fic: "Surgeon's Mate" (TOS, PG-13) by belmanoir
Title: Surgeon's Mate
Author: belmanoir
Universe: TOS
Pairing/Characters: Spock/McCoy, Kirk
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,771
Summary: Spock likes McCoy. McCoy won't take a hint.
Notes: This started out as a "Bread and Circuses" ep-tag. It grew from there, but it still heavily references the episode, and the second scene directly lifts dialogue from it. (If you would like to refresh your memory, or, you know, watch Spock and McCoy stare at each other intently as if they're about to kiss, I've uploaded the clip here.) Beta'd by mrs_laugh_track.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, and I am not making any money off this.
Jim likes the new chief medical officer on sight. Overnight, dinner with Jim becomes dinner with Jim and Dr. McCoy. Dr. McCoy watches them play chess. Dr. McCoy is a necessary member of every landing party.
Spock is aware that he is jealous, and tries to control the emotion. In addition, he tries not to take offense when Dr. McCoy makes derogatory remarks about his ears, blood, and other physiological differences from humans. He hopes, however, that he is not taken seriously ill too far from a starbase.
Jim loans McCoy his favorite set of books. He loaned them to Spock when he was first given the Enterprise. Spock read them dutifully, but found their appeal elusive. It is one topic on which he and the new CMO appear to agree.
"Dammit, Jim, it's no better than butchery!" McCoy says. "Maturin's not a doctor, he's the lord high executioner! He doses them with mercury, my God."
Jim will have checkmate in three moves, and Spock cannot quite resist pointing out an inconsistency. "Yet you keep a collection of antique surgical instruments on display in sickbay."
McCoy smiles--the first time the expression is aimed at him. Spock understands, abruptly, what the captain sees in him. If Spock ever voiced this opinion, Jim would talk for hours about Starfleet's civilizing influence, its Prime Directive and its dislike of force; but the truth is that they are a navy. And a smile so open, so unguarded, is rare among military people. "That's to remind me, Spock."
"Remind you of what, Doctor?"
"That I don't know everything. That in a few hundred years, maybe doctors will look at everything I know and see instruments of torture." He laughs softly. "And that I'm damn lucky I don't have to cut through conscious men's bones with a saw."
It isn't the answer Spock expected. He has underestimated Dr. McCoy; it unsettles him. He will have to pay close attention so as not to be caught out again.
"You know, they remind me of you two," McCoy says.
"Who?" Jim asks.
"Aubrey and Maturin." Spock tenses at the doctor's gleeful expression. A joke about his ears is on its way. "You know: the military man and the scientist. The bluff good looks and the sallow complexion. The womanizer and the monk." That appears to be the punchline: Jim laughs and the mischievous expression leaves McCoy's eyes. He gives that sweet smile again. "The way you don't make any sense together, but you fit."
Jim grins at Spock. "The parallels have occurred to me. Although I don't think Spock would know what to do with a wombat." The two humans laugh. Spock has been trying to learn this--how humans use mockery to show affection as well as dislike. He must be making progress, because along with the sting of embarrassment and the prick of resentment, he feels an inexplicable warmth.
###
Two years later.
"You saved my life in the arena," McCoy says.
Spock has been trying not to remember. He tries not to remember now. But McCoy's face is as open and defenseless as his body was earlier, as easy to hurt. If Spock looks too long, he will be unable to control his rage. The emotion curls at the edges of his dispassion.
(If McCoy knew how nearly Spock had become a murdering brute a few hours ago in the arena, the doctor would not look at him like that. But that is a weapon Spock will reserve for when it is needed.)
Spock needs all his mental resources to find them a means of escape. This conversation must end, now. "Yes, that's quite true," he says. That note of condescension coupled with impatience--he sounds like his father, only worse. Perfect.
As expected, the doctor's expression curdles. "I'm trying to thank you, you pointed-eared hobgoblin!"
The slur should be a welcome reminder of how McCoy really regards him. It is not welcome in the least. Spock's voice retaliates without his control, smooth and scornful. His body is hot and jittery and he cannot shut it out. He cannot look at McCoy while he insults him--a break in their usual pattern--so he watches his hands, moving restlessly over the bars. This is unbearable. Is this what humans feel all the time? How do they go on? How do they--
McCoy's hand is on his shoulder, yanking him around. Spock's back hits the wall, a solid shock that stops his voice and the jittery sensation both. "Do you know why you're not afraid to die, Spock? You're more afraid of living!"
Spock watches his face, a mere foot or two away. Yes, this, what he--feels--it is fear.
"Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out." Spock looks away, but he still knows when the corner of McCoy's mouth curves into--something. Not quite a smile. "That's it, isn't it? Insecurity."
The bars are cold and hard in Spock's grasp. McCoy would be warm and soft. Spock has been thinking of McCoy's softness in recent days. The tender skin on the inside of his elbows or at the corner of his mouth, or around his navel.
"Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling!"
Sometimes, control is not possible. It is a bitter lesson, but all lessons must be learned, regardless of personal inclination. Spock raises a resigned eyebrow, turns, and looks McCoy full in the face. "Really, doctor?" he challenges. He can hear his feeling in his voice, sense it in his expression.
McCoy is startled. His eyes search Spock's face. Spock waits as one second passes, then several more. McCoy looks down, then up again at Spock with a soft, knowing smile. He is so close, so close, his hand still lingering on Spock's shoulder--
"I know," McCoy says gently. Control is a memory. "I'm worried about Jim too."
Saved. McCoy has always combined unexpected insight with unexpected obtuseness. Spock turns away, not sure what his reaction is but wishing nevertheless to hide it. Of course he is worried about Jim. He's always worried about Jim, but he's used to that. Jim, at least, is capable of the most basic self-defense; he rarely comes to serious harm. The odds are excellent that he is seducing a 892-IV native by now.
