Star Trek XI fic: The Friend [part two]
Title: The Friend [part 2]
Series/Spoilers: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC17 I suppose
Characters/pairings: McCoy/Spock
Summary: Pre-slash, friendship, hurt/comfort. This is a continuation of ' The Friend' and ' The Doctor' .
Word count: 2543
A/N: This is a response to this prompt from the st_xi_kink meme: #mumble mumble# I sort of want Bones treating Spock for rape. UM. Please? . I have no beta, woe is me. I welcome corrections and suggestions. I just found out that Nurse Chapel is from New Orleans. Very cool.
Warning: Americans, ye be warned: this chapter contains chesterfields. Also, more Canadian-attempts at understanding the Southern United States. (I have a fascination with Southern culture)
My learnings, they continue...
Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to.
McCoy stood with his head tilted back, enjoying the almost scalding heat of the shower. He braced his forearms against the cool tile and rotated the tense muscles of his neck. He was very much aware of himself in this moment, trying to forget Spock's presence in his quarters. It wasn't that he disliked the man, quite the opposite. Under normal circumstances, being in close range of his commanding officer always had him fighting a school-boy grin.
But now, Spock was in a state of confusion. His emotions were threatening the Vulcan resolve, his thoughts in anarchy, and his body was acting of a very human accord. He was glad for the man's logic; there would be no need to assure him that he fought Nero valiantly and that the fault was not his own. However, it appeared that his mind had detached itself from the body, concentrating on healing and reorganizing itself. It was as if the human and Vulcan parts of Spock were now clearly shining through like never before.
Turning off the spray, he stepped out of the stall and dried himself off. Catching his reflection, he turned and stood in front of the full-length mirror, analysing himself. He had always taken care of his body, running every morning and stretching before bed, balanced meals and monthly self-exams. He ran a hand over the dark hair covering his chest and then leaned in to examine his face. He scratched at the stubble along the strong jaw and turned his head back and forth, assessing himself. He grimaced slightly. No fair skinned lady here. Nothing like Uhura...
Yanking on his regulation cotton pants for sleep, he slung a damp towel over his shoulder and strode toward his dresser. Upon locating the white tank, he pulled it over his head and turned, walking to the small chesterfield near his bed. He felt around for the metal panel underneath and activated the bed extension.
The moment Leonard entered his rooms, Spock knew. The scent of clean male and musky soap filled his nose, the sound of heavy footsteps making his ears twitch. Finishing the last of his late meal, he allowed himself an subtle glance in the doctor's direction. He instantly regretted placating his incurable curiosity, as he was now forced to struggle with his fragile emotional shields due to the reactions Leonard was now eliciting.
He watched intently as the muscles in the strong back twisted and moved as a fitted white garment suddenly shielded the tanned skin, much to his disliking. He appreciated the shoulders and arms that were voluptuous in their curves, but the sight of a long throat and a broad chest, almost produced a physical response in him. The darker, Vulcan part of him smirked, wanting to claim that strength, have him submit. Saliva pooled in his mouth. I would swallow each cry...He was enjoying his fantasy, when a vile picture swirled in his head. I took advantage of his human weakness...I harmed him.
He reached for his glass of water, taking a generous mouthful to quench the burning in his throat. Leonard was no longer in the room, and now that he was alone once more, he recognized the signs exhaustion settling over him. Spotting the cot that now extended from the small piece of furniture, he slowly stood and shakily moved toward it. Once he had carefully arranged himself as to not jar his injuries, he laid his head down on the pillow and clutched Leonard's robe tighter around himself. He suppressed a shiver, and wished for a moment that he was in his own quarters, the temperature settings more akin to Vulcan's surface. Schooling his mental barriers into place, he began locking away his thoughts into the cognitive trunk pictured in his mind. Relaxing every body part, he inhaled and exhaled deeply, happily turning himself over to the deep recess of sleep.
McCoy padded back into his bedroom, a stack of temperature controlled blankets and pillows in his arms. Turning to speak, he stopped abruptly at the sight of Spock's long legs peeking out from the folds of dark blue cotton. Following the line of pale skin, he noted that his patient was curled onto his side, hands still clutching the neckline of his robe. He sighed in irritation. As if he thought I would let him sleep there...
