I bring moar fic
It was a bar he’d visited many a time in the past ten years, usually because it was exactly the place Spock wouldn’t go. God, how sad is it that I’ve based my entire life around the bastard, even when I thought I wasn’t. A familiar squeaking made him look over, and he saw a small army of fur wiggling on a table. I like them more than I like you. McCoy smiled a little to himself, and wasn’t quite sure why.
He sat at an empty table, feeling as if he were walking through a dream. The only thing he was sure of was that he had to return to Genesis. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t want to think about it. Nobody else could know. Jim and the others thought he was unhealthy, lying in bed pumped full of tranquilizers.
“Long time, Doc,” a waitress - did he know her? - said coyly, leaning over to take a glass from a leaving patron.
“Yeah,” McCoy muttered, looking around. “Anybody been looking for me?”
The waitress smiled, and all McCoy could wonder why she deemed it so logical to put so much makeup on her face. “I have, but what’s the use?” A joke, his mind supplied. Why the hell do I even need to tell myself that? “What’ll it be?”
“Altair water,” he responded automatically.
She giggled. “That’s not your usual poison.”
McCoy felt his eyebrows furrow. “…to expect one to order poison at a bar is not logical,” he mused.
“….got it,” the woman said slowly, inching back, then strutting towards the bar.
*.*.*.*.*
Why the hell did I try to Vulcan pinch him? was all McCoy could think muzzily. The world spun, and not in the way it did when he had one too many. This was more akin to being sick, although the last time he’d felt this bad, he’d woken up to a new wife. He was struggling and saying things, he realized. Since when did his mouth have a mind of its own?
It always has.
McCoy would have replied to the voice in his head that sounded startlingly like his ex-boyfriend, but he couldn’t get the damn cotton taste off his tongue. Everything felt heavy, and he stumbled, the officers restraining him thrown off-balance. He tried to seize the opportunity to escape, but only succeeded in slamming his shoulder into a wall and staggering a few feet away before his legs gave out.
What the hell is…happening?
Leonard tried to remember to panic, but it was too much effort even to do that. He rested his eyes (just for a minute…) and instead dreamed of a cold touch on his temple and a voice murmuring in his ear that he couldn’t quite reach.
.should’ve somehow realized.
He was able to register a few things through the haze, such as “unstable,” “history,” “pity,” and “ward.” They are not sending me to a goddamn funny farm, he thought, trying to sit up. I’m perfectly fine! It was just insulting; just…grief catching up to him, he admitted reluctantly.
McCoy found himself on his elbows, unable to move any further. Not because he was restrained, but because his body protested and gave up, falling back onto the bed in the small room he’d awoken in. What is wrong with me?! Fear pulled at him, but only in the back of his mind. Normally he’d be clawing at the walls, trying to eat his way out, even, but all he wanted to do was just lie back. It wasn’t where he’d thought he’d be a couple days ago, but who cared? It’s not like there was anything on Earth worth going back to (even though he had a clinic and a daughter and friends…). He slid off his jacket (with trouble) and piled it under him as a pillow, resting his eyes and waiting for something to happen.
Thankfully, he’d been out longer than he’d hoped or his friends just moved fast, because the next thing he could register semicoherently was Jim sitting on the edge of his bed. It might have been McCoy’s imagination, but he looked…hopeful. For what? “Jim,” he mumbled.
Kirk actually Vulcan-saluted, the bastard. “How many fingers do I have up?” he had the gall to ask.
“That’s not very damn funny,” McCoy growled, feeling more like himself. He managed to push himself into a higher sitting position.
“Your sense of humor’s returned,” Kirk quipped back, hiding a smile. He reached inside his jacket.
“The hell it has,” the doctor muttered absently. He watched his friend pull out a dosage of…something. He’d be able to identify it if his brains weren’t so damn scrambled. “What’s that?”
“Lexorin.”
McCoy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lexorin. What for?”
Jim paused, but couldn’t keep the little smile from his face. “You’re…suffering from a Vulcan mind-meld, doctor.”
McCoy’s mind - the fucking thing - went blank.
What.
“That….green-blooded sunnovabitch,” he murmured. “This is his revenge for all those arguments he lost.”
“Let me see your hand,” Kirk fussed. “This will make you well enough to travel.”