For the first time, Spock wishes their roles were reversed. He wishes that the methodical search for solutions and the low, buzzing worry belonged to Jim, and that his own task were to take McCoy in his arms and whisper sweet nothings, giving and receiving comfort while he waited for inspiration to strike. There are several problems with this scenario, however.
(A) He does not know what these "sweet nothings" would consist of. He has read a large number of Terran novels relating to love and sexual intimacy, and as a student he even took a class in early Earth holovids. However, he has no wish to call Dr. McCoy "darling" or to describe their bond in tired metaphors. He is confident that there are endearments that would be more appropriate to his situation, but he lacks the intuition to find them.
(B) McCoy has given no observable signs that he would react favorably to such overtures.
(C) Dr. McCoy and Jim both remain in danger. It is Spock's responsibility to devote every faculty to ensuring their safety.
He begins again to test the bars. There may be a weakness he has overlooked.
###
A few days later, Spock stops by sickbay to pick up a vial of triresium for an experiment. "You have taken down your antique surgery set," he says in surprise.
McCoy looks away. "I guess I don't want to be reminded right now."
Spock tilts his head. Interesting. "By all means, Doctor, allow your delusions of omniscience free rein," he prods.
The doctor is easy to provoke. He whirls at once to face Spock. "Dammit, Spock, they took my equipment away down there! What do you think would have happened if one of us had been injured?"
It is a possibility he had considered. "The person most likely to be injured was yourself," he points out. "In which case, your equipment would not have helped us."
The contortions McCoy's face goes through before settling on outrage are--Spock hadn't realized the word "adorable" was in his vocabulary. Fascinating. "How can you be so calm about it?" McCoy demands. "If it had been you--" He swallows. "If it were you, you'd die. Or doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"I do not follow your reasoning, Doctor."
McCoy sits on the edge of his desk and rubs his palms together, slowly. "If it were you, Spock, I could treat you until the infection and the fever got bad enough you lost that iron control of yours, and then it'd be all over. I'm not strong enough to hold you down, and neither is Jim."
Spock considers. Clearly this has been preying on Dr. McCoy's mind. He is touched, although it is the natural response of a healer faced with the inability to help a patient. "There is no purpose in worrying over hypotheticals," he says, putting as much warmth into his voice as he can.
It is the exact wrong thing to say. Spock's ears figure prominently in McCoy's tirade.
I'm damn lucky I don't have to cut through conscious men's bones with a saw. Of course, the Romans had medicine more on par with Earth's twentieth century, but Spock suspects that that is what McCoy is imagining anyway in his illogical human mind: the scrape of the saw, his hands slippery with green blood. Of all things, causing pain is most against the doctor's nature. Spock wonders if a practical solution to McCoy's difficulty would be better received.
"I could teach you to perform the Vulcan neck pinch," he offers neutrally. "It would enable you to render a patient unconscious even in the absence of sedatives."
McCoy stops mid-sentence. "But Jim couldn't learn it."
Spock tries to be tactful. "The captain is--" He gives up on that angle. "There is no reason to suppose that the experiment would meet with the same results given such different inputs. While my fingers are stronger than the average human's, as a doctor you have a high level of manual dexterity. Furthermore, you are already familiar with the anatomy of the region." The words sound distressingly sexual when said aloud. It doesn't help that Dr. McCoy is blushing at the compliment. Sometimes Spock misses green, but McCoy brings a charm to pinkness that more than compensates.
"You think I can do something Jim can't do." The doctor is so pleased he is bouncing on the soles of his feet. "Will wonders never cease."
###
Once again, Spock has failed to follow a thought through to its logical conclusion.
He is sitting on one of the beds in sickbay in his undershirt. McCoy stands before him, feeling carefully along the juncture of Spock's neck and shoulder. Spock was correct in his estimation of the doctor's heightened manual dexterity. What he did not foresee--although he should have--was his own body's response.
McCoy frowns. "You're really tense, Spock. Some of these muscles feel like Minosian brick." His fingers dig into Spock's shoulder with casual authority. It is an extremely pleasant sensation. Spock says nothing.
"It's not good for you," McCoy insists. "Have you considered massage therapy? I've had quite a bit of training, and I'd be happy to schedule--"
"That will not be necessary, Doctor," Spock says through gritted teeth.
McCoy gives him an affronted look and pinches, hard. Spock lapses into unconsciousness with relief.
###
His quarterly physical exam is the following day. It is illogical to suspect that the universe is a sentient being with a keen sense of comedic timing. Spock knows that.
His use of meditation to avoid reacting to McCoy's hands on his body initially appears successful. (Kindly do not think the words 'McCoy's hands on my body,' he requests of himself.) Then he realizes that McCoy is asking him a question. Has been asking him a question for an unknown amount of time.
"Yes, Doctor?" he says hastily.
McCoy frowns. "Maybe I should check your hearing, too. I asked if you've been having any difficulty sleeping."
Spock is still in a half-meditative state, his mind immersed in the principles of Surak. He is also flustered. He tells the truth.
###
McCoy paces. "Insomnia," he says loudly. "High blood pressure, abnormally high heart-rate even for a Vulcan, increased brain activity in several key sectors, body temperature up one degree from your last six exams. And that's just the beginning! Your body chemistry is completely out of whack, and--"
"I assure you, Doctor, I am not ill. If you will simply allow me to retake the physical under the supervision of Nurse Chapel--"
McCoy whirls and points at him. "I wasn't born yesterday, Spock! You may have my head nurse wrapped around your little finger, but don't think you can bamboozle me. I know exactly what's going on here!"
Spock is skeptical. "Really."
"Yes! It wasn't easy, believe me, considering how you Vulcans like to make dirty little secrets out of any information on yourselves that might be the least bit useful. But I've done some digging, and Dr. M'Benga agrees with my diagnosis. A Vulcan exhibits these symptoms when they're focusing too much of their energy on repressing some powerful emotion."
