Star Trek Fic: Memories Make the Man (2/3)
Part 1
~**~
After his first attempts at redeveloping all the things he’s lost, he finds it much easier to continue. He doesn’t have that much free time, what with the demands of being a CMO as well as having to relearn how to handle all the damn paperwork, but he doesn’t let that stop him.
He meets Jim for lunch each day, sits with the Bridge crew during dinner, has an evening a week drinking with Scotty and Jim. He also starts attending the weekly poker games, which can be a lot of fun even though apparently, compared to the rest of the crew, he can’t bluff worth a damn.
“Any luck on finding the source of the flu?” Jim asks as he throws in his bet. McCoy scowls at his cards and then shakes his head as he folds.
“We’ve got nothing so far, and it doesn’t help that the Science labs are being so damn slow sending back the results we need.” He takes a drink of whiskey, enjoying the burn of it down his throat. “Maybe if Spock pulled his finger out, we’d already have cured it.”
“Spock’s been busy,” Jim says, and although he tries to sound casual, eyes remaining on his cards, McCoy can hear the chastisement in his tone. “He’s in that lab more than he’s on the bridge nowadays, what with your flu virus, the ion storm a few lightyears away, working on two AI projects for Starfleet and, not forgetting, the analysis from our last first contact.”
Which McCoy had forgotten, actually, and hearing the list of jobs Spock’s been completing makes him feel almost sorry for sending constant abuse through the computer system. Almost. It’s not as if he can really insult the guy, is it? “Well, if he doesn’t think it’s important, maybe he’ll change his mind when half the crew are throwing their guts up and the ship flies into a sun.”
Every laughs at his comment, even though he was serious, dammit. “I’ll pass that along,” Jim informs his wryly, and then declares, “full house,” with a large grin. The rest of the table groan and throw down their cards, and Jim scoops his winnings towards him with a gloating smile.
“You always win this much?” McCoy scowls at him, and Jim just nods as he starts to pile all his chips into one tall tower.
“Yup,” he replies, popping the p, “although it got a lot harder when you stopped me counting cards.”
McCoy hits the table then jabs a finger at him. “I knew you counted them,” he says victoriously. “How the hell did I prove it?”
Jim gives a one shoulder shrug, still piling his chips. “Something to do with cameras and trickery,” he says, distracted. “I was never really interested in the details. But the fact you played the tape of me counting in the mess hall is what made me stop.” He shoots McCoy a half grin, eyes amused, and McCoy can’t stop himself from smiling back.
“Sounds like I got you good,” he says, mostly happy at the thought of his victory, not really bitter about the fact he can’t remember it. “Shame I can’t remember doing it.”
“You had help,” Jim says, cutting through his smugness with a smirk. “So don’t go thinking that you became that awesome in the last couple of years, Bones. You still can’t outsmart me.”
“Who?” he scowls, angry that he’s sharing his thunder when he’s been trying to catch Jim out for years.
Jim shakes his head. “You never told me,” he says, now shuffling the cards and passing them out. “I think you wanted to shield them from my rage.”
McCoy scoffs. “Your rage wouldn’t scare a puppy,” he says as he picks up his hands, which is just as dismal as all his others have been. “And I certainly wouldn’t work with someone who could be scared by you.”
“I’ll have you know I can be terrifying,” Jim says haughtily, throwing in some chips. “I’ve made people actually tremble with fear.”
“We actually all agreed that it was the Enterprise that caused the trembling,” Sulu chips in, and McCoy had almost forgotten that they weren’t alone. “Since we were shooting the building, causing it to shake.”
“His eyes said he was terrified,” Jim defends.
“Of the phasers,” Sulu replies and Jim slumps down into his seat.
“He was terrified,” he mutters, almost to himself, and Sulu grins at McCoy, who turns to Jim.
“I’m sure he was shaking in his boots,” McCoy says to him consolingly, and pats him on the shoulder. Jim scowls at him and ups the bet, just to be spiteful. McCoy folds with a groan. “We missin’ anyone else?” he asks and Jim looks round the table casually.
“Uhura sometimes comes for a few hands,” Jim says, “and some other bridge crew might show their face.”
“Uhura any good at poker?” McCoy asks as he puts down a card and picks up another. Jim slants a grin at him over his cards.
“She gives me a run for my money,” he says and then adds to the pile of chips in the middle of the table. McCoy doesn’t reply. The silence between them is comfortable, not filled with McCoy wondering what he didn’t know, what he was missing, and it was also absent of the weight which had between him and the others when he first woke up, that tension. It’s a nice feeling, just to feel as though he’s around friends and to not think about anything else but enjoying their company for the moment.
