Fic: Captain Tiberius and Doctor Horatio's Adventures in Space Travel (3/3)
Author's Notes: This was the chapter that I really wanted to write when I dreamed up this story. I loved the terse, frosty reaction McCoy and Spock gave one another in the reboot, especially during the, "Are you out of your Vulcan mind," scene. I thought that the dynamic definitely deserved more than the two minutes it got, so this whole bit was my attempt at expansion. I hope you all have enjoyed it!
Disclaimer: As I'm now a bit concerned how I'm going to pay all the medical bills for my severely broken foot, I do not own Star Trek. I doubt Gene Roddenberry worried about those kinds of things. In either case, please don't sue me. No money is made here, I promise.
Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 |
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Chapter 3
Spock was beginning to think that maybe he’d been wrong.
It was a very strange, very disconcerting feeling.
It was uncomfortable.
It was alien.
Like him.
Spock spent the majority of his time actively pushing away those who weren’t intimidated by his intelligence or perfectionism. While at the academy, he simply didn’t have time to devote to what he termed as ‘frivolous occupations of his time’. Friendship wasn’t something for which he yearned, but now, he was actively questioning the logic of his decision. It would have made the transition from Academy instructor to starship first officer a hell of a lot easier. But, as his mother often said, the awkwardness was part of the journey. He simply wished they weren’t such painful lessons to learn.
Thoughts swirled about his mind. What he’d seen in sickbay didn’t make anything clearer. In fact, if anything, what Spock saw on the video feed in medical complicated matters entirely. Needing to think, the Vulcan headed out of sickbay and down the hallway, on his way to nowhere. He had much to contemplate, and Spock knew he wouldn’t sleep well if he wasn’t able to reconcile his way through them.
He meandered through the Enterprise’s nearly deserted corridors, letting his mind go blank as he studied the rapidly growing conundrum that was Leonard McCoy. Six months ago, Spock’s honest assessment was that he didn’t care for the man. Their initial encounter hadn’t helped; Spock knew his accusations against Kirk as Jim cheated his way past the Kobayashi Maru exam automatically earned him a first (and possibly second) strike in the doctor’s book. At the time, he felt his actions justifiable, but now…
After the Battle of Vulcan (and much to his older self’s disappointment), he’d not put in the effort to cultivate a friendship with Dr. McCoy the way he did with Kirk. Spock was, in fact, on a first name basis and quite friendly with the captain; the ship’s CMO was another matter entirely. He tried to justify his non-action with the fact that he was busy working with Starfleet, the Federation and the remaining Vulcans to find a new planet to facilitate the relocation of what was left of his decimated species. But the truth, deep down and ugly, was that Spock simply didn’t want to make friends with McCoy.
The man was simply too emotional, too illogical, and too set in his ways to change. When he wasn’t busy being openly hostile, McCoy was still distant and abrasive for reasons that escaped Spock’s prevue. The opinionated man quickly rebuffed Spock’s half-hearted attempts at civility to the point that subtly antagonizing the doctor, even in the middle of a crisis, became somewhat of a pleasurable experience he repeated whenever the opportunity presented itself. But all childishness aside, Spock resolved to tolerate McCoy for no other reason than professional courtesy. It would hardly inspire good order and discipline on the ship if it were openly advertised to the crew that the first officer and CMO couldn’t stand to be in the same room with one another.
But when Spock watched everything he’d previously catalogued as fact disappear in a nuclear cloud of smoke in front of his eyes, the logical side of his brain also acknowledged that a strategic regrouping might be in order. When he needed to think, the first officer often found the observation lounge was the ideal location. As it was just turning over into Gamma shift, he also knew the room would be relatively unoccupied. Or, so he thought.
It took a split second for his eyes to adjust from the overtly bright lights of the hallway to the nearly dark observation room. Kept shadowy and dim for a purpose, the lounge lights were seldom used in order to accentuate the beauty of the negative space outside the safety of the ship. Spock stopped a few feet inside the doorway, noting the single silhouette of a humanoid male against the hazy glow of the passing stars.
Across the room, the startled object of the first officer’s thoughts whirled around as soon as the doors whooshed open. His green eyes wide and exhausted, McCoy visibly tensed when his mind registered the presence of another figure in the doorway. Begrudging recognition eventually flowed past his features, and in that moment, the doctor seemed to deflate. Running a hand through his messy hair, his shoulders went limp while his posture sagged. McCoy leaned his back against the glass of the windows and greeted plainly, “Spock.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, the first officer sidled silently up to the window to join the CMO. Millions of stars zipped past as the Enterprise traveled at warp speed, turning each gaseous ball into nothing but a bright, white blur against the inky blackness of space. Spock stopped next to McCoy and let the silence ring for a couple of long seconds. “Dr. McCoy,” he replied simply.
After a couple more breaths in and out, McCoy finally caved. Rolling his eyes, he said, “Oh, for God’s sake, man. I can hear you thinking all those crazy Vulcan thoughts of yours from where I’m standing. If you have something to say, say it. I won’t break.”
Spock wasted no time with preamble. “I do believe I owe you an apology, Doctor.”
“What the hell kind of joke is this?” he growled hotly. McCoy’s head snapped to the side. Distrust danced across his face as he tried to discern what motives the first officer had for this latest charade. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Spock for a few long, tense seconds. “I’m telling you, Spock - it’s been a long day and I’m too tired for this shit. So you can just stop all the funny business right now if you--”
Turning his body to face the other man, Spock cut McCoy’s rant off in mid sentence by raising the palm of his right hand. He clarified. “I assure you this is not a joke. When we first became acquainted, I made certain assumptions - incorrect assumptions - regarding the nature of your character. At the time, I was confident in my assessments.” Spock paused, allowing his voice to dip to a softer, less commanding tone. “After tonight, however, I feel it prudent to revise my earlier suppositions and have come to the conclusion that I have erred in your regard.”