Spock is momentarily silenced. He has underestimated Dr. McCoy yet again.
McCoy's eyes gleam. "Aha! I knew it. You're pining for Jim."
Spock takes a moment to collect himself. "What?"
"It's perfectly obvious how you feel about him," McCoy snaps. "If you try to deny it much longer, it could cause permanent physical damage, and that I won't stand for! You've got to talk to him."
"I assure you, Doctor, I am not"--he grimaces--"pining for Captain Kirk. I do not--my relationship with the captain has no sexual dimension whatsoever."
"What about a romantic dimension?"
Spock sighs. "I see no purpose to a debate on the interaction of emotion and physiology."
McCoy slaps his hand down on the lab table. "Spock, this is your health on the line. You've got to put logic aside and listen to your heart!" He sighs, too, and lowers his voice. "How would you describe your relationship with the captain?"
Spock is tempted to get up and walk out--but if Dr. McCoy refuses to provide him with a clean bill of health, he cannot return to duty. Furthermore, the doctor's gaze is piercing, troubled. Such concern is difficult to resist. "He is my superior officer. We are also--friends." The words are insufficient, flat; McCoy is correct to look skeptical. Spock will have to do better. "We are--" Unable to find a word, he lapses into Vulcan. "Th'y'la."
McCoy raises his thumb and index finger in that familiar gesture that means he thinks he has Spock, as he calls it, "over a barrel." Usually the expression is accompanied with glee; now it is not. Spock's readings could not have been atypical enough to justify this much anxiety. "Th'y'la means 'lover,' Spock."
How does the doctor even know that? Spock raises his eyebrow, trying to convey as much incredulous sarcasm as he can. "In fact, the word lacks a direct translation. Depending on context, it can also correspond--equally imperfectly--to the English 'friend' or 'brother.' Vulcan has as many words for mental intimacy as English has for the physical variety." He searches for a metaphor that the doctor, intuitive and intellectually undisciplined, will understand. "Can you think of a place where you could walk with your eyes closed and never stumble?"
For the moment, McCoy's puzzlement takes the edge off his aggression. "Sure--my quarters. Sickbay. My parents' house in Jackson."
"A th'y'la is a person whose thoughts are as familiar as those places."
McCoy presses his lips together. "Sounds like love to me."
Spock shifts irritably. "While I do not admit to experiencing any such emotion, Doctor, I must point out that even in English the word 'love' describes a range of related emotions. Not all of them are sexual--or even 'romantic.'"
"If it isn't Jim, then what is it?"
Spock is silent.
"That's what I thought." McCoy rubs at his temples. "I don't like to do this, Spock, but if you won't talk to Jim, I'm going to have to. This is affecting your health, and that affects the ship. He's got a right to know."
There is no answer to that but the truth, and Spock knows by now that he cannot say it. He isn't particularly concerned. Jim will know immediately that McCoy's claim is false.
###
Spock has omitted from his calculations Jim's many experiences as the object of unrequited affection. When the captain comes to Spock's quarters midway through gamma shift, he is tense and anxious. "Spock--McCoy says--he says that you--that we--Spock, I--"
"The doctor is in error, Captain," Spock reassures him.
Jim relaxes into himself again. "Oh, thank God. You're very attractive, Spock, of course, but--well, I like women."
No one has ever been able to make Spock smile so easily. "You astonish me, Captain."
Jim makes a face at him. Then he tilts his head. Spock is overcome by a sense of foreboding. "It's McCoy, isn't it?"
"I am unsure what you are referring to."
"It's McCoy you're pining after."
Spock has no response prepared for this. He lets the moments pile up as he considers the possibilities. Any attempt to misdirect would be obvious; he can either admit it, or tell a direct lie. He finds he has no wish to lie to the captain. On the contrary, the urge to confide in him is shamefully strong. "I would not describe the situation as 'pining.'"
Jim laughs. "No, I daresay you wouldn't."
"Captain, if I might inquire how you knew...?"
"I've wondered for some time, Spock." Jim smiles with affectionate mockery. "You're not as inscrutable as you think."
Spock is disquieted by this revelation. "Evidently not."
"And it all fits, doesn't it? He gave you the medical exam himself, of course."
Spock nods.
"Brings a new meaning to playing doctor." Jim chuckles. "Poor Spock."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind. He also said he's noticed you behaving strangely--mood swings, distraction, that sort of thing. I haven't noticed any of it, which makes sense if it happens when you're alone with Bones. He didn't bother with a control because it never occurred to him he was a significant variable."
The captain has an undoubted gift for tactics, but it is this--his deep instinct for social psychology--which truly sets him apart as a commander. "No doubt you are correct, Captain."
For a moment, Jim looks at him as if he is a challenge to find an ingenious way around. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"
"I would estimate that the odds are against it."
Jim rubs a thumb over his lower lip, considering. "Would you like me to talk to Bones? Explain the situation to him?"
Something tugs at Spock's internal organs, a sensation remarkably similar to the first moments of beaming. Embarrassment. He puts it aside and considers the matter logically. If he refuses:
(A) The current untenable situation of doubt and lust will continue. His professional performance may eventually be affected.
(B) McCoy will still require an explanation for the results of Spock's physical.
(C) The captain will wish to know the reason for his refusal.
(i) Spock will be forced to explain his hypothesis that Dr. McCoy is irritated by him and/or finds Vulcans physically unattractive. Jim will refuse to believe him, and an extremely humiliating discussion will inevitably ensue.
If he accepts, there are three possible outcomes. Either:
(A) Dr. McCoy will explain to the captain that he is irritated by Spock and/or finds Vulcans physically unattractive.
(i) Both Jim and McCoy will be too tactful ever to mention it to him. All humiliation incurred will be indirect and require no effort on his part.