They all sit in the silence for a few minutes, just upping each other’s bets and letting the quiet relax them until McCoy decides to break it.
“So, where’s Chekov?” McCoy asks Sulu. Despite the other man’s protestations that he isn’t the young Ensign’s keeper, he suspects that there’s something more going on between them. Or maybe he’s just hoping there is, since he thinks they’d be good together.
Sulu grins at him. “He’ll be here when his shift finishes,” he says. “Chekov never misses a chance to drink us under the table.”
McCoy scoffs and Scotty laughs. “Don’t be so doubting, Doctor,” he says happily as he takes another swig of his foul whiskey. “That wee lad has drunk us all under the table at one time or another.”
“All of us?” he asks, and the table nods as one.
“They start early in Russia,” Jim informs him with a grin, “And didn’t you know that’s where drinking games were invented?”
McCoy joins in the laugh then - even these past couple of months have been enough to expose him to Chekov and his loyalty to Russia.
They end up playing well into the ship’s night, and McCoy wakes up with his head full of fluff but his cheeks sore from smiling, and thinks it’s a result he can live with. It was well worth it to take him out of his head for a while.
~**~
He walks into the labs and looks around, stunned. He hasn’t been in here before, that he can remember, and he’s impressed. The equipment is all brand new and above top-of-the-line, and crew members dressed in blue are bustling around, industriously working. Spock obviously runs a tight ship. Still, despite the large work force, there is hardly any noise, especially in the corner he can see Spock stood in, bent over a microscope.
He moves towards him quietly, trying not to break the silence of the lab, but Spock still apparently hears him, and turns just as McCoy reaches him, one eyebrow raised and face unreadable.
“Doctor,” Spock says after they’ve been stood in silence for a long moment. “Might I ask why you are here?”
McCoy clears his throat, feeling nervous although he doesn’t know why. “I was just coming to check up on the flu results,” he says, and watches Spock’s lips tighten into a straight line and then relax.
“And you have decided to deliver your complaints about the length of time it is taking in person?” Spock asks, head slightly tilted and his expression giving away nothing of what he’s thinking.
McCoy scowls, annoyed that Spock thinks he’s here just to sling insults, especially now he knows just how much work Spock has to handle at the moment. He can be a grumpy, demanding bastard, but he likes to think he’s not often cruel to people for no reason, even if he doesn’t much like them. “Not quite, Spock. I thought that since you’re so weighed down and sickbay’s quiet, I’d look over the research myself.”
Spock blinks and then nods, seems to relax, although it’s only obvious in the looser way he’s now holding himself. “You are of course welcome to,” he agrees, and gestures towards the machine next to him, its screen running lines and lines of formulas.
McCoy steps up to the machine, curious. He slants a look at Spock. “You not going to ask me if I know what I’m doing?”
Spock’s eyes lighten slightly. “I am well aware of your capabilities, Doctor,” he replies, and if McCoy strains he can almost imagine amusement in his tone, before turning back to his own machine. “I have no doubt that you are able to handle this task.”
That sounds almost like a compliment, and McCoy watches Spock out of the corner of his eye as the Vulcan goes back to what he was doing. His hands are tapping in instructions, moving so fast McCoy has no way of telling what he’s inputting, and McCoy’s impressed despite himself.
“I would appreciate it if you would cease watching me,” Spock says suddenly, and McCoy glances away feeling a blush rise on his cheeks.
He turns his attention back to the information in front of him, trying to narrow down the cause of the flu and find out how they can stop it. Its symptoms are not overly serious but are long lasting, leaving every crew member who catches it out of action for at least two weeks. He’d only been partly joking with Jim - if they don’t get this sorted quickly they’ll be running a skeleton crew, and that’s just asking for trouble based on the stories he’s heard about this ship so far.
He works in silence next to Spock for almost an hour, concentration pointed towards the screen in front of him and the soothing noises of Spock working next to him. Something in him feels comfortable, relaxed, as though he’s done this before, and he wonders if that’s true. If he and Spock have spent time here working together, solving problems and managing not to argue until the emergency was over.
He clears his throat, ready to ask, to try and find out if he and Spock ever even spent time together in the same room, and turns to look fully at Spock. Spock is looking at him, eyes dark, and one hand flits up towards McCoy. McCoy looks at him, confused, and sees an unguarded look sweep across his face. He also watches it disappear as Spock straightens and pulls his hand back, clenches it at his side, and then nods his head towards McCoy.
