink straight from the flask. There was no chance he was going to attempt to get that glass. “So, conversate.”
Spock furrowed his brow and, instead of speaking, looked around the room again. The books on the floor.
“Somethin’ wrong, Mister Spock?”
“Yes,” Spock said. “Your quarters are in a state of disorder. I believe… they have been this way since the incident with the creature.”
“Very observant, Mister Spock.” It was an interesting challenge to get his tongue to pronounce that many s’s so he did it again. “Mister Spock.”
If McCoy didn’t know better, he would think the frown on Spock’s face wasn't just concern, but something as emotional as worry. But he knew better. “Doctor, I think that this situation has affected you more deeply than you previously indicated.”
“Oh, I indicated. You just don’t see it, Mister Spock. You just don’t… you don’t feel things like a human. You just—”
Spock had turned away from him and was headed for the books. He leaned over and began to gather the ones that had fallen from the floor. McCoy stumbled over to him and grabbed his arm, weakly trying to pull him away from the books. “Don’t do that. Leave them there.”
Spock stared at McCoy. “There is no logic in leaving them—”
“I don’t give a damn about logic. Why don’t you know that by now? I don’t give a damn about your cold logic. You can’t just erase what happened. You can’t just clean up and move on like… like nothing happened here.”
“Doctor,” Spock’s voice was surprisingly gentle, more gentle than McCoy knew he was capable of. Then, he put his hand over McCoy’s, the one gripping Spock’s arm.
McCoy swallowed thickly. “You…” There was no stopping it now. That kind of kindness from Spock of all people. It was too much. It was more than he felt like he deserved right now. “You bastard,” he muttered, and he found himself leaning forward onto Spock’s shoulder, gritting his teeth against the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.
Spock sensed that McCoy’s knees weren’t going to hold him on their own much longer, so he held his hand tighter and put his other hand on McCoy’s waist to steady him. He just stood there, then. It was like being comforted by a big, sturdy beam of metal, but it was being comforted, and McCoy would take what he could get.
“You ever known something’s supposed to happen, Spock,” he murmured against Spock’s shoulder. “Ever known something with every part of you?”
Spock paused before he answered a simple, “Yes.”
“That’s how I knew Nancy and me… that we’d be back together. That we were meant to be together. I don’t know if it was some god or fate or just the universe pulling at us, but I knew it. So, how is she dead, Spock?” He drew back to look up at Spock, too far gone to care that his eyes were red and bright with tears. “Explain that to me. Give me some of that logic, Spock. For once, I actually want to hear it.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Spock said, his brow furrowed deep. “There is no logical way to explain death.”
“What about love, then?”
Spock pressed his lips into a line. “Vulcans forgo emotion because it hinders logic.”
“You mean because it doesn’t fit into your logical world.”
“Perhaps.”
McCoy wanted to shove him away, but he just stood there, glaring up at him. “So, what good is logic, then?”
“It helps one avoid allowing such strong emotions to determine our lives.”
“I didn’t let it determine my life. I reasoned that I shouldn’t give up my life and career for a relationship, just because it was the happiest I’d ever been. I reasoned that things’d go bad just like they did with Jocelyn.”
Spock looked away, and for a moment McCoy could swear he saw a flicker of some emotion around the corners of his eyes. “Doctor, I do not wish to argue with you when you are in this state.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable, Spock?” McCoy finally pulled away from him, leaning heavily on his bookshelf to keep upright. “Do you think you would handle this different? I guess you would’ve never fallen in love in the first place. I guess leaving her wouldn’t have even been hard for you.”
“I have had difficulty leaving close acquaintances in the past. However, because those choices were based in logic, I know that they were correct.”
“Do you? Or do you just tell yourself that so you don’t have to feel like I feel right now?”
Spock frowned, his gaze once again settling on McCoy. “Do you truly wish to discuss this now, or is it a means of controlling your emotions and giving your mind a focus other than the matter truly at hand?”
McCoy blinked at Spock, then shook his head. Spock was trying to confuse him. “Why did you come here, Spock? You keep acting like you’re worried, like you care. But you don’t. We both know you don’t. So why are you really here?”
Spock narrowed his eyes. “You invited me. I rejected your invitation in haste.”
“Why did you?” McCoy asked. He’d wanted to ask it at the time, but he hadn’t been drunk enough to want an answer.