(ii) Knowledge and serenity will replace ignorance and hope, again requiring no effort on his part. Cowardly, perhaps, but practical.
or
(B) Dr. McCoy will explain that he is not attracted to men. The scenario will proceed as above, except that Jim will probably drop a discreet word in Spock's ear.
or
(C) Dr. McCoy will be pleased by the news.
Option C, of course, is the least likely by a wide margin. Spock does not pursue its ramifications any farther. It is enough to state it.
In each case, the captain will have it confirmed that Spock lacks the courage to speak to McCoy himself. However, Jim has witnessed more reprehensible weaknesses on Spock's part. The logical course is clear. "Thank you, Captain. Yes, I would."
###
Spock's shift on the bridge has just ended. He returns to his quarters to discover Dr. McCoy waiting in the hallway. When he sees Spock, he gives an impatient bounce. "Well? Are you going to let me in?"
Spock stops short for a moment, then continues smoothly to his door. "I apologize for not being here to welcome you the moment you decided you wished to see me, but as I had no way of knowing that that was the case, and as I was, moreover, on duty--" The computer, hearing his voice, opens the door, and he gestures for McCoy to precede him.
"Don't be snide, Spock, it doesn't suit you," McCoy snaps. Spock would prefer to be silent anyway. He follows the doctor in.
McCoy has been in his quarters before, of course, primarily when Spock was ill. But now his presence seems weighted with possible outcomes. He paces back and forth, finally coming to rest in front of Spock's shrine. "You sent Jim to talk to me? That's just cruel, Spock. He tried to give me pointers on my sexual technique!"
Ordinarily, Spock would have found that scenario extremely amusing. Even now, his self coiled like a spring within him, he cannot resist needling. "I am sorry if you found yourself in an awkward social situation."
To his surprise, McCoy smiles sheepishly. "Turnabout is fair play, is that it? I'm sorry I brought Jim into it, Spock, but I was sure--you really prefer me to Jim?"
Spock frowns. "I understand why you might have formed the wrong impression initially, but your continued incredulity mystifies me."
The doctor makes a few frustrated, sweeping gestures, bouncing on the balls of his feet again. Spock experiences a profound surge of longing. Something in him is furious that they must talk. It wants talking to be over so it can know whether the longing will be satisfied.
"Well, he's Captain Kirk!" McCoy says helplessly. "He's a brilliant commander. He's the greatest Don Juan in the fleet. He's handsome. He's your best friend."
Spock shakes his head. "Captain Kirk is unquestionably the best in his field. So are you. Both facts are beside the point. Really, doctor, I do not think I will ever understand your species. There is no logic in choosing a mate based on an arbitrarily selected set of qualifications, and in fact, none of you do so. Yet the fallacy continues. Why can you not accept the obvious? The maximum number of offspring are most likely to occur where there is maximum physical attraction." He is about to clarify that although their union would produce no offspring without medical intervention (and even were one of them female, it is unknown whether their genetic code would be compatible or whether Spock, as a hybrid, can have children at all), the evolutionary principle still holds--but McCoy interrupts him.
"And that's me." He still sounds incredulous. "Wait--you think I'm the best in my field? Who are you and what have you done with Spock?"
Spock is silent. There is nothing to say.
"Well why didn't you tell me?"
Why is McCoy wasting time in irrelevancies? "I had no reason to think any advances from me would be welcome. Indeed, I would say the opposite is true."
McCoy actually looks puzzled.
Spock keeps a tight rein on his temper. "To name merely the most obvious example, your incessant remarks about my personal appearance--"
McCoy blinks. "I was just trying to get a rise out of you! Prove I could get to you. And I knew--" He looks suddenly ashamed. "Well, I knew that was a surefire way of doing it."
Spock inclines his head. "Because it is indicative of your instinctive physical distaste for"--Vulcans, he could say, or even certain aspects of my appearance, but he looks McCoy in the eye and says--"me."
McCoy flinches as if Spock has struck him. "I never--I'm damn sorry, Spock. I, uh--well, I suppose I do dislike your Vulcan half sometimes. But not physically." He is blushing again, that vulgar red color that Spock has acquired such a taste for. "I guess I wish you'd say how you feel more often. Just because I'd like to know." He gives Spock one of those rare, open smiles, and laughs a little self-consciously. "I, uh--if I were Jim I suppose I'd know what to do right now. I've never been very good at all this." He waves a hand between himself and Spock.
Spock runs his calculations a dozen more times, and comes up with the same answer. McCoy wants to kiss him but is too timid. Spock has lost patience with calculations and words both. He takes a few steps forward. McCoy does not retreat; the pulse in his throat begins to flutter at an increased rate. The world, it appears, is formed around an entirely different set of axioms than those Spock had theorized.
One more step, and there is but an inch and three-eighths between them.
McCoy's arms go fumblingly around his neck, and an emotion closes Spock's throat--tenderness, he suspects, is its proper name. Bending his head, he lays a small, closemouthed kiss on the doctor's lips: a tiny shock, like static electricity in his mind. When he pulls back, McCoy's face is still soft and open. For the first time Spock fully comprehends how brave it is, to leave yourself so defenseless.
McCoy gives him a crooked smile and rubs his thumb over the tip of Spock's left ear. "I, uh, I like these, actually."
The next kiss is not closemouthed or small.
"You gonna let me give you that backrub now?"
This is his future: being teased and shoved and prodded. Spock has known for some time that it is a good strategy to get information from McCoy. It never occurred to him that McCoy knew that too, and was trying to get information from Spock with the same tools, like attempting to use a key to open a Rigellian magnetron lock.
His self curls into a protective ball, like a Terran hedgehog. There are any number of affirmative, yet obfuscating answers he could give. But McCoy is asking for a symbolic gesture, a promise that Spock will try to be open, too, in his own way. It is fair. "Yes. Since you desire it."
McCoy's delighted smile is a reward several orders of magnitude greater than Spock's concession merited. "I desire a lot of things," he says huskily.
