*throws hands in the air*
Three days later, McCoy was finally able to crawl into his bed on board the USS Enterprise, registration NCC-1701-A. Kirk was as happy as Chekov in the Motherland to have his beloved Enterprise back, and it was much the way McCoy remembered it. They had - of fucking course - changed parts of Sickbay again, but Chapel was there for him to grumble to, and she met it with a smile. When he’d entered the medbay, he’d found the life squeezed out of him, her face buried in his shoulder.
“Christine-”
She pulled back and punched his arm, hard. The CMO winced slightly and rubbed the tender area. “You and Mister Spock both scared the hell out of me. What the hell were you thinking?” she demanded. McCoy could only gape at her, and after a moment she drew him in for another, gentler hug. “Thank you,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”
McCoy wasn’t sure what to say - who had he really done it for, anyway? Himself? Spock? Jim? - so he settled for patting her back awkwardly. “Yeah,” he settled on finally. That was a nice, noncommittal response.
The adrenaline in his system was finally petering out, and McCoy turned his eyes to the ceiling, allowing his mind to run over the blur that’d been their return to the twenty-third century.
He remembered allowing himself a small shout before he’d fallen into the water, his limbs resonating with the haunted keening that came from the ocean. They were all alive. Last time he’d left Earth, his mind had been fucked beyond all belief - he still wasn’t sure it’d ever be the same again - but he was there and Spock was back and everyone was gloriously living. Chekov had swum out some, reaching out and brushing a hand across the lazily turning fin of one of the whales.
He looked back toward the Klingon ship, hearing Gillian’s delighted shriek. Jim had climbed his way back up onto the ship and made a leap for the water, catching Spock against the chest and dragging the Vulcan into the water. A laugh burst from McCoy as Spock resurfaced, looking indignant, trying to recover his Vulcan air (but it was so hard to take him seriously when he looked like he’d been told he’d just eaten a tribble, sopping wet and looking like a drowned cat and oh good lord on a bicycle it was good to have him back). Leonard had turned on his back, floating, allowing the waves to smack against him, actually savoring the feeling of being soaked to the bone.
Then they’d gotten off, scott-free, and Kirk had his rightful position back. Jim had words to exchange with Gillian, obviously, and Spock with his father, so McCoy had moved for the door quickly (get out before the goddamn crowd hits), but had been summoned to the side by Sarek himself.
“Sir,” McCoy said, inclining his head slightly. He and Sarek didn’t have any problems with each other, but neither did they connect. Spock’s father had always just been there, a reminder of the side of his personality that the son had chosen.
Sarek’s head tilted down in a polite greeting as he tucked his hands in his wide sleeves. “My wife wishes me to inform you of her thanks, and regrets she cannot be here in person.”
“Y-Yeah.” McCoy shuffled a little uneasily. “We didn’t really plan to save the Earth, sir.”
Sarek’s eyebrow inched upward. “Of that I am aware. No one plans to save their homeworld, fewer choose to go through with it when faced with impossible and illogical choices.”
“With all due respect, Sarek, I think Jim should be hearing this.”
“Rest assured, I will pass the message on to Captain Kirk as well.” Sarek paused. “You went through many endeavors to bring back my son.”
“Is that much of a surprise?” McCoy’s eyebrow lifted, and fuck’s sake he was getting way too good at imitating a Vulcan. That was never a habit he wanted to pick up. “Given our…uh, history-”
“It is because of your history that many are surprised.”
“Wait. How many is ‘many’.” Sarek’s eyebrow raised, and McCoy sighed and flapped a hand. “You know what, nevermind. I don’t think I want to know.”
“Indeed. Regardless, because of your history, you had every reason not to choose to go through with the fal tor pan.” McCoy blinked, really not seeing how he had any other choice; it was go through all that or live the rest of his life disoriented and insane.
The room was nearly empty, and Sarek glanced at Spock. “I must speak to my son now.” He held a hand up, fingers pried apart in that painful looking way. McCoy fumbled with his hands, trying in vain to give a returning salute, and settled for a pathetic looking wave. “Live Long and Prosper, Doctor McCoy.” Sarek swept past him, and McCoy had looked after the old Vulcan briefly before continuing out the door, befuddled.
Lying in bed, McCoy suddenly realized what the conversation had been about, giving a startled laugh. Did he thank me? I think he did. Goddamn Vulcans; can’t just come out and say it. McCoy covered his face with a hand, chortling for a few minutes. I’ll have to send a message to Amanda telling him I say “You’re welcome.”
