Fic: Star Trek TOS: The Needs of the Two
Just in case you don't believe that I have been a trekker since, well, forever, here's a fic that I wrote many moons ago for the ST:TOS fanzine Galactic Discourse. I'm still incredibly proud of this one. And yes, it's McCoy fic, because the good Doctor remains one of my lifetime crushes.
Happy (belated) Birthday, De. You are missed.
Title: The Needs of the Two
Fandom: Star Trek: TOS
Characters: McCoy, Spock
Word Count: 4,816
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Takes place between Star Trek movies III and IV.
The cubicle was dark. The only illumination the occupant permitted was the muted reddish-orange of the sunset that penetrated the energy field shielding the room's solitary window. The portal framed a living picture on the stark gray wall. Craggy rocks, tinged with the dying glow of the setting sun, clawed through the desert sands of Vulcan. It was a harsh, barren landscape. Alien. The miles of unyielding rock and sand were as rigid and demanding as the people it had bred.
But it was beautiful. Painfully beautiful. Dr. Leonard McCoy stood shrouded in the lengthening shadows of evening and watched Vulcan's sun dip behind a towering finger of rock. There was harmony in the raw, primitive beauty of Vulcan, but it failed to bring him the peace he so desperately sought.
Face it, Bones. It's not that simple. Nothing is ever that simple.
McCoy turned his back to the window. In the darkness he could barely discern the outlines of a bed, a table and a pair of chairs. I'll say one thing for the Vulcans; they don't clutter their guest quarters with nonessentials.
Crossing the room, he misjudged the distance and bumped into a corner of the table. With a muttered oath he managed to reach his objective without further damage to himself. He lowered himself into one of the chairs and turned it so that he once more faced the window.
In the Vulcan sky, the sun had set and the first star winked at him from a violet sky. How many years have I wandered those stars? How many years of my life have been spent ministering to the peoples of the universe? Orion. Cassiopeia. Rigal. How long has it been? Fifteen years? Twenty? It feels like a century.
McCoy sighed and tilted his head back. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a space jockey. I should be sitting at home taking it easy, not galloping across the galaxy at the least provocation. It's time to throw in the towel.
There certainly won't be much of a career to salvage after this little adventure, that's for sure. I suppose it doesn't really matter, though. Star Fleet is already convinced I'm ready for the Old Spaceman's Home. I’ll be lucky if they let me return home at all much less resume a private practice. Considering some of the things I've seen and done in the past few days, not even old T'Pau herself could talk my fat out of Star Fleet Command's fire.
At least I'm not alone. We're all in the frying pan. Jim Kirk. Sulu. Scotty. Chekov. Uhura. Every last one of us is probably facing a court marshal and gods alone knows what else.
He allowed himself a tiny smile. Star Fleet won't just throw the book; it'll chuck the whole damned library at us. Still, we did what we had to do and that's what counts.
A frown creased the Doctor's careworn face. But at what cost? So many wounded. So many dead. Captain Terrell. The crews of Reliant and Grissom. The scientists of Regula 1. Khan and his people. Closer to home, the death toll included young Peter Preston, Scotty's nephew; Jim's son, David Marcus; and that most graceful of ladies, the U.S.S. Enterprise.
And Spock. McCoy tensed. He felt an indefinable twinge of emotion at the images the name called to mind. That's it, isn't it? That's what it all boils down to. Spock.
Dammit all, why couldn't he have entrusted someone else with his 'katra.' Scotty was there. Why not pick him or assistant chief whatshisname or any of the other crewmen in Engineering at the time? Why me of all people, for gods sake?
A pang of guilt instantly shredded his self-pity. No, damn it. I’m not being fair to Spock. The ship was in a desperate situation and he did the only thing he could under the circumstances. I just happened to be the one available. If Jim had been there Spock would have chosen him instead. Wouldn't he?
McCoy opened his eyes and contemplated the Vulcan night. And yet I feel so damned empty. Spock trusted me with everything; his mind, his memories, his very essence - his 'katra.' For days I couldn't wait to get rid of that voice - that "otherness" - in my head and now that it's gone I feel as though I've lost a part of myself.
Maybe Star Fleet's right. Maybe I am ready for the Funny Farm. Physician, heal thyself. McCoy snorted. Would that I could. I don't even know where to begin.
The door chimed.
McCoy rubbed his temples wearily and turned to face the threshold. "Come."
The hydraulics hissed softly as a portion of the wall slid aside. The light of the corridor cast a glowing aura around the familiar, rigid form standing in the entrance.
“Spock," he whispered. It was literally the last person he expected to see. When he had left Mount Seleya with the other officers of the Enterprise crew, Spock had been once more in the custody of his father, Sarek. There had been no indication as to when they would be able to see their friend again. Now he stood in the doorway to McCoy's room, unescorted.
"Doctor McCoy." The visitor hesitated, as though searching for the proper words. "May I come in?”
Speechless, McCoy nodded his assent and Spock stepped inside. The door whisked closed behind him.
McCoy depressed a stud on the chair's armrest. Behind him, the reddish glow of a single lamp caressed the darkness. My god, he thought as the light touched the Vulcan. He looks just the way he did this morning after the 'fal tor pan' - the ceremony of refusion. He hasn't even changed his clothes.
"Are you well?” asked the white-robed figure from his position by the door.
Am I well? What kind of question is that, 'am I well?' What the hell do you expect me to say? 'Why, I couldn't be better, Mr. Spock. I'm just having a little trouble collecting all my marbles. You didn't happen to see one roll by on your way in, did you?'
He realized the Vulcan was waiting patiently for an answer. “I’m fine," he finally mumbled. "Just fine." Silence hung between them until McCoy shifted uneasily in his chair. "What can I do for you?' he asked when the Vulcan made no move to speak.
"I have . . . a problem," he replied. "My father suggested that I speak with you."
"With me?" Spock nodded. Now there's a switch, thought McCoy.