Spock will try to give him all of them.
Author: belmanoir
Universe: TOS
Pairing/Characters: Spock/McCoy, Kirk
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,771
Summary: Spock likes McCoy. McCoy won't take a hint.
Notes: This started out as a "Bread and Circuses" ep-tag. It grew from there, but it still heavily references the episode, and the second scene directly lifts dialogue from it. (If you would like to refresh your memory, or, you know, watch Spock and McCoy stare at each other intently as if they're about to kiss, I've uploaded the clip here.) Beta'd by mrs_laugh_track.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, and I am not making any money off this.
Jim likes the new chief medical officer on sight. Overnight, dinner with Jim becomes dinner with Jim and Dr. McCoy. Dr. McCoy watches them play chess. Dr. McCoy is a necessary member of every landing party.
Spock is aware that he is jealous, and tries to control the emotion. In addition, he tries not to take offense when Dr. McCoy makes derogatory remarks about his ears, blood, and other physiological differences from humans. He hopes, however, that he is not taken seriously ill too far from a starbase.
Jim loans McCoy his favorite set of books. He loaned them to Spock when he was first given the Enterprise. Spock read them dutifully, but found their appeal elusive. It is one topic on which he and the new CMO appear to agree.
"Dammit, Jim, it's no better than butchery!" McCoy says. "Maturin's not a doctor, he's the lord high executioner! He doses them with mercury, my God."
Jim will have checkmate in three moves, and Spock cannot quite resist pointing out an inconsistency. "Yet you keep a collection of antique surgical instruments on display in sickbay."
McCoy smiles--the first time the expression is aimed at him. Spock understands, abruptly, what the captain sees in him. If Spock ever voiced this opinion, Jim would talk for hours about Starfleet's civilizing influence, its Prime Directive and its dislike of force; but the truth is that they are a navy. And a smile so open, so unguarded, is rare among military people. "That's to remind me, Spock."
"Remind you of what, Doctor?"
"That I don't know everything. That in a few hundred years, maybe doctors will look at everything I know and see instruments of torture." He laughs softly. "And that I'm damn lucky I don't have to cut through conscious men's bones with a saw."
It isn't the answer Spock expected. He has underestimated Dr. McCoy; it unsettles him. He will have to pay close attention so as not to be caught out again.
"You know, they remind me of you two," McCoy says.
"Who?" Jim asks.
"Aubrey and Maturin." Spock tenses at the doctor's gleeful expression. A joke about his ears is on its way. "You know: the military man and the scientist. The bluff good looks and the sallow complexion. The womanizer and the monk." That appears to be the punchline: Jim laughs and the mischievous expression leaves McCoy's eyes. He gives that sweet smile again. "The way you don't make any sense together, but you fit."
Jim grins at Spock. "The parallels have occurred to me. Although I don't think Spock would know what to do with a wombat." The two humans laugh. Spock has been trying to learn this--how humans use mockery to show affection as well as dislike. He must be making progress, because along with the sting of embarrassment and the prick of resentment, he feels an inexplicable warmth.
###
Two years later.
"You saved my life in the arena," McCoy says.
Spock has been trying not to remember. He tries not to remember now. But McCoy's face is as open and defenseless as his body was earlier, as easy to hurt. If Spock looks too long, he will be unable to control his rage. The emotion curls at the edges of his dispassion.
(If McCoy knew how nearly Spock had become a murdering brute a few hours ago in the arena, the doctor would not look at him like that. But that is a weapon Spock will reserve for when it is needed.)
Spock needs all his mental resources to find them a means of escape. This conversation must end, now. "Yes, that's quite true," he says. That note of condescension coupled with impatience--he sounds like his father, only worse. Perfect.
As expected, the doctor's expression curdles. "I'm trying to thank you, you pointed-eared hobgoblin!"
The slur should be a welcome reminder of how McCoy really regards him. It is not welcome in the least. Spock's voice retaliates without his control, smooth and scornful. His body is hot and jittery and he cannot shut it out. He cannot look at McCoy while he insults him--a break in their usual pattern--so he watches his hands, moving restlessly over the bars. This is unbearable. Is this what humans feel all the time? How do they go on? How do they--
McCoy's hand is on his shoulder, yanking him around. Spock's back hits the wall, a solid shock that stops his voice and the jittery sensation both. "Do you know why you're not afraid to die, Spock? You're more afraid of living!"
Spock watches his face, a mere foot or two away. Yes, this, what he--feels--it is fear.
"Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out." Spock looks away, but he still knows when the corner of McCoy's mouth curves into--something. Not quite a smile. "That's it, isn't it? Insecurity."
The bars are cold and hard in Spock's grasp. McCoy would be warm and soft. Spock has been thinking of McCoy's softness in recent days. The tender skin on the inside of his elbows or at the corner of his mouth, or around his navel.
"Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling!"
Sometimes, control is not possible. It is a bitter lesson, but all lessons must be learned, regardless of personal inclination. Spock raises a resigned eyebrow, turns, and looks McCoy full in the face. "Really, doctor?" he challenges. He can hear his feeling in his voice, sense it in his expression.
McCoy is startled. His eyes search Spock's face. Spock waits as one second passes, then several more. McCoy looks down, then up again at Spock with a soft, knowing smile. He is so close, so close, his hand still lingering on Spock's shoulder--
"I know," McCoy says gently. Control is a memory. "I'm worried about Jim too."
Saved. McCoy has always combined unexpected insight with unexpected obtuseness. Spock turns away, not sure what his reaction is but wishing nevertheless to hide it. Of course he is worried about Jim. He's always worried about Jim, but he's used to that. Jim, at least, is capable of the most basic self-defense; he rarely comes to serious harm. The odds are excellent that he is seducing a 892-IV native by now.