McCoy allowed himself to be injected, and herded out, and shoved into an elevator, and greeted happily by his friends, and he didn’t really care what happened next. He was on autopilot, his brain (now working much better, but not completely up to snuff, damn Vulcan) processing the information he’d been told. Vulcan mind-meld. Something about Spock’s katra…his soul, or his essence, or some Vulcan voodoo, rattling around in his head.
You asshole, he thought fiercely. You cold-blooded, pointy-eared, computer-for-soul dickbag. You were in there the entire damn time, and you didn’t bother to stop me makin’ a fool of myself?! If your body was that important you shoulda taken me over way before we shot you off into fucking space! You damn hobgoblin, you are so illogical I can’t even-
There was no response, but McCoy didn’t care. He kept twisting his face in concentration, bombarding his ex with anything he could think of. Sleeping with that girl, not speaking to me for ten years, dying on me when I thought things were finally-well shit I guess you would know, wouldn’t you, since you’ve been camping out in there, making a nice little cozy home for yourself. Don’t get too comfortable, do you hear me? The first thing I should do when I see your smug, stoic mug is punch it. I will. I am definitely punching you in the goddamn face when I see you again. You better be ready for a world of hurt, Spock, because I am gonna give you an ass-whuppin’.
McCoy settled into Spock’s station way too comfortably and kept thinking venomous thoughts as the skeleton crew dashed around, orchestrating their grand escape on the Enterprise.
.you’re gonna be the one.
It had been a couple of hours since they’d committed treason and flown away with Starfleet’s most infamous vessel (thanks to the infamous man that commanded her). McCoy was slightly unnerved with how at home he felt in the chair, and silently cursed the Vulcan, refusing to admit he was pleased to have a Vulcan to bitch at again.
“Estimating Genesis two point nine hours, present speed,” Sulu reported. Christ, they could get there that fast? Then again, the only reason it’d taken so long to get home was because they had to stop at many a Starbase and make repairs as best they could. Now they were pushing Jim’s girl to her limit, and she was more than willing to comply. Maybe, McCoy mused, she missed her First Officer as much as her Captain did.
“Can we hold speed, Scotty?” Kirk asked, echoing McCoy’s silent worry.
“Aye, sir,” Scott said proudly. “She’s got her second wind, now.” He gave the control panel a fond pat.
“Scan for vessels in pursuit,” the admiral ordered absentmindedly. McCoy’s fingers tweaked the controls expertly (even though he’d never used this damn thing in his life; it may as well have been written in Romulan) and he peered through the scanner. When he spoke, his throat felt odd, as if something were clawing inside, trying to get out.
“Scanning. …indications negative at this time.”
McCoy looked up to see the other four men staring at him in complete shock. He tried a small, tired smile, knowing what they had heard. “D-Did I get it right?”
“Great, Bones.” Kirk swallowed, then smiled a little. “Just great.”
Leonard felt ill. After the others managed to tear their gazes away and awkwardly tried to focus on their duties, the doctor quietly excused himself, slipping onto the turbolift. He wasn’t sure where to go - his empty room, or Spock’s, and instead found himself on one of the ship’s observation decks, watching the stars go by. “God damn but do I hate space,” McCoy muttered shakily, sitting and putting his face in his hands. “Why did we come here of all places, Spock? You just screwin’ with me now?”
No answer, as usual.
“Damn it!” Leonard slouched, his arms falling to his sides. “Spock, ya haveta…I dunno, hijack me and write me a lettah’r othingg’. I can’ just…ah can’t just go on blind faith no more.” He rubbed his eyes with a hand. “Ah’m tahred, Spock. So tahred. I don’t wanna go on hopin’…if you get back and there’s…othing’ that’s gonna come of it. ‘cause when you…when you died, there was othing’ left. Sure, I havea daughtah - damn good girl she is, damn bright - an’ Jim’n the oth’rs, but…” Bones tilted his head back, feeling so old, which was illogical because he was precisely one-third of the way through the human lifespan. “Stop givin’ me those thoughts!” he growled aloud. “You haveta be able t’hear me in there. Stoppit!”
The doctor sighed, pushing himself up and making his way to his quarters. “I gotta know, Spock. I just…gotta know. They keep lookin’ at me…Jim keep’s pattin’ mah arm like I’m about t’break. ‘s pissin’ me off. I’m fahne.” He punched in the code to his door and it slid open. Feeling the Lexorin wearing off slightly, he stumbled to the dresser, where the mirror hung.