The Doctor inclined his head toward the extra chair by way of invitation. Spock acknowledged the offer and crossed the room in three long strides. He gathered the folds of his cassock and lowered himself into the seat. He sat with his hands on his lap, long fingers laced together and so tightly clenched that the knuckles shone white.
Spock probed McCoy with his eyes, as if expecting to find the solution to his problem written among the lines of the surgeon's face. There was an almost child-like quality about the intensity of his gaze that made the Doctor uneasy.
What does he see?, wondered McCoy.
A slight frown played about the lines of Spock's mouth and across the delicate, tapered eyebrows. "I have known you," he said, a hint of wonder in his voice.
"Yes, that's right," agreed the Doctor. "We've served together for a long time."
The Vulcan nodded. “I have some recollection of this," he said thoughtfully. He tilted his head to the left, a look of concentration on the chiseled features of his face. The gesture was so like the old Spock; McCoy's Spock.
"Were we friends?" asked the Vulcan.
Were we ... ? McCoy blinked, stunned by the unexpected question. Don't you remember, Spock? After all we've been through together - literally together! - can't you remember at least that much?
Spock perceived the hurt in the Doctor's blue eyes and experienced a disconcerting twinge of deja vu. It puzzled him. "Have I offended you?"
“No. No offense,” said McCoy, the hurt that he felt shading his words. I had hoped that . . . He let the thought fade. No. You know better. No sense confusing him any more than he already is. “I’m sorry, Spock. I’m expecting too much too soon. I know it's a hard time for you."
"It is difficult." Spock chose his words carefully. "I hope that the 'fal tor pan' did you no ill. I found the experience ... uncomfortable," he admitted.
"It certainly was that," agreed McCoy. And painful. I ache in places I didn't even know existed.
McCoy remembered little of the actual 'fal tor pan' - the rejoining of Spock's 'katra' with his living body - except his own excruciating pain and desperate struggle to survive the withdrawal of the consciousness entrusted to him. Was it worth it? He needn't look far for the result of those grueling rites. Spock sat before him, his expression impassive. Spock. Alive and well.
A Spock in search of himself. There still remained a delicate period of orientation while he gathered the threads of his life but his father would guide him through it. What truly mattered was that Spock had cheated McCoy's oldest adversary, Death. McCoy - Spock's antagonist and friend of long association - had been an intrinsic part of that victory.
And it was worth it, Spock. All of it. The pain. The confusion. The madness. It was all worth it just to see you alive and whole again.
Damn. Now I'm getting maudlin. McCoy took a deep breath. With an effort, he mentally bundled up his self-pity and his uncertainty and stuffed it behind a veneer of professionalism. Time to get down to business. Spock has come here seeking help. So I'll help. It's about time I started to act like a doctor, anyway; it's probably the last chance I'll get.
"Now what's this about a problem?" he asked with his best bedside manner. “Are you feeling ill? Tired?"
"I am suffering no physical defects."
"Oh?" McCoy frowned. "Then what's the problem?"
“I seem to have misplaced something important."
"Well, I’ll certainly be glad to help you find it if I can. What'd you misplace?"
Spock considered his answer. In a voice that belied no emotion he replied, simply, "You, Doctor. I have misplaced you."
What the ... ? "Me?' he echoed. Now what the hell does he mean by that?
Spock inclined his head. "Were it not for you, I would not be here."
McCoy felt the blood rush to his face. "I don't think-," he began gruffly.
“Please. Allow me to finish."
The Doctor clamped his mouth shut and waited uneasily.
"As you must be aware, the 'fal tor pan' has left me with much to relearn. Every moment is a new memory that brings me closer to what I was. Who I am. I must rediscover myself and those who were important to me. Admiral Kirk. The Enterprise and her crew. Even my own parents are virtual strangers to me. These memories are slow in coming, but they are there. They are tangible things; I need only reach out and grasp them."
"It will come in time," McCoy assured him. Where's all this leading, anyway?
"You misunderstand. It is not the speed of the recovery that concerns me. I will regain what is mine in the fullness of time." He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Yet I sense that something is missing. I have reached for it, but it has not been there for me to grasp. I find that I have only the vaguest memory of you, Doctor McCoy."
That hurt. It hurt like hell. "Maybe it just isn't time, yet," he said. “There are certainly more important things for you to remember."
"You give yourself little credit, Doctor. I chose you as the keeper of my 'katra.' It is not something a Vulcan would entrust lightly. Since I so entrusted you, logically you must have been an important factor in my previous life. Yet I find nothing in my mind save the knowledge that I have known you, your occupation, and your relationship to the events that have transpired."
"I’m not sure I follow you," said McCoy, bewildered. "You just said you don't have any memory of me at all." Maybe he's having a harder time readjusting than I thought.
“When you were the keeper of my 'katra' you sensed that something was within you that did not belong, am I correct?"
"Yeah, you could say that," he replied cautiously.
"So, too, have I come to the realization that something that should be present is not. A piece is missing. It is akin to a jigsaw puzzle. A piece missing from the completed picture spoils the entire project. It can never be whole."
“Now you've lost me.”
“I can recall that you are Chief Surgeon on the Enterprise."
Was, thought McCoy sadly.
"However," continued Spock, "There is no depth to my memories of you; no indication as to why I would entrust you with all that I was and am. My father has theorized that, in releasing the 'katra' during the rejoining, you retained all of those memories that belonged between us, including those memories that belonged to me.”
"Isn't that a little far fetched?"
"It is the most logical explanation."
Wonderful. Now we're playing finders-keepers, he thought glumly. "Suppose you're right. Suppose I do have a double set of memories locked away somewhere. Just how do you propose to reclaim yours, Mr. Spock? I can't just gift wrap them and hand them over."
“I must find them. Relive them."
Oh no. Not again. I don't like where this is leading. "You mean the mind meld?"
"It is the only logical solution," said the Vulcan.