.and all the lights that light the way are blinding.
McCoy honestly couldn’t believe he was on another goddamn five year mission. Well, sort of. They were more of an elite squad of errand boys with the special privilege of doing whatever they pleased (within the boundaries of the law, obviously, although Jim always pushed that in weird ways) in between missions instead of returning to Earth. It was, as most situations went, a blessing and a curse, although lately Leonard had taken it to be much of the latter.
Spock had been stopping by a lot, and the CMO wasn’t sure how to feel at all. Part of him was reminded of the older days; Chapel’s face still lit up the same, McCoy still grumbled, and Spock still gazed at them evenly. Spock’s eyes were different this time around, though. Instead of that infuriating Vulcanness that radiated from him, the Science Officer flickered between surety and uncertainty. He’d been gently testing the waters for months now, and it made McCoy twitch. There were only so many places you could go to get away on a starship, too, and as much as McCoy loved the Enterprise, the times when he was able to return to Earth for even a week were pure bliss.
The day McCoy’s sanity finally frayed was, surprisingly, on a normal day. They were drifting about in the Fuck Knew quadrant of space (that was how McCoy referred to it anyway), and hadn’t been planetside in at least a week. It was a rare lull in life on the Enterprise, and everyone was taking full advantage of it, McCoy included. He was treating Chekov’s newest wound (somehow the Russian navigator had managed to burn his arm in Engineering - McCoy really didn’t want to know the details) when Spock’s voice sounded from behind him.
“Doctor.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” McCoy jumped, finger slipping, accidentally stabbing Chekov with a hypo a little harder than needed. The commander yelped, swearing in Russian and looking at his arm in pained horror. “Sorry Pavel,” McCoy grunted. “Jus’ git someun to cover your shift and keep that arm rhested. It’ll be fahne by tomorrow.” He rounded on the half Vulcan as Chekov slinked out. “Ah swear, need t’getya a goddamn bell.”
“I have been here for the past three minutes and forty nine seconds.”
“And ah was treatin’ a patient!” McCoy folded his arms. “Already gave ya your physical. Whaddya need?”
“Your accent appears to become more prominent when you are frustrated, Doctor.”
McCoy’s face reddened. “Shaddap, Spock.”
Spock’s head tilted. “I have also noticed your accent slips when you use endearments.”
“Well, Mister Spock,” McCoy shot back, folding his arms, “I don’t know how you would know that, since I’ve never used them on you.” His mouth was unnaturally dry.
“That, Doctor, is incorrect.”
McCoy tried to lick some life back into his lips, but everything was too dry, too dry. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a breath. “What?” All of this had taken less than a second.
“I said, Doctor, that your statement is in correct.”
McCoy threw his hands in the air. “I heard you the first time, you hobgoblin!” Spock arched an eyebrow, and McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I was asking you to clarify.”
“If memory serves correctly, Doctor, previously you and I were engaged in a relationship that was romantic as well as se-”
“You would be correct,” McCoy interrupted, flushing. “You and I dated, Spock. It didn’t work out.”
“I am aware.”
An awkward silence descended on the empty Sickbay.
“Well,” McCoy said finally, regaining his voice. “Ain’t this just peachy? Your memory’s startin’ to come back.”
“Indeed.”
Silence.
“My shift is over,” McCoy said, edging for the door.
Spock glanced at the shift schedule. “You still have another h-”
“I’m the damn CMO, Spock, I make my own schedule.” McCoy was never more relieved to see Christine Chapel in his life. He brushed past her as she came in, making a beeline for the turbolift.
.you heard it all before.
Fortunately or unfortunately (McCoy wasn’t sure which), Spock not only continued his visits to Sickbay, but increased them. He was always punctual, walking into Sickbay precisely ten minutes after his shift was over, twice a week. Telling him to get out did nothing; Spock simply quirked an eyebrow and did not move. McCoy was all too familiar with the art of pretending Spock wasn’t there, and he was plain tired of it.
“Spock, I realize you’re trying to get your memory back, and that’s all well and good, but you’re making everyone jumpy.”
“If by ‘everyone,’ then you mean yourself, then I would agree.”
McCoy sputtered, rounding on Chapel as she tried hard to hide a smile. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.” Chapel imitated Spock’s eyebrow raise so well the CMO felt like he was back on Vulcan. “Yeah,” he huffed after a minute, “I am jumpy, because I have the ship’s best Science Officer hovering over my shoulder like I’m a goddamn greenhorn.”