Steeling himself, he looked in the mirror; something he’d been avoiding since Jim told him about the mind-meld.
Same old face. His eyes looked more sunken, and overall he looked more weary. Maybe a couple wrinkles. McCoy rested his head on his hands briefly before looking again. But nothing. There was no trace of Spock anywhere, not even when he stared at his own eyes desperately - but whether he was hoping for a sign of the Vulcan or not, he wasn’t sure.
“Damn it.” He staggered to his bed and sat on it, hard, his body pulling him to the mattress. He fumbled with his jacket for the second time that day, shoving it halfheartedly on the floor and curling up. After a moment he groped for a heavy blanket (which he kept on the left side, just in case Spock ever got cold--) and pulled it over himself. Just a few moments of rest, and maybe the chill would pass.
.many things I would like to say to you.
It was not lost on McCoy as they crashed through the underbrush, that what they all had considered Paradise a month ago was now the living incarnate of Hell. The ground was rumbling, and in the distance they could see lava licking hungrily at the surface, setting everything awash with flame. And of course they were heading straight for it. Fate never liked to give them a break.
They broke from the trees and stumbled into a clearing with a screaming form writhing on the ground. “Bones!” Kirk yelled, but McCoy didn’t need it. He was already kneeling, scanning Spock’s twisting body, catching glimpses of his face (crunched in pain) and shaggy hair. The half-Vulcan gave a shudder and lie still, breathing shallow, and McCoy was able to tear his gaze away to look for Kirk, who was peeling off his jacket and placing it over a still form ten feet away.
There was a moment of silence for David from the entire crew, and McCoy could see his best friend swallow his grief and move back towards them. What a fool I’ve been. A self-absorbed fool. Jim lost his best friend, his ship, and his son…in a month. What have I lost? Memories that were already ten years gone. He reached out and put a hand on his best friend’s arm as the admiral knelt. Kirk caught his gaze and nodded slightly.
“Rapid aging,” McCoy explained, directing his attention back to Spock. “All genetic functions highly accelerated.”
“What about his mind?”
“His mind’s a void. It seems, Admiral,” and here McCoy’s face twisted into a wry smile, “that I’ve got all his marbles.”
Kirk saw the Klingon communicator on the ground and took hold of it, and that was when all hell really broke loose. McCoy was being pried away from Spock’s body - fucking Klingons, fucking Klingons - and when the command was given it as all he could do not to break from Scotty’s insistent grip and make a suicidal lunge for the form swathed in black on the ground.
So goddamn close--!
*.*.*.*.*
“Bones, help Spock!”
McCoy took the figure from Jim as he commandeered the Klingon ship, and as the doors slid shut the doctor allowed himself to just stand there. Spock’s frame felt different (the fact that he couldn’t stand on his own probably had something to do with it), but so familiar. It was the closest McCoy had been to the Vulcan in years, and his mind was awash with a sudden calm and a wave of upheaval simultaneously. He was going to have the biggest headache… He waited until there was another pang in his mind (so painful he nearly doubled over this time and sent both of them tumbling) before leading Spock to the Klingon med bay, gently lying him on a table.
The doctor leaned against the wall, hard, until the pain passed. The last hour caught up with him, the mad rush from the Enterprise, across Genesis, to the Klingon ship…his adrenaline was out. Bones honestly didn’t know how much more he could take. “Spock,” he rasped, moving to look at the Vulcan. Of course, there was no fucking reply, but his chest rose and fell steadily, and McCoy could feel himself hoping again. “For God’s sake, talk to me!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, furiously holding back the burning prickling at his eyes, swallowing down the lump in this throat.
Nothing. Spock’s eyelids flickered and his adam’s apple moved, but otherwise, nothing. McCoy’s heart plummeted. He looked over the other man’s face desperately, searching for something, anything at all. “You stuck this damn thing in my head, remember,” he pressed. “Remember? …now tell me what to do with it!”
There was another pain, sharper this time, and McCoy’s hands gripped the edge of the medical bed until it passed. “…help me,” he whispered.
Spock’s jaw twitched, and it was as if a switch had gone off in McCoy’s brain. Something had broken, finally, and McCoy wasn’t sure what, but he licked his lips and carefully took the Vulcan’s hand in his. It was smoother than he remembered, but regenerated skin would do that, he supposed. His index and middle finger brushed across Spock’s, and before he knew what to think the words were tumbling out of his mouth.