For the first time, Spock wishes their roles were reversed. He wishes that the methodical search for solutions and the low, buzzing worry belonged to Jim, and that his own task were to take McCoy in his arms and whisper sweet nothings, giving and receiving comfort while he waited for inspiration to strike. There are several problems with this scenario, however.
(A) He does not know what these "sweet nothings" would consist of. He has read a large number of Terran novels relating to love and sexual intimacy, and as a student he even took a class in early Earth holovids. However, he has no wish to call Dr. McCoy "darling" or to describe their bond in tired metaphors. He is confident that there are endearments that would be more appropriate to his situation, but he lacks the intuition to find them.
(B) McCoy has given no observable signs that he would react favorably to such overtures.
(C) Dr. McCoy and Jim both remain in danger. It is Spock's responsibility to devote every faculty to ensuring their safety.
He begins again to test the bars. There may be a weakness he has overlooked.
###
A few days later, Spock stops by sickbay to pick up a vial of triresium for an experiment. "You have taken down your antique surgery set," he says in surprise.
McCoy looks away. "I guess I don't want to be reminded right now."
Spock tilts his head. Interesting. "By all means, Doctor, allow your delusions of omniscience free rein," he prods.
The doctor is easy to provoke. He whirls at once to face Spock. "Dammit, Spock, they took my equipment away down there! What do you think would have happened if one of us had been injured?"
It is a possibility he had considered. "The person most likely to be injured was yourself," he points out. "In which case, your equipment would not have helped us."
The contortions McCoy's face goes through before settling on outrage are--Spock hadn't realized the word "adorable" was in his vocabulary. Fascinating. "How can you be so calm about it?" McCoy demands. "If it had been you--" He swallows. "If it were you, you'd die. Or doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"I do not follow your reasoning, Doctor."
McCoy sits on the edge of his desk and rubs his palms together, slowly. "If it were you, Spock, I could treat you until the infection and the fever got bad enough you lost that iron control of yours, and then it'd be all over. I'm not strong enough to hold you down, and neither is Jim."
Spock considers. Clearly this has been preying on Dr. McCoy's mind. He is touched, although it is the natural response of a healer faced with the inability to help a patient. "There is no purpose in worrying over hypotheticals," he says, putting as much warmth into his voice as he can.
It is the exact wrong thing to say. Spock's ears figure prominently in McCoy's tirade.
I'm damn lucky I don't have to cut through conscious men's bones with a saw. Of course, the Romans had medicine more on par with Earth's twentieth century, but Spock suspects that that is what McCoy is imagining anyway in his illogical human mind: the scrape of the saw, his hands slippery with green blood. Of all things, causing pain is most against the doctor's nature. Spock wonders if a practical solution to McCoy's difficulty would be better received.
"I could teach you to perform the Vulcan neck pinch," he offers neutrally. "It would enable you to render a patient unconscious even in the absence of sedatives."
McCoy stops mid-sentence. "But Jim couldn't learn it."
Spock tries to be tactful. "The captain is--" He gives up on that angle. "There is no reason to suppose that the experiment would meet with the same results given such different inputs. While my fingers are stronger than the average human's, as a doctor you have a high level of manual dexterity. Furthermore, you are already familiar with the anatomy of the region." The words sound distressingly sexual when said aloud. It doesn't help that Dr. McCoy is blushing at the compliment. Sometimes Spock misses green, but McCoy brings a charm to pinkness that more than compensates.
"You think I can do something Jim can't do." The doctor is so pleased he is bouncing on the soles of his feet. "Will wonders never cease."
###
Once again, Spock has failed to follow a thought through to its logical conclusion.
He is sitting on one of the beds in sickbay in his undershirt. McCoy stands before him, feeling carefully along the juncture of Spock's neck and shoulder. Spock was correct in his estimation of the doctor's heightened manual dexterity. What he did not foresee--although he should have--was his own body's response.
McCoy frowns. "You're really tense, Spock. Some of these muscles feel like Minosian brick." His fingers dig into Spock's shoulder with casual authority. It is an extremely pleasant sensation. Spock says nothing.
"It's not good for you," McCoy insists. "Have you considered massage therapy? I've had quite a bit of training, and I'd be happy to schedule--"
"That will not be necessary, Doctor," Spock says through gritted teeth.
McCoy gives him an affronted look and pinches, hard. Spock lapses into unconsciousness with relief.
###
His quarterly physical exam is the following day. It is illogical to suspect that the universe is a sentient being with a keen sense of comedic timing. Spock knows that.
His use of meditation to avoid reacting to McCoy's hands on his body initially appears successful. (Kindly do not think the words 'McCoy's hands on my body,' he requests of himself.) Then he realizes that McCoy is asking him a question. Has been asking him a question for an unknown amount of time.
"Yes, Doctor?" he says hastily.
McCoy frowns. "Maybe I should check your hearing, too. I asked if you've been having any difficulty sleeping."
Spock is still in a half-meditative state, his mind immersed in the principles of Surak. He is also flustered. He tells the truth.
###
McCoy paces. "Insomnia," he says loudly. "High blood pressure, abnormally high heart-rate even for a Vulcan, increased brain activity in several key sectors, body temperature up one degree from your last six exams. And that's just the beginning! Your body chemistry is completely out of whack, and--"
"I assure you, Doctor, I am not ill. If you will simply allow me to retake the physical under the supervision of Nurse Chapel--"
McCoy whirls and points at him. "I wasn't born yesterday, Spock! You may have my head nurse wrapped around your little finger, but don't think you can bamboozle me. I know exactly what's going on here!"
Spock is skeptical. "Really."
"Yes! It wasn't easy, believe me, considering how you Vulcans like to make dirty little secrets out of any information on yourselves that might be the least bit useful. But I've done some digging, and Dr. M'Benga agrees with my diagnosis. A Vulcan exhibits these symptoms when they're focusing too much of their energy on repressing some powerful emotion."