McCoy groaned inwardly. I'm sorry I asked.
Spock sensed the Doctor's reluctance. Or was it fear? He had visibly paled at the suggestion.
Unwilling to press the matter - not with this man who has sacrificed so much - Spock rose from his chair to tower over the Doctor. “I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you discomfort. Forgive my intrusion. You have already done more than I had the right to ask." He raised his hand, palm outward, and gave McCoy the Vulcan salute. "Live long, Leonard McCoy. Prosper always. I owe you my life." With a slight bow, he turned to leave.
Damn. Damn. Damn! Now look what you've done. "Spock, wait." McCoy jumped to his feet and closed the gap between them. He laid a hand on Spock's arm. The Vulcan flinched from the touch and turned, his eyebrows arched.
McCoy allowed his hand to slide from Spock's arm. "I'll do it."
"Doctor, please don't feel obligated to--"
“Obligation's got nothing to do with it," he said, a little too forcefully. "If I have something that belongs to you than it should be returned."
The Vulcan seemed uncertain.
"Please. I want to do it." He licked his lips nervously. "I don't know if you can understand this but, well, I want you to remember me, Spock. I need you to. I know I can't have the old Spock back but I can at least know that the memories of what we shared are still there. They're as much yours as they are mine."
Spock studied him for several moments. "Are you certain?"
"Quite certain," he answered with more confidence than he felt.
"Very well, Doctor. And thank you."
McCoy nodded and returned to his chair. "Is this all right?" he asked, seating himself.
"Wherever you are most comfortable."
“Right." He gripped the armrests. "Let's go."
"It is not a painful experience," Spock said gently.
Does it show that much? “Sorry." McCoy tried to relax. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The touch of Spock's fingers on his face was cool and feather-light. He forced himself not to flinch away.
"We are one,” murmured the Vulcan. "Together. One mind."
Here we go again. This had better not be like the last time. I can't take that. Not again. McCoy felt Spock's mind reaching into his and a trill of apprehension coursed through him.
(~You must relax, Doctor.~)
Easy for you to say.
Warily, he allowed the Vulcan to continue. Probing. Reaching. Sorting. Always with the inquisitiveness of a child. Learning.
An image, frightening in its clarity, flashed through McCoy's mind. Spock stood at the shuttle bay doors. McCoy faced him. Harsh words were spoken between them, words that made the Doctor flinch. Words of fear. Of hurt. Spock's response as he turned and disappeared into the shuttle bay. Alone in the corridor, crestfallen, McCoy speaking the words he knew would not be heard. "Good luck, Spock." The sentiment drifting into the dark void of memory and dancing away.
Another image sprang full blown like a flower in his mind; so sharp the reality that it made him cry out. Spock sitting beside him as he lay dying of the terrible injuries dealt by the Vians. Supporting him as the seizures wracked his bruised and torn body. So much pain. So much!
Faster now the memories came; a parade of images from the depths of his consciousness. Spock kneeling at his side to remove the device of obedience on the asteroid ship Yonada. Concern hidden behind cool efficiency.
The long hours at the operating table in the struggle to save Spock's life; to replace the brain that had been stolen.
An argument in the corridor of the Enterprise. The constant debate over emotions and logic. Man and machine.
Standing in the turbolift with Captain Kirk and trying very hard to disappear into the woodwork as Spock requested that the Captain stand beside him during the ritual of ‘pon far,' a right only permitted his closest friends. The intensity of his surprise as the Science Officer turned to him and also requested his attendance. An honor that gave the ship's surgeon a genuine feeling of pride and respect for his Vulcan friend.
Spock. Spock. Spock. And everywhere that he saw Spock, he saw himself. Faster now, so that the memories blurred. In the shuttle Galileo on a hostile planet. On the bridge of Enterprise flanking the command chair and the man they served with selfless loyalty, Captain James T. Kirk. Standing in Kirk's quarters, viewing the tape designated for them by the man they both called friend as the Tholians continued to seal the ship in a web of energy. In the Roman arena, fighting side by side with shield and sword; McCoy awkward, Spock graceful and efficient.
Together, locked eternally in a combat of wills and words, but always tempered with an undercurrent of genuine respect and fondness. Of friendship.
Faster and faster, the memories spun their course until he was finally left with the events of the past weeks. Memories that wrenched his heart with a pain that he could hardly bear. Barring Spock from entering the radiation filled chamber in Engineering. Spock's deception that allowed him to fell the Doctor with a Vulcan neck pinch. Falling, falling . . . Spock there to catch him; to lower him gently to the floor with a murmured apology. Planting the seed that had nearly driven McCoy over the edge of sanity. "Remember." Clinging desperately to Jim Kirk as the commander of Enterprise tried to reach his dying friend. Keeping them separate before Kirk flooded the entire compartment with radiation in his anguish.
The funeral. Watching the photon torpedo tube as it sailed through space toward the Genesis planet.
Alone. Seated in the dark. Spock's body, recovered from Genesis, alive but not whole laying on a bunk on the captured Klingon Bird of Prey. McCoy, head in hands. Weak. Trembling. Tormented. Facing an uncertain future. The words that Spock could not acknowledge. I’ve missed you. I don't think I could bear to lose you again, Spock. Not again.
Spock!
McCoy cried aloud in anguish as he relived the past 28 hours. I can't stand this. Not again. I can't!
“I can’t!” he cried, and his eyes flew open.
His words echoed from rock. Bewildered, he could find no words for what he saw. He stood on the uppermost step of Mount Seleya and it seemed he could see the whole of Vulcan stretched out before him. The wind was arid and tinged with the smell of sulfur and ozone. The air was thin and rasped like fire in his lungs. Beneath his feet he could feel the rock, worn smooth by the elements. The heat of the Vulcan sun was on his face.
"Doctor."
McCoy whirled. Spock stood before him, the course white robe iridescent in the sunlight. Wind ruffled the voluminous folds of his sleeves and brushed the ragged bangs across the high forehead.