“I’m gonna tell ya somethin’ that I…didn’t think ah’d ever hear mahself say.” He paused, trembling slightly - coming off an adrenaline high, emotionally spent, mentally exhausted. “It seems I’ve…missed you.” His lips quirked upward slightly, before exhaustion pulled at him again. “And ah don’t know ‘f I kin…stan’ to lose you again.”
It was much like a coma, McCoy supposed, only Spock’s mind wasn’t in his body. Regardless, there had to be some tie, because the Vulcan’s eyelids fluttered more than usual and his lips quirked. McCoy allowed himself to rest his head next to Spock’s shoulder and hold onto his chilled hand a while longer.
.but I don’t.
There was certainly one thing to be said about Vulcan: It was hot.
And not the kind of heat Leonard was used to; this was nothing like the beautiful, humid summers back home. No, it was dry and sucked the life out of everything, and while the Vulcan deserts were rocky, somehow McCoy knew there’d be sand in his asscrack if he wasn’t careful. They’d been on Vulcan for a month, and already there’d been three violent sandstorms and four lightning ones. So it was natural for the small Enterprise crew to be shocked when they’d woken up to a gentle pitter-patter on the roof. McCoy had looked outside, saw the steady, soft rainfall, and allowed himself to lay back in bed and simply listen to it.
“Enjoying the view?”
Leonard twisted from where he’d been standing, leaning against the covered porch’s railing. “My favorite person on this godforsaken planet.”
Amanda smiled and nodded her head, joining him at the rail and placing her hands on it. The rain splattered off the stone and made small wet marks on her thin, sweeping dress, but she paid it no mind. “Watch yourself, Leonard. You are insulting my second homeworld.” Her voice held no acid.
“My apologies then, ma’am.”
Amanda smiled. “I suppose I can forgive you.” She reached over and patted McCoy’s hand. The gesture was so familiar in its utter humanity that the doctor found himself giving a fleeting smile. “Something wrong?”
“I just didn’t think it was possible for Vulcan to get rain.”
Amanda chuckled. “It’s quite rare, as you’d suspect for a desert planet.” She glanced sideways at him. “Have you been sleeping comfortably?”
“Moreso in the last month than I have in the month before it,” McCoy replied truthfully. “It probably helps because of the comfortable bed.”
“My husband insisted you get that specific room.”
McCoy blinked. “Did he, now?” Sarek and McCoy hadn’t spoken much. The Vulcan preferred to do that annoying subtext his species was apparently so fond of. From what McCoy could gather, Sarek was thankful.
Amanda’s lips quirked. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Oh, of course not. You would never reveal your husband’s darkest secrets.” McCoy raised his eyebrows and leaned further over the railing, allowing the rain to soak his face and run through his hair.
“Sleeping more comfortably doesn’t mean you’re sleeping well,” Amanda prodded gently.
“Very astute, Mrs. Sarek.” McCoy let his head drop, ignoring the droplets that ran down his neck and wet the collar of his funny Vulcan robes. Amanda was silent, waiting for him to speak. After a minute he raised his head. “How’s Spock been?”
“His memory is progressing. Thankfully he does not have full amnesia. It’s instead a matter of reminding him. You haven’t spoken to him yet?”
McCoy shook his head. “The last time I spoke to him…” he began slowly, “I begged him to look at me. And he didn’t. He wanted to speak to Jim instead.” He smiled again, but it felt so heavy and bitter. “Spock wants omethi’ to do with me, ma’am.”
“On the contrary.” Amanda paused. “Do you know what he did in the ten years you two were separated?” When McCoy shook his head, Amanda folded her hands together and looked out at the flooding desert. “He attempted to achieve kolinar.” Seeing McCoy’s blank stare, Spock’s mother clarified. “He attempted to completely purge himself of emotion.”
McCoy’s eyes widened slightly.
“He also failed.”
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
“He’s not as infallible as you make him out to be sometimes, Leonard.”
“I heard that,” the doctor muttered, thinking back ten years to a hazy, cold cave.
“But do you understand it?”
“I haven’t talked to him because he doesn’t remember anything. I’ll wait until he gets his bearings.”
“You could jog his memory a little. You’ve been avoiding him for a month.”