“I have not noticed any verdant features on you, Doctor, let alone anything resembling antlers-”
“Don’t start that,” McCoy snapped. “I know you’re just being difficult. Pushing and poking just to gauge my reaction. I’m a doctor, not a damned science project, Mister Spock.”
The Vulcan was silent for a moment, head tilting to the right slightly. McCoy refused to back down, drawing himself up even more after a few moments. “Indeed,” Spock acquiesced. McCoy wasn’t sure if he should feel proud or angry. “I suppose I have trespassed on your personal boundaries. My apologies.” He inclined his head and swept out of Sickbay. Chapel stared wordlessly at McCoy and the space where Spock had been. Leonard’s stomach churned, and he passed a hand over his eyes. He needed a goddamn drink.
.backbeat.
“Bones, when are you going to tell him?”
McCoy really wished everyone would stop using his life as a focal point of their entertainment. “Tell him what?” he asked over the dinner the two friends were sharing in Jim’s quarters; may as well stick with the longtime ritual.
“That you’re still madly in love with him?”
McCoy nearly spit his synthesized steak all over his best friend. He settled instead for choking on his food, causing the other man to jump out of his chair and pound the doctor on the back. McCoy winced. “God dammit, Jim!” he hacked after a minute, waving the captain away.
Kirk settled back into his chair. “What?” he asked after popping a piece of meat into his mouth. “It’s what we’re all wondering.”
“Yeah? Well ya’ll need to learn some goddamn manners,” McCoy muttered, stabbing at his plate harder than necessary.
“Bones…”
“What.”
The captain held his hands up, leaning back in his chair and sighing. “Look, it’s scuttlebutt.”
“I know what it is, Jim. Doesn’t mean I appreciate it.”
“If you’d let me finish,” Kirk continued, raising an eyebrow. McCoy fell silent, resisting the urge to grumble under his breath. “Thank you. It’s scuttlebutt, but I ask because I’m concerned. It’s obvious that the both of you know there are feelings there. It just seems really unhealthy to not acknowledge it.”
“There’s no proof that Spock has any feelings at all, Jim.” McCoy, finished with his food, sat back, slinging a leg over the chair’s arm.
“Well he’s still visiting you even after you chase him out every time, isn’t he?”
“The man’s trying to get his memory back.”
Kirk shrugged. “Seems to me he’s got most of it.”
“Well have you asked him?” McCoy knew he was being childish, but he still couldn’t help but feel justified as Kirk shook his head. The feeling quickly disappeared, guilt creeping in on him instead. McCoy rubbed his face once. “Look, Jim…I’ve done all I can. Spock knows my intentions.”
“Are you sure?”
McCoy thought back to the hand hold on the USS Bounty in the long seconds when he was certain they were going to burn. “Yeah, Jim. I’m sure. I’ve…done everything I can without pushing him. It’s up to Spock to make a decision. I’m done trying.”
“You’ve given up? That’s not like you at all, Bones.”
The CMO shook his head. “Didn’t say I’d given up. Just that it’s time for him to figure out what he wants to do.”
“If you say so, Bones.”
“I do.”
.and after all.
McCoy hated how hope rose in his chest as dread pooled in his stomach as he stood just inside his quarters, staring blankly at the Vulcan at the door. “You come to harass me in my personal time now, Mister Spock?”
“I did not think it prudent to have this discussion with you in Sickbay.”
Leonard sighed. “Come on, then.” He stepped back, allowing Spock to come in and stand in the middle of the room awkwardly, fingers steepled together. McCoy hadn’t seen that in years, and his heart ached a little at the familiarity of it. Spock had been getting more and more like his old self lately, and while it was a relief, the doctor knew that the mounting tension had to break soon. It would either turn out well (he doubted it) or end horribly, but either way, it would be over. McCoy crossed his arms. “Well, Spock?”
“I apologize for intruding on your emotions.”
McCoy blinked. It was so like Spock, and so not, that it made the human’s head spin for a few minutes. “Um. What?” Well, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say.
“As you stated some weeks previous, some of my comments have intended to provoke, to see what kind of reaction you would give.”
“Care to explain that? I don’t appreciate being treated like your childhood science fair project.”
“I wished to see if you would express any interest.”