“That’s a damned lot of words for this time of night. Speak human, not Vulcan. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m runnin’ a couple cylinders short of a funny car here,” McCoy admitted with a tired laugh, running a hand over his face.
Perplexed, Spock made a mental note to research what, exactly, a ‘funny car’ was when he was back in his own quarters. Taking in some of the finer details about his medical counterpart, the first officer noted that the stress lines that had all but vanished as he told the children their story had returned in full force to McCoy’s face. The constant but subtle frown he wore creased his forehead and drew his brows down, making him look far older than his actual age. It was such a switch from the gentle, joyful expressions of tenderness exhibited in sickbay that Spock was momentarily thrown. He shook off the feelings of dissonance and cleared his throat. “It appears you’ve divested yourself of your aviaphobia,” he said, effortlessly changing the subject.
McCoy shrugged. His eyes remained forward as he watched the universe pass around them. Philosophically, he replied, “It seems a little insignificant now.”
“I assume you are referring to the children in sickbay. If that is the case, I agree wholeheartedly.” Spock stopped and turned so he was facing McCoy. He waited patiently until the doctor also squared his body. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him as he thought about the last time he was in such close proximity to the then-interim CMO of the Enterprise. The feeling of familiarity was quickly replaced with shame; Spock let the emotions of a highly stressful situation get the better of him as he gloated in McCoy’s face after baiting the man into an emotional reaction, and he’d just now realized how wrong that was.
If they were going to work together as senior members of the Federation’s flagship, it would be logical if they all got along to a reasonable extent. Spock heard of the human phrase ‘burying the hatchet’ from numerous people on Earth. It would be prudent for him to begin the process, as he was the one who drew first blood. The Vulcan blinked his eyes a couple of times, allowing the optical smirk to show through. At the same time, he relaxed his face just enough to let McCoy see the barest hint of amusement on his lips.
It took a couple of extra seconds for the clearly drained surgeon’s brain to register the change in demeanor, but when it did, a broad, knowing smile broke out across his tired face. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. You do have those muscles in your face.”
Spock arched one elegant eyebrow while he angled his chin down. “As the ship’s primary physician, I am well aware of your proficiency in Vulcan anatomy and physiology. As such, you understand the gap between our species is not a large one,” he said matter of factly.
“Spock,” McCoy began, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his track pants. He looked down, some of his hair falling into his face as he did so. When he lifted his eyes back up, there was a definite light behind them that was missing a few seconds before which made the man look innumerably more youthful. “I was joking.”
“Ah. I see.” Not to be outdone, he looked McCoy straight in the eye and said, “It appears that the majority of the crew is incorrect in their assumptions as well. Though I find scuttlebutt to be unnecessary, it has come to my attention our crew does believe you are incapable of humor. What I witnessed this evening, along with your reaction here, disproves that theory completely.”
McCoy dropped his head and kicked at a speck of dust on the tile. “You saw that, huh? Do me a favor and keep it quiet, dammit. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“I do not understand why you would wish to hide such a useful fact, but I will respect your wishes. But, in order to hold such a secret, I require something from you,” Spock answered.
“Here we go,” McCoy muttered with an instantly distrustful roll of his eyes.
“I require a second chance at a first impression. I did not present myself in a fashion due my rank in Starfleet, nor did I do my family name justice when we initially met. I openly antagonized you, and forced you to choose between loyalty and duty during a time of crisis. My actions were nothing but a distraction, and a sour beginning to our relationship,” Spock stated as if he were reading the latest comet forecast for Nebula 24 instead of executing a heartfelt (for a Vulcan) apology.
McCoy was too busy attempting to pick his jaw up off the tile to properly formulate a sentence. Sighing, he composed himself enough to mutter, “Aw, hell,” before he used his fingers to rub away the headache forming at the temples of his eyes. “You’re not the only one who was an ass.”
“Indeed. I do believe that it would be prudent to attribute our rather tumultuous beginning to the stress of our situation. It would be illogical to dwell on the past, as we both appear ready to make changes in order to function as a more cohesive unit that will effectively carry out the duties for the Enterprise--”
For the second time that evening, McCoy interrupted the first officer. But instead of opening his mouth, the doctor simply stuck his hand out, thumb up, palm open. “Truce?” he asked.
The Vulcan readily accepted McCoy’s outstretched hand. “Truce,” he agreed.
Releasing Spock’s hand, McCoy stepped back and turned towards the glass of the observation deck. He noted that Spock did the same. Sticking his hands in the pouch of his hoodie, he watched as the stars passed the ship. McCoy sneaked a glance or two at Spock, waiting until the slight movement caught the Vulcan’s sharp eyes. When Spock turned his head in inquiry, the doctor said smugly from the corner of his mouth, “I’m still gonna call you a hobgoblin. That ain’t ever going to change.”
A small, nearly inaudible snort of air escaped Spock’s mouth. He looked around furtively to be sure no one else heard it. As the proverbial coast was clear, he turned his head just enough to allow McCoy to see the mischievous glint held in his dark eyes. With his voice flat and passive, he replied. “I expect nothing less.”
Nothing less indeed.
--FIN--