“If you will excuse me, Doctor,” he says quietly and then turns and walks away. McCoy just watches him go, completely unsure what just happened. But he knows something - whatever it is about him that’s keeping Spock away, it isn’t his foul mouth. He hadn’t said a single thing.
~**~
It’s been almost two months since McCoy woke up without the last two years of his life, and he’s still flitting between being relieved that he’s still alive despite his memory loss and cheated since it sounds like he’d worked hard for his place on this ship, and something has stolen that away. He’s heading towards the latter tonight, and so is wandering the ship, trying to drag his mind away from angry thoughts.
McCoy hadn’t expected anyone to be on the observation deck at this hour. He especially hadn’t expected to find Spock sitting on one of the benches with Uhura leant over him, her attention on his stomach. It seems odd, especially when the conversation continues down a path McCoy can’t quite follow.
“Do you know what you’re going to call him yet?” she asks, her gaze not leaving the blue tunic she has her hands on. From this angle, McCoy can see that Spock’s stomach is protruding, and it looks so odd on his usual thin frame that the obvious thought doesn’t come to his mind until Uhura all but spells it out.
“I have not chosen a name,” Spock replies, one of his own hands coming down to rest next to Uhura’s. “We were going to choose one together, and as such...” he trails off, as if unsure, and Uhura looks up at him, eyes understanding. She moves one hand to cup his cheek, and Spock’s eyes flutter closed for a moment.
“It’ll be ok, Spock,” she says quietly. “Everything will work out, and this little one will be fine.” Which means that Spock’s pregnant, that the bump on his stomach holds a baby, and he feels the loss of his memories all the more at this realisation - so much has changed that he doesn’t know how to handle it at all. He supposes that explains why Spock has changed Doctors, and he can’t believe he hasn’t noticed this before.
He turns to leave, but must make a noise which alerts Spock and Uhura to his presence, since the latter speaks up.
“Leonard,” she says, surprised, and McCoy turns to find them standing. Spock’s face is as neutral as ever, but when he stands it is awkward, without his natural grace, and he keeps one hand protective around his bump. Something about the sight makes McCoy’s heart twinge. He frowns at that, and then tries to look as though he hadn’t been spying on them.
“Uhura,” he nods. “Spock.”
“What brings you to the observation desk?” she asks, and McCoy notices that she’s standing very close to Spock. He heard about them in the transporter room, of course, and wonders if they’re still together now, if the reason Spock is carrying their child has something to do with alien biology or something else, like alien spores.
“Congratulations,” he says, and tilts his head towards Spock’s bump. Uhura frowns for a moment, and then shakes her head with a laugh.
“Oh, we’re not together,” she says, amused. “He grew tired of my illogical ways after a year of it.”
“Not quite, Nyota,” Spock says, not looking at McCoy. “I believe you found a more preferable dialect to study.” His lips turn up into what could pass for a smile on a Vulcan, and Uhura bumps her shoulder against his, very gently.
McCoy’s not sure how to take their bantering, or the fact that Spock seems to have made an innuendo. He clears his throat, feeling awkward and then gestures again to Spock’s bump. “How’d this happen?” he asks, and winces internally at the sharpness of his voice.
Spock’s face tightens, but he shows no other signs of distress. “My DNA includes the male carrier gene,” he replies as if talking about the weather, “and so I am able to carry my mate’s child with little problem.”
“Mate?” McCoy asks, disbelieving. “You got married?”
Spock inclines his head slightly, and his eyes have darkened until they’re almost black. “Indeed,” he replies, and even McCoy cannot miss the ice in his voice. “Exactly ten months, two weeks and four days ago.”
“There’s a chance for everyone then, I suppose,” he replies, trying to lighten the tension which has appeared between them, but the words come out crueller than he’d intended. Spock clenches one hand again, as he did in sickbay when McCoy awoke, and then closes his eyes for a long moment.
“So it would seem,” he replies, voice back to neutral, and then turns to Uhura. “If you will excuse me,” he says and she nods, face pained and eyes wide.
“Of course,” she says quietly. “I’ll come visit you both soon.” She tries to smile, but it’s watery, and Spock just nods and then leaves the room. He says nothing to McCoy, although he’s sure he feels his burning gaze hit the back of his head, just for a moment.
He and Uhura stand in silence for a long moment, and he’s about to say something when she speaks.
“Leonard, I understand this must be very hard for you,” she says and then steps in closer. “I know that you don’t remember anything that’s happened between you and Spock, but I have to tell you that you both worked very hard to move past the antagonism which lay between you. And if all you can offer instead of venom is neutrality, that’s fine, but if you ever hurt him like that again - I’ll hurt you.” Her voice is serious and her eyes burn into him until they shift, so she’s looking at him with something like pity. She reaches up and touches one of his shoulders, gently. “You’ll understand why when you remember.”