McCoy’s ears rang a little bit with the ensuing silence. “What made you finally come here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve been trying for months to get your attention, and after I sit back and go insane you finally get the nerve to ask me if I’m interested?” McCoy shook his head. “You’re damn ridiculous, Spock.”
The Vulcan’s eyebrows furrowed. “It has been a trying experience when most people I have interacted with have been loathe to disclose any information. You were not quite straightforward.”
“What was I supposed to say? Yeah Spock, we used to go out but then you cheated on me and it all fell to pot. Then you left without a word to anyone, tried to purge all your emotions for ten damn years and hell, you know the drill, you remember now!” McCoy could feel his face getting redder and redder with each word and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Straightforward. Right. Because that’s logical.”
Spock’s fingers flexed slightly. “I did not bring logic into the equation, Doctor.”
“Well that’s a damn first.” McCoy leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. He watched Spock glance around the room, the other man’s brown eyes falling on one of McCoy’s knickknacks. He reached forward, holding the nickel between his index finger and thumb. The doctor’s breath caught slightly. Spock’s eyes weren’t hazy, but he was way too focused on that nickel (at least, way too focused in a way that was really damn detrimental to McCoy’s heart rate). The Vulcan’s lips moved.
“You had won the bet.”
McCoy thought back all those years to those horrible few days when he’d been acting captain of the Enterprise, all because Jim thought he’d be funny (and then had the nerve to up and fucking disappear, the bastard). “Yeah, but you never did pay me back. Didn’t have a nickel.”
“Most people would not.” Spock’s eyebrow arched, his eyes not moving. “You have a knack for collecting odd antiques, McCoy.” The Vulcan paused, and were his ears a little greener? “I do believe, however, you were paid back sufficiently in another manner. We did have another week on 1212 Muscae IV.”
McCoy had taken five steps over and swiped the nickel, clenching it in his clammy palm, startling Spock out of his weird memory trance. There was a lump in his throat as memories of a beautiful planet, lush and quiet, filtered across his mind, along with one of the damn best weeks of the doctor’s entire life-
The two had made contact as McCoy took the nickel, and Leonard felt as if the side of his hand was aflame. Spock’s eyebrow arched slightly, and damn Vulcans and their fucking touch telepathy. The pointy eared bastard took a step forward, and McCoy took two back. “Doctor?”
“No.” McCoy was shaking his head, shoving the nickel in his pocket. “You can’t just bring that up, Spock. I’m not going to let you measure my interest like it don’t mean a damn.”
“I believe I had apologized for that, therefore expressing my intention to not do so again.”
“So what are you doing?” McCoy ran a hand through his hair, letting out a ragged breath. “Fuckin’ around with me?”
“That would not be logical.” Spock paused. “And it would be unnecessarily callous.” Spock looked at his hands, which had clasped together again. He took a deep breath, speaking slowly. “I have been…testing your attraction because I do not wish to…cause unnecessary stress.”
McCoy actually laughed at that. “Oh right, because barging into my damn Sickbay and harassin’ me isn’t stressful at all. Yeah, that’s exactly what puts me at peace, Spock, is you hoverin’ there like a goddamn ghost.” He gestured wildly with his hands. “You are so illogical.”
“That was unwelcome,” Spock replied after a moment. McCoy snorted.
“And so was you messing with my god damn head. So we’re even.” The two stood in silence for a few minutes, but Leonard couldn’t stand still without twitching, causing Spock to raise an eyebrow. “What did you mean to do by studyin’ my interest then?”
Here the Vulcan took another deep breath. “I have…come here to see…if you would be interested.” Spock looked up, meeting McCoy’s eyes. “In resuming what we had started ten years ago.”
“That didn’t work,” was the automatic response, and inwardly McCoy kicked himself.
“Of that, I am highly aware. That was also ten years ago.”
“So why, Spock? Why ask now? Why didn’t you do so earlier when I told you I was glad to see you? Why’d we make nice pleasant talk and have everyone stare at us? Why’d you have to fuckin’ die on me, you damn illogical-” McCoy wiped at his eyes furiously. Shit, I thought I was done with this stupid crying stuff. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“…I was uncertain,” Spock finally responded, voice quiet, nearly smothered by the silence. He reached out, and McCoy flinched away. Spock persisted, however, taking another few steps forward. McCoy didn’t move, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was paralyzed. There was too much going on in his head, and he wanted - but nothing good ever happened, especially not with Spock - and…maybe…
The Vulcan’s hand wrapped around his wrist, and his skin was so hot. Leonard’s breathing hitched, and he took a sudden, sharp breath through his nose. The smell was much the same; dry heat, tinged with a bit of the candles Spock burned in his quarters when he meditated. McCoy could remember watching the half Vulcan sit quietly, head bowed (he’d learned his lesson about how finicky Spock could be about noise during his meditation and chose a comfortable position while the science officer lit the candles). “What’re you doing?” he asked thickly, making a halfhearted attempt to pull away.