"What the devil?" McCoy pressed a hand to his forehead. "This can't be happening." He felt reality slipping away. "Star Fleet's right. I have gone mad."
"On the contrary, Doctor, you are as sane as any human so full of emotion has a right to be." Spock arched an eyebrow. “Remarkably so, considering the trial you have survived these past few days. I congratulate you. It seems that I did, indeed, choose well."
"You could have at least knocked before entering,” fumed McCoy. “And for your information, I almost didn't make it. Damn it, Spock, what did you expect from me? I’m only human!"
“You are undeniably that, Doctor," agreed the Vulcan fondly.
“Are you making fun of me?"
"Vulcans never ‘make fun’."
"In a pig's--"
"And back to your equally disagreeable self, I see."
“What the hell do you mean disagreeable, you pointy-earred, green blooded hobgoblin!”
The Vulcan arched his left eyebrow. "I rest my case."
"Will you let me get a word in edgewise?" cried the Doctor. “Just once I’d like to get the last…” His words fell short as realization suddenly dawned. "You remember," he finally whispered.
"I have merely found the pieces to the puzzle, Doctor," he said. "You are still undergoing the mind meld. What you are currently experiencing is contact with that part of 'me' that is most familiar to you. On the whole, I am still far from being the Spock you knew."
"I don't think I understand a word of what you just said," said McCoy.
“Don't concern yourself with the details Doctor. Suffice it to say that your cooperation has helped my search considerably. I understand what our relationship has been. I now know why I chose you to be the bearer of my 'katra."
Okay. I'll bite. “How 'bout letting me in on the secret.”
"No secret, Doctor, if you stop to think it through. You must realize that, had Jim been present, I would have chosen you in any case.”
Oh yeah? "Why?'
"As you are acutely aware, the 'katra' must be returned to Vulcan. Had I chosen Jim he would not have been able to function at his full capacity. His skill as a Star Fleet commander would have been seriously impaired. I surmised that in this condition he would not have been able to deliver me safely to Vulcan. Nor would you have been able to help him effectively."
"Thanks a lot."
"I meant no slight. You do not possess the experience or the influence to have succeeded at such a task."
"You have a way with a compliment,' murmured McCoy. I hate it when he's right.
“For those reasons," continued the Vulcan, "the Captain was not a logical choice. That left me with only one alternative. You must believe me when I tell you that there was no one else I would have chosen. Not even another Vulcan."
Spock recognized the doubt in the McCoy's eyes. “Doctor." His voice softened. "Leonard. Your life's work has been devoted to the preservation of life. Your belief in the importance of the individual and your unique sense of humanity brings to your talents a quality unequaled by most. Jim is trained for command and thus must adhere to certain guidelines. Your charge is Life itself. In that calling, there are no boundaries; no rules. You are an empath, Doctor. I submit that it is this very quality that allowed you to survive that which I entrusted to you. As I theorized you would."
"You had it all planned," accused McCoy.
"I took the possibility into account," corrected the Vulcan.
"And now?"
"My search continues. I still need your help, even as I will need the assistance of those who stand with you." He waved a hand to indicate the whole of Vulcan; the dream setting in which they stood. "What I bring back from here will only be a beginning. You must help me to be again what I was." He locked his gaze with McCoy's. "I cannot do it without you, Doctor. You have done more than I could possibly thank you for. Will you stand by me?"
"Yes," he answered with rare sincerity. You know that I will.
The Vulcan nodded. "I thank you, Doctor." He turned and began to descend the steps of Mount Seleya. As he drew further away, so did the vision waver and fade into a patchwork of color.
Leonard McCoy awoke. He blinked away his disorientation and discovered that he lay upon his bed, the intricately woven coverlet drawn up to his chin. He sat up and glanced about. The room was empty. He was alone. Of Spock there was no sign; no indication that he had ever been there at all.
A dream? he wondered. He tossed aside the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. His boots stood on the floor near the headboard. I don't remember taking them off. I don't even remember going to bed. He ran his fingers through his thick, graying hair. A headache throbbed behind his eyes. I feel like I’ve been up all night.
He pushed himself off of the bed. The floor was cold on his bare feet, the chill shocking him awake. He shivered and went to the window.
Was it a dream? McCoy reached inside himself and found that he was at peace; tired and weary, but whole. The pain of the last few days was no less real, but he could come to grips with that. No, not a dream. It couldn't have been.
Spock, his Spock, was still alive.
‘My search continues. Stand by me.’ The words echoed through the corridor of memory. McCoy smiled, the brilliance of the sunrise in his eyes. Spock, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried. We'll do it, too. You just wait and see. With time. With help.
My help.
Jim Kirk appeared around a corner of the building, his eyes hollow from lack of sleep. The makings of a beard shadowed his chin. He saw McCoy at the window and waved. It was a half-hearted, weary gesture.
Our help, McCoy corrected as he returned the wave. He disengaged the window's energy field and leaned forward. "You have breakfast yet?" he called. Wordlessly, Kirk shook his head. "Good. I'll be out in a minute. Just let me slip into some clean clothes."
Kirk blinked in wonder. Was this the same man he'd guided from Mount Seleya only yesterday? "You're pretty lively this morning," he accused.
“I feel like hell,' McCoy replied cheerfully. And you don't look so good yourself. "Wait there. I’ll be right out."
Bewildered, Kirk nodded.
McCoy returned to the bed and slipped into his boots. I can't expect too much too soon, he thought as he replaced his shirt with the clean tunic thoughtfully provided with the room. There's still a long way to go but we'll do it, damn it. All of us together, just the way it used to be. We're a family.
McCoy glanced out the window one last time before departing the room. Kirk stood with his back to the building, his gaze directed toward Mount Seleya where he had regained the friend he had thought lost. McCoy saw the pain in the tilt of his head and the set of his shoulders. His son, dead. His ship, gone. His friend only a shadow of himself.