Spock is momentarily silenced. He has underestimated Dr. McCoy yet again.
McCoy's eyes gleam. "Aha! I knew it. You're pining for Jim."
Spock takes a moment to collect himself. "What?"
"It's perfectly obvious how you feel about him," McCoy snaps. "If you try to deny it much longer, it could cause permanent physical damage, and that I won't stand for! You've got to talk to him."
"I assure you, Doctor, I am not"--he grimaces--"pining for Captain Kirk. I do not--my relationship with the captain has no sexual dimension whatsoever."
"What about a romantic dimension?"
Spock sighs. "I see no purpose to a debate on the interaction of emotion and physiology."
McCoy slaps his hand down on the lab table. "Spock, this is your health on the line. You've got to put logic aside and listen to your heart!" He sighs, too, and lowers his voice. "How would you describe your relationship with the captain?"
Spock is tempted to get up and walk out--but if Dr. McCoy refuses to provide him with a clean bill of health, he cannot return to duty. Furthermore, the doctor's gaze is piercing, troubled. Such concern is difficult to resist. "He is my superior officer. We are also--friends." The words are insufficient, flat; McCoy is correct to look skeptical. Spock will have to do better. "We are--" Unable to find a word, he lapses into Vulcan. "Th'y'la."
McCoy raises his thumb and index finger in that familiar gesture that means he thinks he has Spock, as he calls it, "over a barrel." Usually the expression is accompanied with glee; now it is not. Spock's readings could not have been atypical enough to justify this much anxiety. "Th'y'la means 'lover,' Spock."
How does the doctor even know that? Spock raises his eyebrow, trying to convey as much incredulous sarcasm as he can. "In fact, the word lacks a direct translation. Depending on context, it can also correspond--equally imperfectly--to the English 'friend' or 'brother.' Vulcan has as many words for mental intimacy as English has for the physical variety." He searches for a metaphor that the doctor, intuitive and intellectually undisciplined, will understand. "Can you think of a place where you could walk with your eyes closed and never stumble?"
For the moment, McCoy's puzzlement takes the edge off his aggression. "Sure--my quarters. Sickbay. My parents' house in Jackson."
"A th'y'la is a person whose thoughts are as familiar as those places."
McCoy presses his lips together. "Sounds like love to me."
Spock shifts irritably. "While I do not admit to experiencing any such emotion, Doctor, I must point out that even in English the word 'love' describes a range of related emotions. Not all of them are sexual--or even 'romantic.'"
"If it isn't Jim, then what is it?"
Spock is silent.
"That's what I thought." McCoy rubs at his temples. "I don't like to do this, Spock, but if you won't talk to Jim, I'm going to have to. This is affecting your health, and that affects the ship. He's got a right to know."
There is no answer to that but the truth, and Spock knows by now that he cannot say it. He isn't particularly concerned. Jim will know immediately that McCoy's claim is false.
###
Spock has omitted from his calculations Jim's many experiences as the object of unrequited affection. When the captain comes to Spock's quarters midway through gamma shift, he is tense and anxious. "Spock--McCoy says--he says that you--that we--Spock, I--"
"The doctor is in error, Captain," Spock reassures him.
Jim relaxes into himself again. "Oh, thank God. You're very attractive, Spock, of course, but--well, I like women."
No one has ever been able to make Spock smile so easily. "You astonish me, Captain."
Jim makes a face at him. Then he tilts his head. Spock is overcome by a sense of foreboding. "It's McCoy, isn't it?"
"I am unsure what you are referring to."
"It's McCoy you're pining after."
Spock has no response prepared for this. He lets the moments pile up as he considers the possibilities. Any attempt to misdirect would be obvious; he can either admit it, or tell a direct lie. He finds he has no wish to lie to the captain. On the contrary, the urge to confide in him is shamefully strong. "I would not describe the situation as 'pining.'"
Jim laughs. "No, I daresay you wouldn't."
"Captain, if I might inquire how you knew...?"
"I've wondered for some time, Spock." Jim smiles with affectionate mockery. "You're not as inscrutable as you think."
Spock is disquieted by this revelation. "Evidently not."
"And it all fits, doesn't it? He gave you the medical exam himself, of course."
Spock nods.
"Brings a new meaning to playing doctor." Jim chuckles. "Poor Spock."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind. He also said he's noticed you behaving strangely--mood swings, distraction, that sort of thing. I haven't noticed any of it, which makes sense if it happens when you're alone with Bones. He didn't bother with a control because it never occurred to him he was a significant variable."
The captain has an undoubted gift for tactics, but it is this--his deep instinct for social psychology--which truly sets him apart as a commander. "No doubt you are correct, Captain."
For a moment, Jim looks at him as if he is a challenge to find an ingenious way around. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"
"I would estimate that the odds are against it."
Jim rubs a thumb over his lower lip, considering. "Would you like me to talk to Bones? Explain the situation to him?"
Something tugs at Spock's internal organs, a sensation remarkably similar to the first moments of beaming. Embarrassment. He puts it aside and considers the matter logically. If he refuses:
(A) The current untenable situation of doubt and lust will continue. His professional performance may eventually be affected.
(B) McCoy will still require an explanation for the results of Spock's physical.
(C) The captain will wish to know the reason for his refusal.
(i) Spock will be forced to explain his hypothesis that Dr. McCoy is irritated by him and/or finds Vulcans physically unattractive. Jim will refuse to believe him, and an extremely humiliating discussion will inevitably ensue.
If he accepts, there are three possible outcomes. Either:
(A) Dr. McCoy will explain to the captain that he is irritated by Spock and/or finds Vulcans physically unattractive.
(i) Both Jim and McCoy will be too tactful ever to mention it to him. All humiliation incurred will be indirect and require no effort on his part.