“On the USS Bounty,” Spock replied quietly, “you did this.” His hand slid upwards, prying McCoy’s fingers apart and sliding through the spaces between them. The doctor’s hand reflexively closed around it, thumb brushing the soft space between the Vulcan’s index finger and thumb. Spock’s breath audibly caught, and McCoy stopped himself.
“Yeah. I did,” he replied instead.
“Knowing full well what it meant in Vulcan society.”
“Yes, Spock, because I’m a goddamn sentimental old moron and I’ve never gotten over you. Are you happy now, you sadistic ass?!”
Prone to human error. Jim had said that once, long ago, in a description of Spock. McCoy had looked at the Vulcan next to him and saw the pain in the other man’s face as they watched their best friend advise them to work together and make it out alive from a television screen, because he’d up and vanished from existence. At random moments, later, McCoy would recall the little smile that came onto Kirk’s face and he would replay the words in his head, testing their weight, watching Spock. How could he have forgotten?
Spock’s other hand had snaked around his neck - not too quickly, giving the doctor time to back out if he really wanted to - as he erred again. The kiss was awkward, two mouths bumping together clumsily. McCoy gave a short, disbelieving laugh as his lips caught the corner of Spock’s. The two drew back slightly, and McCoy used his free hand to rest against the side of Spock’s cheek. “I gotta know,” he began slowly, “if this is gonna work. I can’t go through all that again, Spock. I just can’t. ‘s not good for me, for you, for Jim, for anyone. We caused too much commotion last time. Lashed out too hard.”
The Vulcan’s eyebrow inched upward. “Are you proposing, Doctor?”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Fuck’s sake, Spock. Answer my goddamn question.”
“I cannot guarantee anything, Doctor. No one has the ability to see into the future. However,” his hand shifted slightly, thumb making small circles on McCoy’s palm, “I would find it detrimental to the ship’s efficiency if we were to discontinue our relationship, given the ‘tension’ people have been mentioning.”
“That,” McCoy replied slowly, “is the stupidest way of saying yes. You goddamn Vulcans. Your father can’t even tell me ‘thank you,’ and you can’t even say ‘yes.’”
“I thought I was perfectly clear.” Spock’s head tilted quizzically. McCoy’s hand slid over Spock’s ears - the contours just as he remembered them - and sifted into his hair, pulling him in again. The second kiss was more what McCoy remembered. Spock’s lips were dry and hot, awkward at first, but soon more pliant. Spock’s hand slid from McCoy’s arm and rested gently on his shoulder, maneuvering the smaller man forward. McCoy happily complied, free hand brushing against Spock’s ribs.
Spock’s mouth opened slightly under his, and Leonard’s tongue traced across his bottom lip. The Vulcan gave a stuttering breath, and McCoy smiled. Spock made an inquisitive sound in the back of his throat, but McCoy shook his head slightly, lips brushing the Vulcan’s jaw. “Nothin’, Spock.” McCoy paused. “You’re sure. You’re really sure?”
“I would not be here engaging in relations with you if I was not.”
“We gotta work on you colloquialism,” McCoy snorted, speaking against the area where Spock’s jaw met his neck. “You don’t seem to have the speaking down pat.”
“Not all of my memory has returned,” Spock agreed, and his breath on McCoy’s ear was incredibly distracting (and enough to drive a man mad). Spock’s hand was on the small of his back now, pressing them closer together, and McCoy felt dizzy.
“Well,” he said finally after grappling with himself, focusing on that pulsing greenish vein in the Vulcan’s neck, “should we jog your memory?”
“That seems the logical course of action,” Spock agreed after a moment, and McCoy’s hand curled into a fist, drawing Spock’s shirt to him. Spock’s fingers were warm and brushing against his temple, and even though he knew the future would suck (it always did, somehow, because they were best friends with Jim Kirk and he was boyfriend to a fucking Vulcan), McCoy finally felt like he was home.
.you’re my wonderwall.