Now there's a man that could use a little help of his own. McCoy rubbed his palms together. Time to go to work. I am a doctor, after all.
~FINI~
Happy (belated) Birthday, De. You are missed.
Title: The Needs of the Two
Fandom: Star Trek: TOS
Characters: McCoy, Spock
Word Count: 4,816
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Takes place between Star Trek movies III and IV.
The cubicle was dark. The only illumination the occupant permitted was the muted reddish-orange of the sunset that penetrated the energy field shielding the room's solitary window. The portal framed a living picture on the stark gray wall. Craggy rocks, tinged with the dying glow of the setting sun, clawed through the desert sands of Vulcan. It was a harsh, barren landscape. Alien. The miles of unyielding rock and sand were as rigid and demanding as the people it had bred.
But it was beautiful. Painfully beautiful. Dr. Leonard McCoy stood shrouded in the lengthening shadows of evening and watched Vulcan's sun dip behind a towering finger of rock. There was harmony in the raw, primitive beauty of Vulcan, but it failed to bring him the peace he so desperately sought.
Face it, Bones. It's not that simple. Nothing is ever that simple.
McCoy turned his back to the window. In the darkness he could barely discern the outlines of a bed, a table and a pair of chairs. I'll say one thing for the Vulcans; they don't clutter their guest quarters with nonessentials.
Crossing the room, he misjudged the distance and bumped into a corner of the table. With a muttered oath he managed to reach his objective without further damage to himself. He lowered himself into one of the chairs and turned it so that he once more faced the window.
In the Vulcan sky, the sun had set and the first star winked at him from a violet sky. How many years have I wandered those stars? How many years of my life have been spent ministering to the peoples of the universe? Orion. Cassiopeia. Rigal. How long has it been? Fifteen years? Twenty? It feels like a century.
McCoy sighed and tilted his head back. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a space jockey. I should be sitting at home taking it easy, not galloping across the galaxy at the least provocation. It's time to throw in the towel.
There certainly won't be much of a career to salvage after this little adventure, that's for sure. I suppose it doesn't really matter, though. Star Fleet is already convinced I'm ready for the Old Spaceman's Home. I’ll be lucky if they let me return home at all much less resume a private practice. Considering some of the things I've seen and done in the past few days, not even old T'Pau herself could talk my fat out of Star Fleet Command's fire.
At least I'm not alone. We're all in the frying pan. Jim Kirk. Sulu. Scotty. Chekov. Uhura. Every last one of us is probably facing a court marshal and gods alone knows what else.
He allowed himself a tiny smile. Star Fleet won't just throw the book; it'll chuck the whole damned library at us. Still, we did what we had to do and that's what counts.
A frown creased the Doctor's careworn face. But at what cost? So many wounded. So many dead. Captain Terrell. The crews of Reliant and Grissom. The scientists of Regula 1. Khan and his people. Closer to home, the death toll included young Peter Preston, Scotty's nephew; Jim's son, David Marcus; and that most graceful of ladies, the U.S.S. Enterprise.
And Spock. McCoy tensed. He felt an indefinable twinge of emotion at the images the name called to mind. That's it, isn't it? That's what it all boils down to. Spock.
Dammit all, why couldn't he have entrusted someone else with his 'katra.' Scotty was there. Why not pick him or assistant chief whatshisname or any of the other crewmen in Engineering at the time? Why me of all people, for gods sake?
A pang of guilt instantly shredded his self-pity. No, damn it. I’m not being fair to Spock. The ship was in a desperate situation and he did the only thing he could under the circumstances. I just happened to be the one available. If Jim had been there Spock would have chosen him instead. Wouldn't he?
McCoy opened his eyes and contemplated the Vulcan night. And yet I feel so damned empty. Spock trusted me with everything; his mind, his memories, his very essence - his 'katra.' For days I couldn't wait to get rid of that voice - that "otherness" - in my head and now that it's gone I feel as though I've lost a part of myself.
Maybe Star Fleet's right. Maybe I am ready for the Funny Farm. Physician, heal thyself. McCoy snorted. Would that I could. I don't even know where to begin.
The door chimed.
McCoy rubbed his temples wearily and turned to face the threshold. "Come."
The hydraulics hissed softly as a portion of the wall slid aside. The light of the corridor cast a glowing aura around the familiar, rigid form standing in the entrance.
“Spock," he whispered. It was literally the last person he expected to see. When he had left Mount Seleya with the other officers of the Enterprise crew, Spock had been once more in the custody of his father, Sarek. There had been no indication as to when they would be able to see their friend again. Now he stood in the doorway to McCoy's room, unescorted.
"Doctor McCoy." The visitor hesitated, as though searching for the proper words. "May I come in?”
Speechless, McCoy nodded his assent and Spock stepped inside. The door whisked closed behind him.
McCoy depressed a stud on the chair's armrest. Behind him, the reddish glow of a single lamp caressed the darkness. My god, he thought as the light touched the Vulcan. He looks just the way he did this morning after the 'fal tor pan' - the ceremony of refusion. He hasn't even changed his clothes.
"Are you well?” asked the white-robed figure from his position by the door.
Am I well? What kind of question is that, 'am I well?' What the hell do you expect me to say? 'Why, I couldn't be better, Mr. Spock. I'm just having a little trouble collecting all my marbles. You didn't happen to see one roll by on your way in, did you?'
He realized the Vulcan was waiting patiently for an answer. “I’m fine," he finally mumbled. "Just fine." Silence hung between them until McCoy shifted uneasily in his chair. "What can I do for you?' he asked when the Vulcan made no move to speak.
"I have . . . a problem," he replied. "My father suggested that I speak with you."
"With me?" Spock nodded. Now there's a switch, thought McCoy.
The Doctor inclined his head toward the extra chair by way of invitation. Spock acknowledged the offer and crossed the room in three long strides. He gathered the folds of his cassock and lowered himself into the seat. He sat with his hands on his lap, long fingers laced together and so tightly clenched that the knuckles shone white.