McCoy wonders why the hell people keep saying stuff like this to him.
~**~
It’s three months after he wakes up that he sees the crew acting at their best. He’s stood on the bridge when a ship suddenly de-cloaks on the viewscreen and starts shooting at them. Kirk moves back to his seat, not even stumbling as the ship rocks from side to side. The bridge lights change to red alert as he sits.
“Shields,” he yells to Chekov, whose fingers are already dancing over his console. Sulu has started to dodge the blasts and Jim turns in his seat, eyes sparking and face more serious that McCoy has ever seen it. “Uhura, hail them and find out what the hell they think they’re doing. Chekov, try and knock out their weapons. Sulu, keep up the manoeuvres and Spock!” The Vulcan turned to look at the captain, face as serious as ever, one hand almost absentmindedly resting on his bump. “I don’t recognise the ship, and I need you to find any weaknesses it might have.”
McCoy watches them all jump to their tasks, faces set and their movements competent, and it hits him suddenly. This isn’t the crew he remembers. The Jim he knew didn’t look so comfortable in that seat, frowning, serious. And the crew wasn’t one seamless unit, keeping the ship safe from further hits. They aren’t struggling to control a situation, panic bubbling around them; they’re a well oiled machine. Jim’s been calling this ship Starfleet’s best, and now he really sees why.
“I am sensing a fluxuation in their shields, Captain,” comes Spock’s voice suddenly, calm and low but still managing to cut through the background noise of the bridge.
“Can we use it?” Kirk asks and Spock replies after a long moment.
“It will take one point six minutes for me to discover the pattern, after which Ensign Chekov will be able to use it to strike through their shields.”
“Good work,” Jim says happily, undoubting of Spock’s word, and then speaks to the rest of the bridge. “You heard the man. We’ve got two minutes of dodging before we can stop them, so let’s keep it up.”
“They aren’t responding to our hails,” Uhura says, frustrated. “They’re receiving, just not replying.”
“Keep trying, Lieutenant,” Jim says as the ship shudders from another glancing hit. “I’m sure they’ll change their mind when we stop them from moving.”
Uhura smiles sharply at the comment and then turns back to her work - another hint that everything is different. The Uhura McCoy still remembers would never smile at Jim.
“I have the pattern,” Spock says suddenly. “I have sent it through to Ensign Chekov’s console.”
“You have it?” Jim asks, and Chekov nods excitedly.
“Yes, Keptin.”
“Then fire to disable,” Jim says flatly, and Chekov complies. McCoy watches as he does so, watches the phasers slide through the other ship’s shields as though they aren’t even there. The ship gets out one last blast, which shakes the ship again, and then stops, engines dead. They sit in silence for a moment, a collective sigh of relief, and then Spock moves towards Jim, leans over and whispers something into his ear. Jim nods with a smile, pats Spock in the arm, and then turns in his chair as the Vulcan walks away. “How about now? Jim asks Uhura with a grin, and she returns it.
“They’re hailing us,” she confirms and Jim rubs his hands together.
“Excellent. Put them on screen.”
McCoy catches a glance of aliens which look like a cross between a rhino and an octopus, when Spock moves past him, heading to the turbolift. He stops him with a hand on the arm, eyes moving over the other man, assessing. “You alright?” he asks, wondering of one of the hits had shook Spock too much, if he’d hit himself or the bump on his console.
Spock tilts his head. “I am unharmed,” he replies. “But Mr Scott has requested my help repairing some damage in engineering and I am going to aid him.”
“How bad’s the damage?” McCoy asks and Spock looks at him as though wondering why he’s bothering to ask.
“There are apparently some consoles which have blown their electrics, and some general damage to the systems and tanks. It is minor, but necessary work, and as a number of engineers were injured in the first blast, and are now on route to sickbay, I am left as the logical choice for assistance.”
McCoy looks at him for a long moment, and then frowns. “You’re heading down to engineering, which has already exploded once today and is likely still dangerous, in your condition?”
Spock straightens, which McCoy wasn't aware he could do based on his already rigid posture, and his eyes are like ice. “I assure you, Doctor, that it will not be dangerous. Furthermore, I am more than capable of completing my duties. If this were not the case, I would not be on the bridge. That would be -”
“Illogical, yeah,” McCoy sighs, and then makes his mind up. “Well then, I’m coming with you.”