He walked toward his bed and pulled back the bedding, stretching a now heated blanket over the fitted sheet that hugged the mattress. He then slipped the pillows into warmed, soft cases and crept silently back to Spock's sleeping form. Kneeling, he hooked his arm under the knees and the other supported an injured shoulder. Spock never stirred as he was laid in between two sets of heated blankets, his head and limbs now resting on a variety of pillows. McCoy pulled the outside comforter up to the pale chin, cocooning him in what he hoped was more comfortable for the half-Vulcan. He pulled back to observe his handy work, and then settled gently on the edge next to Spock.
Almost of its own accord, his hand extended and he lightly grazed a knuckle down the elegant nose. Smiling affectionately, he traced across the bridge and up the soft cheekbone. Eager to explore the pointed tip of an ear, he allowed the backs of his fingertips to barely swipe the temple, so s-Strapped down, cold, wet, black, Nero sneering into his ear, fearshamearousaldisgust. McCoy choked out a gasp at the split-second assault. His hand now cradled against his chest as if burned, he hunched over and attempted to regain his breath. I was there, it's like I was there, fuck, it was me not Spock. He felt the beginning of a dry heave and closed his eyes, straining to quench the nausea.
Shaken, he turned to look at Spock, his face and body the perfection of relaxed slumber. Startled and confused, but insistent to understand, he extended his hand once more and brought it in close to a temple; close enough to feel the alien heat radiating from the skin. McCoy closed his eyes and brought his fingertips down until he could feel the fine hair growing there. His face and neck became heated and tingling, an itch forming in the deep crevice of his ears. Focusing more on the blackness behind his eyelids, he brushed the skin and was met with something entirely different this time. There was no Nero, no Narada...no pain.
It was warm, inviting, with an aura like sunsets back home. Something old, seductive, and soulful. The aromas of spicy bourbon, muddy water, heavy air before a summer storm, and magnolias, flooded his senses. A whispering voice swirled in his ears, 'Leonard?'
McCoy shot up from the bed and stumbled back, immediately conjuring up panicked excuses for why he was doing...whatever it was that he was doing. Spock appeared to be still deep in sleep, however the brows were drawn together and there was increased rapid eye movement, as if scanning for a hidden intruder.
Swallowing thickly, he slowly sat down on the cot and whispered, "Computer, dim lights to 90%". Only a soft glow now remained, enough that he could see Spock's face from where he was. He brought a trembling hand to his brow and wiped away a bead of sweat. What the fuck just happened?
_ _ _
The next morning found Dr. McCoy, in sickbay, scanning through patient files. Chapel seemed to be functioning adeptly without him, which he was thankful for. She was a talented woman, and he appreciated her position on the ship. Without his nurses, he was certain he would have put a phazer under his chin long ago. He authorized a few procedures and medical logs, before handing sickbay back over to his Head Nurse. Smiling at her, he bid farewell for the day, "Well, we don't need a CMO with you on board. You're doing great, Christine. I appreciate you picking up this work for me."
Her face was relaxed, her eyes warm. Clearly happy to be praised by her superior and friend, she replied: "It goes both ways, Doctor. It'll probably be quiet for a while, so you should take the time to relax. You work too hard." A mischievous glint swept her expression, "Maybe spend time with a special someone fixin' to warm those cold sheets of yours?" Looking very pleased with herself, she chuckled and plucked the PADD out of his hand, sauntering off to check on a patient.
McCoy rolled his eyes and grumbled, despite his gobsmacked brain. "Woman, hold yer tongue, this ain't the swamp." He immediately slipped through the doors, her sound of her mock outrage bringing a grin to his face. He checked the ship's time, and was glad to still have much of the day ahead of him. He strode into the turbolift and decided to grab an early lunch, hoping he would run into Jim in the mess, "Deck nine". Pulling out his communicator, he spoke: "McCoy to Kirk".
"Hey Bones, what's shakin'?" Came the voice, slightly hindered by the food in his mouth.
"Where are you? I'm on my way to grab a meal, I just finished my rounds."
"Yeah, I'm in the mess. I still have half an hour before I'm needed on the bridge, so come hang out, I'm lonely."
"On my way." He pocketed the device and while he waited for the lift to reach its destination, he thought back to the events of the previous night. Still trying to understand what took place in his bed with Spock, his brow crinkled.