Spock probed McCoy with his eyes, as if expecting to find the solution to his problem written among the lines of the surgeon's face. There was an almost child-like quality about the intensity of his gaze that made the Doctor uneasy.
What does he see?, wondered McCoy.
A slight frown played about the lines of Spock's mouth and across the delicate, tapered eyebrows. "I have known you," he said, a hint of wonder in his voice.
"Yes, that's right," agreed the Doctor. "We've served together for a long time."
The Vulcan nodded. “I have some recollection of this," he said thoughtfully. He tilted his head to the left, a look of concentration on the chiseled features of his face. The gesture was so like the old Spock; McCoy's Spock.
"Were we friends?" asked the Vulcan.
Were we ... ? McCoy blinked, stunned by the unexpected question. Don't you remember, Spock? After all we've been through together - literally together! - can't you remember at least that much?
Spock perceived the hurt in the Doctor's blue eyes and experienced a disconcerting twinge of deja vu. It puzzled him. "Have I offended you?"
“No. No offense,” said McCoy, the hurt that he felt shading his words. I had hoped that . . . He let the thought fade. No. You know better. No sense confusing him any more than he already is. “I’m sorry, Spock. I’m expecting too much too soon. I know it's a hard time for you."
"It is difficult." Spock chose his words carefully. "I hope that the 'fal tor pan' did you no ill. I found the experience ... uncomfortable," he admitted.
"It certainly was that," agreed McCoy. And painful. I ache in places I didn't even know existed.
McCoy remembered little of the actual 'fal tor pan' - the rejoining of Spock's 'katra' with his living body - except his own excruciating pain and desperate struggle to survive the withdrawal of the consciousness entrusted to him. Was it worth it? He needn't look far for the result of those grueling rites. Spock sat before him, his expression impassive. Spock. Alive and well.
A Spock in search of himself. There still remained a delicate period of orientation while he gathered the threads of his life but his father would guide him through it. What truly mattered was that Spock had cheated McCoy's oldest adversary, Death. McCoy - Spock's antagonist and friend of long association - had been an intrinsic part of that victory.
And it was worth it, Spock. All of it. The pain. The confusion. The madness. It was all worth it just to see you alive and whole again.
Damn. Now I'm getting maudlin. McCoy took a deep breath. With an effort, he mentally bundled up his self-pity and his uncertainty and stuffed it behind a veneer of professionalism. Time to get down to business. Spock has come here seeking help. So I'll help. It's about time I started to act like a doctor, anyway; it's probably the last chance I'll get.
"Now what's this about a problem?" he asked with his best bedside manner. “Are you feeling ill? Tired?"
"I am suffering no physical defects."
"Oh?" McCoy frowned. "Then what's the problem?"
“I seem to have misplaced something important."
"Well, I’ll certainly be glad to help you find it if I can. What'd you misplace?"
Spock considered his answer. In a voice that belied no emotion he replied, simply, "You, Doctor. I have misplaced you."
What the ... ? "Me?' he echoed. Now what the hell does he mean by that?
Spock inclined his head. "Were it not for you, I would not be here."
McCoy felt the blood rush to his face. "I don't think-," he began gruffly.
“Please. Allow me to finish."
The Doctor clamped his mouth shut and waited uneasily.
"As you must be aware, the 'fal tor pan' has left me with much to relearn. Every moment is a new memory that brings me closer to what I was. Who I am. I must rediscover myself and those who were important to me. Admiral Kirk. The Enterprise and her crew. Even my own parents are virtual strangers to me. These memories are slow in coming, but they are there. They are tangible things; I need only reach out and grasp them."
"It will come in time," McCoy assured him. Where's all this leading, anyway?
"You misunderstand. It is not the speed of the recovery that concerns me. I will regain what is mine in the fullness of time." He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Yet I sense that something is missing. I have reached for it, but it has not been there for me to grasp. I find that I have only the vaguest memory of you, Doctor McCoy."
That hurt. It hurt like hell. "Maybe it just isn't time, yet," he said. “There are certainly more important things for you to remember."
"You give yourself little credit, Doctor. I chose you as the keeper of my 'katra.' It is not something a Vulcan would entrust lightly. Since I so entrusted you, logically you must have been an important factor in my previous life. Yet I find nothing in my mind save the knowledge that I have known you, your occupation, and your relationship to the events that have transpired."
"I’m not sure I follow you," said McCoy, bewildered. "You just said you don't have any memory of me at all." Maybe he's having a harder time readjusting than I thought.
“When you were the keeper of my 'katra' you sensed that something was within you that did not belong, am I correct?"
"Yeah, you could say that," he replied cautiously.
"So, too, have I come to the realization that something that should be present is not. A piece is missing. It is akin to a jigsaw puzzle. A piece missing from the completed picture spoils the entire project. It can never be whole."
“Now you've lost me.”
“I can recall that you are Chief Surgeon on the Enterprise."
Was, thought McCoy sadly.
"However," continued Spock, "There is no depth to my memories of you; no indication as to why I would entrust you with all that I was and am. My father has theorized that, in releasing the 'katra' during the rejoining, you retained all of those memories that belonged between us, including those memories that belonged to me.”
"Isn't that a little far fetched?"
"It is the most logical explanation."
Wonderful. Now we're playing finders-keepers, he thought glumly. "Suppose you're right. Suppose I do have a double set of memories locked away somewhere. Just how do you propose to reclaim yours, Mr. Spock? I can't just gift wrap them and hand them over."
“I must find them. Relive them."
Oh no. Not again. I don't like where this is leading. "You mean the mind meld?"
"It is the only logical solution," said the Vulcan.
McCoy groaned inwardly. I'm sorry I asked.
Spock sensed the Doctor's reluctance. Or was it fear? He had visibly paled at the suggestion.