“Doctor McCoy, I am -”
“Yeah yeah, Spock,” McCoy cuts in, waving a hand. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. But as your chief medical officer, I say you need medical observation.” He shrugs. “And if engineering was as badly hit as you say, then no doubt they could use me.”
Spock’s lips purse slightly, for a short moment, and McCoy can tell that he’s annoyed that McCoy’s argument made sense. “Very well,” he replies and then moves to the turbolift and presses the button for engineering. McCoy only just manages to sneak in with his bag.
“Thanks for waiting,” he scowls at Spock, and the Vulcan doesn’t react.
They travel in a tense silence, which McCoy can’t help but fidget though. He’s not used to heavy silences, especially when he can’t figure out the reason behind it, and he breathes a sigh of relief when the doors open to engineering.
Spock is instantly moving towards the huddle of people in red. “Report,” he says, and they all stood to attention, and McCoy can see the relief in their faces.
“All the consoles have blown, although only the ones connected to the warp-core are approaching serious,” one brave ensign reports, Spock’s eyes completely focused on her. “We’ve lost a third of the shift staff to sickbay, and another third to Commander Scott, as he’s gone to the source of the major issues.”
Spock nods, then looked sharply at the Ensign at the edge of the group, who’s stood slightly behind one of her colleagues. “Ensign Marks. Please report to sickbay for treatment to your wound.” The Ensign slumps but starts to move. Spock’s voice stops her in her tracks. “Your commitment to your work is commendable, and I expect you to report back as soon as you have been tended to,” he says blandly, but McCoy watches the Ensign’s face light up, the way she stands taller and walks faster after Spock’s praise.
Looks as though Spock is someone they all want to impress, McCoy thinks to himself as he watches Spock point out what needs to be done and they rush out to complete his orders. The Vulcan himself walks over to a console which is still sparking slightly, his movements slow and slightly uncomfortable, but he rips the melted front off it with remarkable ease. A shower of sparks falls around him and McCoy almost runs over to his side.
“Woah, Spock, are you ok?” he asks, making sure none of them caught on his uniform.
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Indeed, Doctor,” he replies before kneeling down with difficulty and reaching into the console. “I foresee no need for you to hover around me at this current moment.”
McCoy scowls but moves back, watching Spock carefully as he crosses wires and then stands to reprogram the console. He watches Spock do this to another seven, until he stops and nods to himself, apparently satisfied. He’s about to say something to the effect of sit down you stubborn Vulcan, when Scotty beats him to it as he appears from around a corner.
“Mr Spock,” he says, admonishing. “I didn’t mean you had to do all the work yourself, that’s what Ensigns are for!”
A man in red rolls his eyes behind Scotty, but Spock just looks at the Engineer, something in his face relaxing. “I can assure you, Mr Scott, that had I thought myself not up to the simple task of rewiring a selection of consoles, I would have passed the work onto a subordinate.”
Now Scotty rolls his eyes. “Ah, you know it wasn’t a slur on your abilities,” he says with a grin, one finger pointed at the Vulcan. “Just making sure you don’t come blaming me when that bairn pops out early thanks to all this stress.”
Spock’s lip twitch in a smile that Scotty returns. “I shall be sure to do no such thing,” he replies and Scotty keeps on grinning.
“We still on for tonight?” he asks and the Vulcan nods.
“Indeed. I have drawn up some schematics which should be something of an improvement and with your added input...”
Scotty’s eyes are shining. “It’ll be something to see,” he finishes. “Well then, I’ll meet you at 21:00 hours at your quarters.” Spock opens his mouth but Scotty talks over him. “And I’m coming to you! I told you, I won’t have that kid escaping too soon on my conscience!”
Spock tilts his head. “Very well,” he replies, and the two men separate - Scotty already yelling at the engineers around him, and Spock towards McCoy.
McCoy can tell he’s looking at Spock oddly, but he can’t seem to stop it. Despite all the talk from everyone about Spock, he hadn’t quite believed the Vulcan had changed much. Maybe because Spock has been avoiding him, maybe because he just couldn’t see a Vulcan wanting or being able to hold onto friends, he doesn’t know. But something about seeing Spock interact with Scotty as though they got along like a house on fire, alluding to plans outside of work... it makes him blink dumbly at the Vulcan as he steps up close.
Spock looks at him curiously. “Are you well?” he asks, voice as cold and toneless as ever, as though he’d imagined the thawed version of Spock in front of him not a minute ago.
He almost laughs. “Sure, Spock,” he replies, although he’s not certain that’s the case. If Spock can, in fact, be friendly, then why the hell hasn’t he been friendly towards McCoy?
Part 3