After the destruction of Vulcan, Spock had come to him and did the unthinkable; he provided a detailed account of Vulcan physiology and biology, something most medical professionals would give their license for. He spoke of Bendii syndrome, gave a detailed account of the senses, rituals that pertained to health, and beyond. And then dropped the ultimate taboo: Pon Farr. He felt that the now small number of Vulcans left, made it necessary to reveal the heavily protected information. Being his acting physician, he had of course accepted this information with rapt attention and the utmost confidentiality. Only Jim had been informed of the necessary details; it was much to Spock's dismay, that Pon Farr was included in that briefing. However, it was understood that special circumstances would have to be made if factors, natural and outside, were going to affect Spock's well-being. They had lost many brilliant, medical scholars along with the planet. Such a shame...
Jim had spoke of his mind-meld with the elder Spock, but nothing that McCoy was now privy to seemed to tie in with the strange happenings of last night. Spock had briefly mentioned touch-telepathy, however he assured that it was under strict control and was not projected so easily. Maybe it's the after-effects of the Narada...
The doors startled him as they swished open. Sighing, he passed through and made his way toward the mess hall. Immediately scanning the mostly empty room, his eyes spotted the Captain. Nodding to him, he walked to the replicator and ordered, "Hot coffee with two creams and one sugar and a chicken sandwich on brown bread." He grabbed the materialized tray, and headed over to the wide window where Jim sat.
Relieved to see his friend, he sunk down into the opposite chair and immediately tucked into his meal.
"We haven't seen each other in almost a day. That's weird." Jim said around the mouthful of apple. Swallowing, McCoy replied dryly, "Best twenty-four hours I've had since the divorce."
Jim let out a barking laugh, "Ah, more like the most boring, am I right?" His smile slowly faded into a more neutral expression and McCoy knew the subject was about to be approached. "Listen, I don't have enough time to go through the political bullshit, start-to-finish. We'll have to get together later and talk." He abandoned the rest of his uneaten apple, clearly upset. "I know this uniform comes with risks. We all do, from the very top, right on down to the bottom. And this will be the only time I'm gonna act selfish and childish about this situation, I promise. But...I almost had him. I was a fraction of a second too late, I could have pulled him back. And he would be fine, hell, he'd be here right now with us."
McCoy swallowed, the subject matter not affecting his appetite. Maybe it was the years of digging around in chest cavities and fiddling with intestines, but it took a lot to turn his stomach.
"We've all come to know each other as friends and fellow officers over the past couple months. Maybe it took that bastard Nero to bring us together like this. If that's the case, it's a steep price for what's been done. When we lost Vulcan, we lost a piece of Earth, as did every other world that was touched by its people." He paused to take a generous sip of coffee before continuing: "They helped us pull ourselves out of the pit of despair, Earth had become. In a way, we owe almost everything we are now, to them. Christ, the whole fucking galaxy is still mourning." Ending his rare moment of eloquence, he took a savage bite out of his sandwich, effectively smearing mayonnaise across his upper lip and looked at his friend with wide eyes and a raised brow. It was the expression the crew had affectionately dubbed, "crazy eyes".
Jim snorted and let out a soft chuckle, leaning across to clean his face with a napkin. "Bones, for a caveman, you're the most thoughtful one I've ever known."
McCoy grunted, "Yeah, well, crazier things have happened. Starfleet made you Captain of the flagship, and stuck me here as punishment for my trouble." Finishing off his meal, he continued, "Back to Spock, he slept through the night as far as I know. I left around 0700 and he was still out cold. Did you get the memo I sent this morning about the panic attack?"
Jim rubbed his face, "Yeah, I got it. It's good you were with him, I don't think he'd allow anyone else to cart him off like some damsel. So, you said he's having inadvertent human reactions?"
"Yeah, I don't think he's aware of what's going on. Claims his mind is "simply reacting to an injury". I think it's easy for us to forget he's fifty percent human, and that part seems to have taken over, physically anyway."
They sat in silence for a moment, each pondering the First Officer. Jim cleared his throat and spoke silently, "Remember that chess game you guys played last week?"
McCoy immediately glared at his Captain, "Why do you ask?"
A smirk, "You know why-"
"Jim, I don't even want to think about this right now. Anything I was going to tell him is now moot. He's not looking for declarations of love from a bitter, country, divorcée, especially not now."
Jim nodded, glancing down for a moment. Incapable of leaving it at that, he replied, "I'm just saying...you don't have enough faith in your rugged charms." McCoy tried to glare at the bright smile, "Anyways, I gotta get to the bridge. Maybe we'll get together after shift and talk, okay?" Nodding, he leaned into the hand that grasped his shoulder, taking the small comfort his Captain offered.