Unwilling to press the matter - not with this man who has sacrificed so much - Spock rose from his chair to tower over the Doctor. “I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you discomfort. Forgive my intrusion. You have already done more than I had the right to ask." He raised his hand, palm outward, and gave McCoy the Vulcan salute. "Live long, Leonard McCoy. Prosper always. I owe you my life." With a slight bow, he turned to leave.
Damn. Damn. Damn! Now look what you've done. "Spock, wait." McCoy jumped to his feet and closed the gap between them. He laid a hand on Spock's arm. The Vulcan flinched from the touch and turned, his eyebrows arched.
McCoy allowed his hand to slide from Spock's arm. "I'll do it."
"Doctor, please don't feel obligated to--"
“Obligation's got nothing to do with it," he said, a little too forcefully. "If I have something that belongs to you than it should be returned."
The Vulcan seemed uncertain.
"Please. I want to do it." He licked his lips nervously. "I don't know if you can understand this but, well, I want you to remember me, Spock. I need you to. I know I can't have the old Spock back but I can at least know that the memories of what we shared are still there. They're as much yours as they are mine."
Spock studied him for several moments. "Are you certain?"
"Quite certain," he answered with more confidence than he felt.
"Very well, Doctor. And thank you."
McCoy nodded and returned to his chair. "Is this all right?" he asked, seating himself.
"Wherever you are most comfortable."
“Right." He gripped the armrests. "Let's go."
"It is not a painful experience," Spock said gently.
Does it show that much? “Sorry." McCoy tried to relax. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The touch of Spock's fingers on his face was cool and feather-light. He forced himself not to flinch away.
"We are one,” murmured the Vulcan. "Together. One mind."
Here we go again. This had better not be like the last time. I can't take that. Not again. McCoy felt Spock's mind reaching into his and a trill of apprehension coursed through him.
(~You must relax, Doctor.~)
Easy for you to say.
Warily, he allowed the Vulcan to continue. Probing. Reaching. Sorting. Always with the inquisitiveness of a child. Learning.
An image, frightening in its clarity, flashed through McCoy's mind. Spock stood at the shuttle bay doors. McCoy faced him. Harsh words were spoken between them, words that made the Doctor flinch. Words of fear. Of hurt. Spock's response as he turned and disappeared into the shuttle bay. Alone in the corridor, crestfallen, McCoy speaking the words he knew would not be heard. "Good luck, Spock." The sentiment drifting into the dark void of memory and dancing away.
Another image sprang full blown like a flower in his mind; so sharp the reality that it made him cry out. Spock sitting beside him as he lay dying of the terrible injuries dealt by the Vians. Supporting him as the seizures wracked his bruised and torn body. So much pain. So much!
Faster now the memories came; a parade of images from the depths of his consciousness. Spock kneeling at his side to remove the device of obedience on the asteroid ship Yonada. Concern hidden behind cool efficiency.
The long hours at the operating table in the struggle to save Spock's life; to replace the brain that had been stolen.
An argument in the corridor of the Enterprise. The constant debate over emotions and logic. Man and machine.
Standing in the turbolift with Captain Kirk and trying very hard to disappear into the woodwork as Spock requested that the Captain stand beside him during the ritual of ‘pon far,' a right only permitted his closest friends. The intensity of his surprise as the Science Officer turned to him and also requested his attendance. An honor that gave the ship's surgeon a genuine feeling of pride and respect for his Vulcan friend.
Spock. Spock. Spock. And everywhere that he saw Spock, he saw himself. Faster now, so that the memories blurred. In the shuttle Galileo on a hostile planet. On the bridge of Enterprise flanking the command chair and the man they served with selfless loyalty, Captain James T. Kirk. Standing in Kirk's quarters, viewing the tape designated for them by the man they both called friend as the Tholians continued to seal the ship in a web of energy. In the Roman arena, fighting side by side with shield and sword; McCoy awkward, Spock graceful and efficient.
Together, locked eternally in a combat of wills and words, but always tempered with an undercurrent of genuine respect and fondness. Of friendship.
Faster and faster, the memories spun their course until he was finally left with the events of the past weeks. Memories that wrenched his heart with a pain that he could hardly bear. Barring Spock from entering the radiation filled chamber in Engineering. Spock's deception that allowed him to fell the Doctor with a Vulcan neck pinch. Falling, falling . . . Spock there to catch him; to lower him gently to the floor with a murmured apology. Planting the seed that had nearly driven McCoy over the edge of sanity. "Remember." Clinging desperately to Jim Kirk as the commander of Enterprise tried to reach his dying friend. Keeping them separate before Kirk flooded the entire compartment with radiation in his anguish.
The funeral. Watching the photon torpedo tube as it sailed through space toward the Genesis planet.
Alone. Seated in the dark. Spock's body, recovered from Genesis, alive but not whole laying on a bunk on the captured Klingon Bird of Prey. McCoy, head in hands. Weak. Trembling. Tormented. Facing an uncertain future. The words that Spock could not acknowledge. I’ve missed you. I don't think I could bear to lose you again, Spock. Not again.
Spock!
McCoy cried aloud in anguish as he relived the past 28 hours. I can't stand this. Not again. I can't!
“I can’t!” he cried, and his eyes flew open.
His words echoed from rock. Bewildered, he could find no words for what he saw. He stood on the uppermost step of Mount Seleya and it seemed he could see the whole of Vulcan stretched out before him. The wind was arid and tinged with the smell of sulfur and ozone. The air was thin and rasped like fire in his lungs. Beneath his feet he could feel the rock, worn smooth by the elements. The heat of the Vulcan sun was on his face.
"Doctor."
McCoy whirled. Spock stood before him, the course white robe iridescent in the sunlight. Wind ruffled the voluminous folds of his sleeves and brushed the ragged bangs across the high forehead.
"What the devil?" McCoy pressed a hand to his forehead. "This can't be happening." He felt reality slipping away. "Star Fleet's right. I have gone mad."
