NIGHT 53: WEST WING, NORTH HALL 1-A
[ from here ]The doors to the next hallway were already wide open when she came through, though the ones at the far end of the hall were, as she could see from one brief flick of her flashlight, were tightly shut. Weren't those the doors to the recreational field? They were in the hall directly North of hers, it only made sense for this to be the
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McCoy hoped that, as he walked, he'd find a way to put it behind him just like they had. Even despite what he personally thought of it, he needed to work with Spock and be professional about it. That meant trying to get past it.
It also just wasn't working. His mind was racing, painting various ways that Spock's attempt on Jim's life could have gone down. Spock certainly wasn't going to say what happened and his imagination was more than happy to do the rest. He'd tried to throttle Kirk, that's what that shadow of his had said, and but he was coming up with all sorts of scenarios here. All extremely violent. The worst part was that it didn't matter which scenario his imagination painted up; in every single one, Spock could explain every single one away with a logical reason without batting an eye and sound reasonable, even as he was doing his best to take out Jim.
McCoy's knuckles tightened on the first aid kit as he walked. It was funny that it didn't seem too big a leap to picture Spock doing any amount of those things nowadays.
But Spock always had it in him before, didn't he? First that business with how he punished crew for the smallest infractions (agonizers might not be fatal but they left plenty of other damage on the individual in other ways) to what he did to those that had tried to take his position. Frankly, the agony booth looked like a walk in the park next to what he or his Vulcan operatives could do.
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