This was not a conversation McCoy wanted to be having. “Well…well yeah. Hell, he doesn’t even remember Jim.”
“He’s doing quite well with that, actually.” Amanda faced the younger man, not allowing him to wriggle out of it this time. “The admiral’s been spending time with him.”
“I don’t even know if he knows,” McCoy protested weakly. “No, that’s a lie. I know he doesn’t.”
“You are…Doctor McCoy. A…longtime…” Spock’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and everyone gathered around him waited with baited breath. “…acquaintance…of…some sort.”
McCoy’s breath left him in a hurry, and somehow he managed a weak smile. “Yeah,” he managed. “Yeah Spock. That’s me.” Later, Amanda’s arms would wrap around him and he would take comfort from her strength, because he didn’t know if he had it in him anymore.
Infuriatingly, he still did.
“Amanda,” he sighed after a minute, dipping his head back out into the rain, “you’re the only person whose a citizen of this place that could even understand what I-look. That eyebrow isn’t helping.”
“Habit,” Amanda said by way of apology, rearranging her face. “You were saying?”
“You’re still human here. You’ve…got to….you know. Understand what I’m feeling.”
Amanda nodded slightly. “I do. And I’m speaking from some experience. Go talk to him.”
“Shoulda expect’d ya t’say that…” McCoy closed his eyes. What else I got to lose? “…I don’t wanna be f’gahtten.”
“At the risk of sounding infuriating…” Amanda replied slowly, “that’s so illogical, dear.”
Leonard’s head snapped up. “Y’should really ge’ off this planet f’while.”
The woman ignored him. “You’ll continue to be forgotten if you keep avoiding him. It’ll just continue to hurt you worse in the long run if you do.”
“Ah know.” McCoy raked a hand through his wet hair. “’s been a li’l over a decade.”
“He didn’t forget you for ten years.”
“He tried ta. Or triedta stop feelin’.”
“And failed.”
“True. But…” McCoy faltered. “But…this could be his cha’ce or omething’. I wanna do…what he wants t’do. I-I don’t wanna be f’gahtten, but if it’s what he wants…”
“He doesn’t have much of a choice if he doesn’t have all the options.”
McCoy was silent for a few minutes, then said gruffly, “I hate that you’re better at arguing than I am.”
“It comes with years of living on Vulcan. And really, Leonard, it’s not our place to say anything. It likely wouldn’t make an impact. He’d have to hear it from you.”
“And ah’m not one for shuttin’ up, am I?” McCoy rested his head on his hands. “I guess I just needed somebahdy to tell me t’shut up. And I told you ‘cause I guess I knew you’d tell me to talk. I’m a little backwards.”
“And that’s why he chose you,” Amanda pointed out with a smile.
“Can’t stop my feet from runnin’,” McCoy muttered after a moment of staring at the rain.
“…have you ever stopped to think about why he did what he did?”
“Ah’ve tried not to.” McCoy closed his eyes. He could still smell the rancid smell in the air from the ship taking damage, the sweat and fear in the air mixed with the copper tang of Scotty’s blood as he looked over the engineer’s wound. How the glass felt beneath his hands as he slammed against it. Most of all, how Spock’s fingers were cool against his temple as his vision faded to black. Even now, with Spock’s katra back in his head, he still couldn’t shake the ghost of those fingers.
“It’s not that you made him, so don’t start that,” Amanda retorted sharply. “He wanted to. Spock doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to.”
“Jesus, have I ever noticed,” McCoy grumbled.
“So if you weren’t worth anything, would he have stopped you and taken your place?”
McCoy didn’t bother to tell her he hadn’t been planning on dying; it’d be an outright lie and they both knew it. Amanda was too smart for that. “How the hell do I know?” he went for instead. “Maybe he’s just bad at evaluating worth.” He threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know.”
Amanda gave him a look that could split Mount Seleya in half, and McCoy stopped arguing with her. The two stood in silence as the rain drummed against the cracked and damaged ground.
“You’ll talk to him when you’re ready,” Amanda finally said, decisively. “And not a moment before. You’re stubborn like that, Leonard.” She smiled at him and moved his sopping hair out of his face. “I wouldn’t want my son-in-law any other way. Dinner’s in an hour and a half.” She went back inside, leaving a partially befuddled McCoy on the porch.
I….guess…
There's more, but god dammit LJ having a word limit. So that's all for now, folks.