"On the contrary, Doctor, you are as sane as any human so full of emotion has a right to be." Spock arched an eyebrow. “Remarkably so, considering the trial you have survived these past few days. I congratulate you. It seems that I did, indeed, choose well."
"You could have at least knocked before entering,” fumed McCoy. “And for your information, I almost didn't make it. Damn it, Spock, what did you expect from me? I’m only human!"
“You are undeniably that, Doctor," agreed the Vulcan fondly.
“Are you making fun of me?"
"Vulcans never ‘make fun’."
"In a pig's--"
"And back to your equally disagreeable self, I see."
“What the hell do you mean disagreeable, you pointy-earred, green blooded hobgoblin!”
The Vulcan arched his left eyebrow. "I rest my case."
"Will you let me get a word in edgewise?" cried the Doctor. “Just once I’d like to get the last…” His words fell short as realization suddenly dawned. "You remember," he finally whispered.
"I have merely found the pieces to the puzzle, Doctor," he said. "You are still undergoing the mind meld. What you are currently experiencing is contact with that part of 'me' that is most familiar to you. On the whole, I am still far from being the Spock you knew."
"I don't think I understand a word of what you just said," said McCoy.
“Don't concern yourself with the details Doctor. Suffice it to say that your cooperation has helped my search considerably. I understand what our relationship has been. I now know why I chose you to be the bearer of my 'katra."
Okay. I'll bite. “How 'bout letting me in on the secret.”
"No secret, Doctor, if you stop to think it through. You must realize that, had Jim been present, I would have chosen you in any case.”
Oh yeah? "Why?'
"As you are acutely aware, the 'katra' must be returned to Vulcan. Had I chosen Jim he would not have been able to function at his full capacity. His skill as a Star Fleet commander would have been seriously impaired. I surmised that in this condition he would not have been able to deliver me safely to Vulcan. Nor would you have been able to help him effectively."
"Thanks a lot."
"I meant no slight. You do not possess the experience or the influence to have succeeded at such a task."
"You have a way with a compliment,' murmured McCoy. I hate it when he's right.
“For those reasons," continued the Vulcan, "the Captain was not a logical choice. That left me with only one alternative. You must believe me when I tell you that there was no one else I would have chosen. Not even another Vulcan."
Spock recognized the doubt in the McCoy's eyes. “Doctor." His voice softened. "Leonard. Your life's work has been devoted to the preservation of life. Your belief in the importance of the individual and your unique sense of humanity brings to your talents a quality unequaled by most. Jim is trained for command and thus must adhere to certain guidelines. Your charge is Life itself. In that calling, there are no boundaries; no rules. You are an empath, Doctor. I submit that it is this very quality that allowed you to survive that which I entrusted to you. As I theorized you would."
"You had it all planned," accused McCoy.
"I took the possibility into account," corrected the Vulcan.
"And now?"
"My search continues. I still need your help, even as I will need the assistance of those who stand with you." He waved a hand to indicate the whole of Vulcan; the dream setting in which they stood. "What I bring back from here will only be a beginning. You must help me to be again what I was." He locked his gaze with McCoy's. "I cannot do it without you, Doctor. You have done more than I could possibly thank you for. Will you stand by me?"
"Yes," he answered with rare sincerity. You know that I will.
The Vulcan nodded. "I thank you, Doctor." He turned and began to descend the steps of Mount Seleya. As he drew further away, so did the vision waver and fade into a patchwork of color.
Leonard McCoy awoke. He blinked away his disorientation and discovered that he lay upon his bed, the intricately woven coverlet drawn up to his chin. He sat up and glanced about. The room was empty. He was alone. Of Spock there was no sign; no indication that he had ever been there at all.
A dream? he wondered. He tossed aside the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. His boots stood on the floor near the headboard. I don't remember taking them off. I don't even remember going to bed. He ran his fingers through his thick, graying hair. A headache throbbed behind his eyes. I feel like I’ve been up all night.
He pushed himself off of the bed. The floor was cold on his bare feet, the chill shocking him awake. He shivered and went to the window.
Was it a dream? McCoy reached inside himself and found that he was at peace; tired and weary, but whole. The pain of the last few days was no less real, but he could come to grips with that. No, not a dream. It couldn't have been.
Spock, his Spock, was still alive.
‘My search continues. Stand by me.’ The words echoed through the corridor of memory. McCoy smiled, the brilliance of the sunrise in his eyes. Spock, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried. We'll do it, too. You just wait and see. With time. With help.
My help.
Jim Kirk appeared around a corner of the building, his eyes hollow from lack of sleep. The makings of a beard shadowed his chin. He saw McCoy at the window and waved. It was a half-hearted, weary gesture.
Our help, McCoy corrected as he returned the wave. He disengaged the window's energy field and leaned forward. "You have breakfast yet?" he called. Wordlessly, Kirk shook his head. "Good. I'll be out in a minute. Just let me slip into some clean clothes."
Kirk blinked in wonder. Was this the same man he'd guided from Mount Seleya only yesterday? "You're pretty lively this morning," he accused.
“I feel like hell,' McCoy replied cheerfully. And you don't look so good yourself. "Wait there. I’ll be right out."
Bewildered, Kirk nodded.
McCoy returned to the bed and slipped into his boots. I can't expect too much too soon, he thought as he replaced his shirt with the clean tunic thoughtfully provided with the room. There's still a long way to go but we'll do it, damn it. All of us together, just the way it used to be. We're a family.
McCoy glanced out the window one last time before departing the room. Kirk stood with his back to the building, his gaze directed toward Mount Seleya where he had regained the friend he had thought lost. McCoy saw the pain in the tilt of his head and the set of his shoulders. His son, dead. His ship, gone. His friend only a shadow of himself.
Now there's a man that could use a little help of his own. McCoy rubbed his palms together. Time to go to work. I am a doctor, after all.
~FINI~