"I'll see ya later, kid."
Chapter four
Series/Spoilers: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC17 I suppose
Characters/pairings: McCoy/Spock
Summary: Pre-slash, friendship, hurt/comfort. This is a continuation of ' The Friend' and ' The Doctor' .
Word count: 2543
A/N: This is a response to this prompt from the st_xi_kink meme: #mumble mumble# I sort of want Bones treating Spock for rape. UM. Please? . I have no beta, woe is me. I welcome corrections and suggestions. I just found out that Nurse Chapel is from New Orleans. Very cool.
Warning: Americans, ye be warned: this chapter contains chesterfields. Also, more Canadian-attempts at understanding the Southern United States. (I have a fascination with Southern culture)
My learnings, they continue...
Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to.
McCoy stood with his head tilted back, enjoying the almost scalding heat of the shower. He braced his forearms against the cool tile and rotated the tense muscles of his neck. He was very much aware of himself in this moment, trying to forget Spock's presence in his quarters. It wasn't that he disliked the man, quite the opposite. Under normal circumstances, being in close range of his commanding officer always had him fighting a school-boy grin.
But now, Spock was in a state of confusion. His emotions were threatening the Vulcan resolve, his thoughts in anarchy, and his body was acting of a very human accord. He was glad for the man's logic; there would be no need to assure him that he fought Nero valiantly and that the fault was not his own. However, it appeared that his mind had detached itself from the body, concentrating on healing and reorganizing itself. It was as if the human and Vulcan parts of Spock were now clearly shining through like never before.
Turning off the spray, he stepped out of the stall and dried himself off. Catching his reflection, he turned and stood in front of the full-length mirror, analysing himself. He had always taken care of his body, running every morning and stretching before bed, balanced meals and monthly self-exams. He ran a hand over the dark hair covering his chest and then leaned in to examine his face. He scratched at the stubble along the strong jaw and turned his head back and forth, assessing himself. He grimaced slightly. No fair skinned lady here. Nothing like Uhura...
Yanking on his regulation cotton pants for sleep, he slung a damp towel over his shoulder and strode toward his dresser. Upon locating the white tank, he pulled it over his head and turned, walking to the small chesterfield near his bed. He felt around for the metal panel underneath and activated the bed extension.
The moment Leonard entered his rooms, Spock knew. The scent of clean male and musky soap filled his nose, the sound of heavy footsteps making his ears twitch. Finishing the last of his late meal, he allowed himself an subtle glance in the doctor's direction. He instantly regretted placating his incurable curiosity, as he was now forced to struggle with his fragile emotional shields due to the reactions Leonard was now eliciting.
He watched intently as the muscles in the strong back twisted and moved as a fitted white garment suddenly shielded the tanned skin, much to his disliking. He appreciated the shoulders and arms that were voluptuous in their curves, but the sight of a long throat and a broad chest, almost produced a physical response in him. The darker, Vulcan part of him smirked, wanting to claim that strength, have him submit. Saliva pooled in his mouth. I would swallow each cry...He was enjoying his fantasy, when a vile picture swirled in his head. I took advantage of his human weakness...I harmed him.
He reached for his glass of water, taking a generous mouthful to quench the burning in his throat. Leonard was no longer in the room, and now that he was alone once more, he recognized the signs exhaustion settling over him. Spotting the cot that now extended from the small piece of furniture, he slowly stood and shakily moved toward it. Once he had carefully arranged himself as to not jar his injuries, he laid his head down on the pillow and clutched Leonard's robe tighter around himself. He suppressed a shiver, and wished for a moment that he was in his own quarters, the temperature settings more akin to Vulcan's surface. Schooling his mental barriers into place, he began locking away his thoughts into the cognitive trunk pictured in his mind. Relaxing every body part, he inhaled and exhaled deeply, happily turning himself over to the deep recess of sleep.
McCoy padded back into his bedroom, a stack of temperature controlled blankets and pillows in his arms. Turning to speak, he stopped abruptly at the sight of Spock's long legs peeking out from the folds of dark blue cotton. Following the line of pale skin, he noted that his patient was curled onto his side, hands still clutching the neckline of his robe. He sighed in irritation. As if he thought I would let him sleep there...