“I…” Spock’s expression was blank—blank enough that McCoy knew there was something going on in that head of his that he didn’t want to share. “I did not think my presence would be helpful. Perhaps I was correct in my original assessment.”
“No one’s stopping you if you want to leave.”
“I do not wish to leave.” He looked down at the books. “I would like to help you return your quarters to their previous state of cleanliness.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” McCoy took one of the books that was holding up all the precariously leaning books and threw it against the wall as the rest of the books toppled to the floor.
“Doctor, you are being irrational.”
“Damn right, I am!”
Spock drew a slow breath. “I will tidy your quarters. If you wish to undermine my efforts, you may, but I will not cease until your things are in their proper places.”
Spock took one of the books from the floor and set it into place on the shelf. McCoy slapped it back down, sending it flying into Spock’s shoulder as he leaned down to retrieve another. Spock was unfazed. He put another book in its place, and McCoy slapped it down again. They repeated the process three more times before McCoy growled in frustration and left him, sitting heavily in his desk chair.
It took him a moment to remember that he’d meant to leave it like it was when the creature had attacked Kirk here. He slammed his flask on his desk. “Dammit!”
Spock didn’t react. He continued to put the books away carefully. McCoy watched, noticing after a while that Spock was putting them back in the exact order McCoy usually kept them. Not by alphabet or size or anything like that, but in order of his interest. The more interesting books were closer to the desk.
“How’d you…” he muttered to himself, before he decided he didn’t care. Spock probably just memorized everything. He hadn’t been in McCoy’s quarters too often, though. Did he really have time to memorize something like that? Why would he even want to?
Finally, Spock retrieved the last book from where McCoy had thrown it and put it into place. He then looked at McCoy. “Is that suitable?”
McCoy shrugged his shoulder loosely. “I don’t give a shit. You’re the one who wanted to put them away.”
“What else is there?” Spock asked.
McCoy grimaced at him. “Whatdya mean? You just knocked over my books.”
“I do not believe that it was simply the books that were making you uncomfortable in this room.”
“Who said I was uncomfortable?”
Spock arched his eyebrow, then looked over at the glass still sitting against the wall by the door. “It seems that you were sitting on the ground, close to the exit. It is unlikely that you would find that place the most comfortable unless you found the rest of the room distinctly less comfortable.”
“Can’t get anything past you, eh Spock? And I thought it was just your ears hearing everything, but your eyes do it too.” McCoy leaned his chin against his hand.
“Doctor, you have not answered my question.”
“You can’t… there’s nothing you can do about the last thing, okay?” He turned his head to rub his face against his palm without having to move it. “It’s not your problem anyway. I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
“You are important to the function of this ship, Doctor.”
McCoy chuckled hollowly. “Yeah, that sounds logical.”
“Also, I realize that you are not always a rational man. I am… concerned that you may blame me for urging you to kill the creature when you would have preferred not to.”
McCoy blinked up at Spock. “Now, I really don’t believe what I’m hearing.” He shook his head. “Are you… is something wrong with you?”
“Perhaps I have made a miscalculation,” Spock said.
McCoy rolled his eyes. “That’d be a first. Look, I’m drunk, okay. I don’t know how it works on Vulcan, but you don’t take anything too seriously when a man’s drunk. So, you can’t hold what I’m about to say against me…” he took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I’m glad you were there before that creature did any serious damage to Jim. And grateful. And… thanks.”
Spock tilted his head slightly. “You are, of course, welcome, but I was—”
McCoy held up a hand. “Don’t ruin it by saying too much, okay. Bad enough you got me thanking you. Just. I’m fine. I’m a doctor; I know how to take care of myself. You can go.”
“Of course, Doctor.” Spock bowed his head slightly and went for the door. McCoy was sure he would never get used to the sudden departures. In his family, a goodbye could go on for hours, but Spock didn’t bother with goodbyes at all most of the time.
Not like McCoy wanted Spock to stay any longer than he had already.
McCoy put the cap back on his flask and looked at the books arranged on his shelf. Just like he’d left them before all this happened, but maybe the lines along the side was a little straighter. Vulcan precision hadn’t entirely mimicked his human style.
After a while, McCoy pushed himself up to his feet and headed for his bed. He fell asleep quickly. The scent of Nancy’s perfume must have finally dissipated.