(ii) Knowledge and serenity will replace ignorance and hope, again requiring no effort on his part. Cowardly, perhaps, but practical.
or
(B) Dr. McCoy will explain that he is not attracted to men. The scenario will proceed as above, except that Jim will probably drop a discreet word in Spock's ear.
or
(C) Dr. McCoy will be pleased by the news.
Option C, of course, is the least likely by a wide margin. Spock does not pursue its ramifications any farther. It is enough to state it.
In each case, the captain will have it confirmed that Spock lacks the courage to speak to McCoy himself. However, Jim has witnessed more reprehensible weaknesses on Spock's part. The logical course is clear. "Thank you, Captain. Yes, I would."
###
Spock's shift on the bridge has just ended. He returns to his quarters to discover Dr. McCoy waiting in the hallway. When he sees Spock, he gives an impatient bounce. "Well? Are you going to let me in?"
Spock stops short for a moment, then continues smoothly to his door. "I apologize for not being here to welcome you the moment you decided you wished to see me, but as I had no way of knowing that that was the case, and as I was, moreover, on duty--" The computer, hearing his voice, opens the door, and he gestures for McCoy to precede him.
"Don't be snide, Spock, it doesn't suit you," McCoy snaps. Spock would prefer to be silent anyway. He follows the doctor in.
McCoy has been in his quarters before, of course, primarily when Spock was ill. But now his presence seems weighted with possible outcomes. He paces back and forth, finally coming to rest in front of Spock's shrine. "You sent Jim to talk to me? That's just cruel, Spock. He tried to give me pointers on my sexual technique!"
Ordinarily, Spock would have found that scenario extremely amusing. Even now, his self coiled like a spring within him, he cannot resist needling. "I am sorry if you found yourself in an awkward social situation."
To his surprise, McCoy smiles sheepishly. "Turnabout is fair play, is that it? I'm sorry I brought Jim into it, Spock, but I was sure--you really prefer me to Jim?"
Spock frowns. "I understand why you might have formed the wrong impression initially, but your continued incredulity mystifies me."
The doctor makes a few frustrated, sweeping gestures, bouncing on the balls of his feet again. Spock experiences a profound surge of longing. Something in him is furious that they must talk. It wants talking to be over so it can know whether the longing will be satisfied.
"Well, he's Captain Kirk!" McCoy says helplessly. "He's a brilliant commander. He's the greatest Don Juan in the fleet. He's handsome. He's your best friend."
Spock shakes his head. "Captain Kirk is unquestionably the best in his field. So are you. Both facts are beside the point. Really, doctor, I do not think I will ever understand your species. There is no logic in choosing a mate based on an arbitrarily selected set of qualifications, and in fact, none of you do so. Yet the fallacy continues. Why can you not accept the obvious? The maximum number of offspring are most likely to occur where there is maximum physical attraction." He is about to clarify that although their union would produce no offspring without medical intervention (and even were one of them female, it is unknown whether their genetic code would be compatible or whether Spock, as a hybrid, can have children at all), the evolutionary principle still holds--but McCoy interrupts him.
"And that's me." He still sounds incredulous. "Wait--you think I'm the best in my field? Who are you and what have you done with Spock?"
Spock is silent. There is nothing to say.
"Well why didn't you tell me?"
Why is McCoy wasting time in irrelevancies? "I had no reason to think any advances from me would be welcome. Indeed, I would say the opposite is true."
McCoy actually looks puzzled.
Spock keeps a tight rein on his temper. "To name merely the most obvious example, your incessant remarks about my personal appearance--"
McCoy blinks. "I was just trying to get a rise out of you! Prove I could get to you. And I knew--" He looks suddenly ashamed. "Well, I knew that was a surefire way of doing it."
Spock inclines his head. "Because it is indicative of your instinctive physical distaste for"--Vulcans, he could say, or even certain aspects of my appearance, but he looks McCoy in the eye and says--"me."
McCoy flinches as if Spock has struck him. "I never--I'm damn sorry, Spock. I, uh--well, I suppose I do dislike your Vulcan half sometimes. But not physically." He is blushing again, that vulgar red color that Spock has acquired such a taste for. "I guess I wish you'd say how you feel more often. Just because I'd like to know." He gives Spock one of those rare, open smiles, and laughs a little self-consciously. "I, uh--if I were Jim I suppose I'd know what to do right now. I've never been very good at all this." He waves a hand between himself and Spock.
Spock runs his calculations a dozen more times, and comes up with the same answer. McCoy wants to kiss him but is too timid. Spock has lost patience with calculations and words both. He takes a few steps forward. McCoy does not retreat; the pulse in his throat begins to flutter at an increased rate. The world, it appears, is formed around an entirely different set of axioms than those Spock had theorized.
One more step, and there is but an inch and three-eighths between them.
McCoy's arms go fumblingly around his neck, and an emotion closes Spock's throat--tenderness, he suspects, is its proper name. Bending his head, he lays a small, closemouthed kiss on the doctor's lips: a tiny shock, like static electricity in his mind. When he pulls back, McCoy's face is still soft and open. For the first time Spock fully comprehends how brave it is, to leave yourself so defenseless.
McCoy gives him a crooked smile and rubs his thumb over the tip of Spock's left ear. "I, uh, I like these, actually."
The next kiss is not closemouthed or small.
"You gonna let me give you that backrub now?"
This is his future: being teased and shoved and prodded. Spock has known for some time that it is a good strategy to get information from McCoy. It never occurred to him that McCoy knew that too, and was trying to get information from Spock with the same tools, like attempting to use a key to open a Rigellian magnetron lock.
His self curls into a protective ball, like a Terran hedgehog. There are any number of affirmative, yet obfuscating answers he could give. But McCoy is asking for a symbolic gesture, a promise that Spock will try to be open, too, in his own way. It is fair. "Yes. Since you desire it."
McCoy's delighted smile is a reward several orders of magnitude greater than Spock's concession merited. "I desire a lot of things," he says huskily.
Spock will try to give him all of them.