He walked toward his bed and pulled back the bedding, stretching a now heated blanket over the fitted sheet that hugged the mattress. He then slipped the pillows into warmed, soft cases and crept silently back to Spock's sleeping form. Kneeling, he hooked his arm under the knees and the other supported an injured shoulder. Spock never stirred as he was laid in between two sets of heated blankets, his head and limbs now resting on a variety of pillows. McCoy pulled the outside comforter up to the pale chin, cocooning him in what he hoped was more comfortable for the half-Vulcan. He pulled back to observe his handy work, and then settled gently on the edge next to Spock.
Almost of its own accord, his hand extended and he lightly grazed a knuckle down the elegant nose. Smiling affectionately, he traced across the bridge and up the soft cheekbone. Eager to explore the pointed tip of an ear, he allowed the backs of his fingertips to barely swipe the temple, so s-Strapped down, cold, wet, black, Nero sneering into his ear, fearshamearousaldisgust. McCoy choked out a gasp at the split-second assault. His hand now cradled against his chest as if burned, he hunched over and attempted to regain his breath. I was there, it's like I was there, fuck, it was me not Spock. He felt the beginning of a dry heave and closed his eyes, straining to quench the nausea.
Shaken, he turned to look at Spock, his face and body the perfection of relaxed slumber. Startled and confused, but insistent to understand, he extended his hand once more and brought it in close to a temple; close enough to feel the alien heat radiating from the skin. McCoy closed his eyes and brought his fingertips down until he could feel the fine hair growing there. His face and neck became heated and tingling, an itch forming in the deep crevice of his ears. Focusing more on the blackness behind his eyelids, he brushed the skin and was met with something entirely different this time. There was no Nero, no Narada...no pain.
It was warm, inviting, with an aura like sunsets back home. Something old, seductive, and soulful. The aromas of spicy bourbon, muddy water, heavy air before a summer storm, and magnolias, flooded his senses. A whispering voice swirled in his ears, 'Leonard?'
McCoy shot up from the bed and stumbled back, immediately conjuring up panicked excuses for why he was doing...whatever it was that he was doing. Spock appeared to be still deep in sleep, however the brows were drawn together and there was increased rapid eye movement, as if scanning for a hidden intruder.
Swallowing thickly, he slowly sat down on the cot and whispered, "Computer, dim lights to 90%". Only a soft glow now remained, enough that he could see Spock's face from where he was. He brought a trembling hand to his brow and wiped away a bead of sweat. What the fuck just happened?
_ _ _
The next morning found Dr. McCoy, in sickbay, scanning through patient files. Chapel seemed to be functioning adeptly without him, which he was thankful for. She was a talented woman, and he appreciated her position on the ship. Without his nurses, he was certain he would have put a phazer under his chin long ago. He authorized a few procedures and medical logs, before handing sickbay back over to his Head Nurse. Smiling at her, he bid farewell for the day, "Well, we don't need a CMO with you on board. You're doing great, Christine. I appreciate you picking up this work for me."
Her face was relaxed, her eyes warm. Clearly happy to be praised by her superior and friend, she replied: "It goes both ways, Doctor. It'll probably be quiet for a while, so you should take the time to relax. You work too hard." A mischievous glint swept her expression, "Maybe spend time with a special someone fixin' to warm those cold sheets of yours?" Looking very pleased with herself, she chuckled and plucked the PADD out of his hand, sauntering off to check on a patient.
McCoy rolled his eyes and grumbled, despite his gobsmacked brain. "Woman, hold yer tongue, this ain't the swamp." He immediately slipped through the doors, her sound of her mock outrage bringing a grin to his face. He checked the ship's time, and was glad to still have much of the day ahead of him. He strode into the turbolift and decided to grab an early lunch, hoping he would run into Jim in the mess, "Deck nine". Pulling out his communicator, he spoke: "McCoy to Kirk".
"Hey Bones, what's shakin'?" Came the voice, slightly hindered by the food in his mouth.
"Where are you? I'm on my way to grab a meal, I just finished my rounds."
"Yeah, I'm in the mess. I still have half an hour before I'm needed on the bridge, so come hang out, I'm lonely."
"On my way." He pocketed the device and while he waited for the lift to reach its destination, he thought back to the events of the previous night. Still trying to understand what took place in his bed with Spock, his brow crinkled.
After the destruction of Vulcan, Spock had come to him and did the unthinkable; he provided a detailed account of Vulcan physiology and biology, something most medical professionals would give their license for. He spoke of Bendii syndrome, gave a detailed account of the senses, rituals that pertained to health, and beyond. And then dropped the ultimate taboo: Pon Farr. He felt that the now small number of Vulcans left, made it necessary to reveal the heavily protected information. Being his acting physician, he had of course accepted this information with rapt attention and the utmost confidentiality. Only Jim had been informed of the necessary details; it was much to Spock's dismay, that Pon Farr was included in that briefing. However, it was understood that special circumstances would have to be made if factors, natural and outside, were going to affect Spock's well-being. They had lost many brilliant, medical scholars along with the planet. Such a shame...
Jim had spoke of his mind-meld with the elder Spock, but nothing that McCoy was now privy to seemed to tie in with the strange happenings of last night. Spock had briefly mentioned touch-telepathy, however he assured that it was under strict control and was not projected so easily. Maybe it's the after-effects of the Narada...
The doors startled him as they swished open. Sighing, he passed through and made his way toward the mess hall. Immediately scanning the mostly empty room, his eyes spotted the Captain. Nodding to him, he walked to the replicator and ordered, "Hot coffee with two creams and one sugar and a chicken sandwich on brown bread." He grabbed the materialized tray, and headed over to the wide window where Jim sat.
Relieved to see his friend, he sunk down into the opposite chair and immediately tucked into his meal.
"We haven't seen each other in almost a day. That's weird." Jim said around the mouthful of apple. Swallowing, McCoy replied dryly, "Best twenty-four hours I've had since the divorce."
Jim let out a barking laugh, "Ah, more like the most boring, am I right?" His smile slowly faded into a more neutral expression and McCoy knew the subject was about to be approached. "Listen, I don't have enough time to go through the political bullshit, start-to-finish. We'll have to get together later and talk." He abandoned the rest of his uneaten apple, clearly upset. "I know this uniform comes with risks. We all do, from the very top, right on down to the bottom. And this will be the only time I'm gonna act selfish and childish about this situation, I promise. But...I almost had him. I was a fraction of a second too late, I could have pulled him back. And he would be fine, hell, he'd be here right now with us."
McCoy swallowed, the subject matter not affecting his appetite. Maybe it was the years of digging around in chest cavities and fiddling with intestines, but it took a lot to turn his stomach.
"We've all come to know each other as friends and fellow officers over the past couple months. Maybe it took that bastard Nero to bring us together like this. If that's the case, it's a steep price for what's been done. When we lost Vulcan, we lost a piece of Earth, as did every other world that was touched by its people." He paused to take a generous sip of coffee before continuing: "They helped us pull ourselves out of the pit of despair, Earth had become. In a way, we owe almost everything we are now, to them. Christ, the whole fucking galaxy is still mourning." Ending his rare moment of eloquence, he took a savage bite out of his sandwich, effectively smearing mayonnaise across his upper lip and looked at his friend with wide eyes and a raised brow. It was the expression the crew had affectionately dubbed, "crazy eyes".
Jim snorted and let out a soft chuckle, leaning across to clean his face with a napkin. "Bones, for a caveman, you're the most thoughtful one I've ever known."
McCoy grunted, "Yeah, well, crazier things have happened. Starfleet made you Captain of the flagship, and stuck me here as punishment for my trouble." Finishing off his meal, he continued, "Back to Spock, he slept through the night as far as I know. I left around 0700 and he was still out cold. Did you get the memo I sent this morning about the panic attack?"
Jim rubbed his face, "Yeah, I got it. It's good you were with him, I don't think he'd allow anyone else to cart him off like some damsel. So, you said he's having inadvertent human reactions?"
"Yeah, I don't think he's aware of what's going on. Claims his mind is "simply reacting to an injury". I think it's easy for us to forget he's fifty percent human, and that part seems to have taken over, physically anyway."
They sat in silence for a moment, each pondering the First Officer. Jim cleared his throat and spoke silently, "Remember that chess game you guys played last week?"
McCoy immediately glared at his Captain, "Why do you ask?"
A smirk, "You know why-"
"Jim, I don't even want to think about this right now. Anything I was going to tell him is now moot. He's not looking for declarations of love from a bitter, country, divorcée, especially not now."
Jim nodded, glancing down for a moment. Incapable of leaving it at that, he replied, "I'm just saying...you don't have enough faith in your rugged charms." McCoy tried to glare at the bright smile, "Anyways, I gotta get to the bridge. Maybe we'll get together after shift and talk, okay?" Nodding, he leaned into the hand that grasped his shoulder, taking the small comfort his Captain offered.
"I'll see ya later, kid."
Chapter four