Lawful Obedience, Part Two

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Star Trek)
Rating: PG-13

LINK TO PART ONE

~

“Come on in.”

Spock stood patiently as the doors to Dr. McCoy’s cabin slid open. The doctor himself was lounging comfortably on his bunk, perusing what appeared to be antique pictures. He had discarded his blue uniform shirt, leaving the black regulation t-shirt that he wore beneath.

The doctor had been smiling at first, clearly anticipating the captain or Mr. Scott. But the smile vanished as he took stock of his visitor.

Spock stepped inside as the doors closed behind him. McCoy, in response, put his hands behind his head, leaned back and raised his eyebrows at his guest.

“Did you bring your belt, Mr. Spock?” he drawled.

Spock answered as if it were a serious question, rather than a jibe. “No, Doctor,” he said. “But if such a punishment will induce you not to risk your life in that fashion again, I will certainly apply it.”

McCoy grinned at that—a grin that, in Spock’s judgment, was almost genuine. “What did you do, Spock? Look up my reference to that particular punishment in the computer?”

“Just so,” Spock confirmed. “It seems a barbaric punishment for human parents to inflict on their young. But one that is, perhaps, suited to a barbaric race.”

“You belong to that ‘barbaric’ race, Spock,” McCoy reminded him. “Half of you is just as human as I am.”

“Fortunately I have escaped that heritage relatively unscathed,” Spock retorted.

“Well, escaped, maybe,” McCoy said. “But not unscathed. If it makes you feel better, though, it’s a pretty rare punishment now-a-days.”

“I’m relieved, Doctor. May I sit down?”

McCoy seemed to consider that for a moment, but at length he shrugged and nodded at a chair. He waited for Spock to take a seat and then narrowed his eyes at him. “Why are you disciplining me over this?” he demanded.

“You could have been killed,” Spock reminded him. “And if you had waited, as I ordered, we would have been able to safely test the vaccine.”

“We don’t know for certain how long the tests would have taken,” McCoy pointed out. “I proved the vaccine’s effectiveness immediately.”

“And risked your life doing so, Doctor.”

McCoy grinned again. “And you’d have been broken hearted, I suppose, at my death.”

Spock took a deep breath before answering that. Illogical as it was, one memory kept echoing through his mind: the sound of McCoy screaming out his name just before the vaccine caused him to lose consciousness. “I have no desire to lose any member of this crew,” he said at last.

McCoy rolled his eyes at that and stared up at his ceiling. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice suddenly weary.

“To assure you that I appreciate what you did,” Spock answered, purposely softening his own voice. “It was reckless of you to inject the vaccine into yourself; nonetheless, your experiment did indeed prove effective.”

“And yet you’re punishing me,” McCoy commented, still staring at his ceiling.

Spock sighed. “Regardless of what you think of my abilities or decisions, I am your superior officer. In times of emergency, I must be confident of your obedience.”

The doctor sat up at that, turning to face him. “Spock, I have the highest respect for your abilities—both as our science officer and as second-in-command. You must know that. And I understand your decisions—even when I don’t agree with them. But in this case—well, I just—I just did what I thought needed doing.”

He paused and gave Spock a sheepish smile. “Besides, if your damned Vulcan physiology wasn’t so different from ours, I’d have injected the vaccine into you once your back was turned—I wouldn’t have risked my life at all.”

Spock recognized the human’s attempt at humor. He also recognized the value of this particular human’s respect. And so his voice was still soft as he responded.

“This must not happen again, Doctor,” he said.

McCoy looked away. “I know,” he said. “Damn it, Spock, I won’t make a habit of disobeying you. I promise you that.”

“Thank you,” Spock said.

He rose uncertainly, prepared to leave…but McCoy turned back to him and gave him a look that was half-exasperated and half-hopeful. “I wouldn’t mind some company, you know.”

Spock sank back into his chair. “Nor would I,” he owned. Then he paused for a moment and let his eyes fall on the pictures that had occupied the doctor’s attention earlier. “Are those antiques?” he inquired.

McCoy nodded. “Sort of. They’re 20th century reproductions of 19th century originals. Here—have a look at this one,” he continued, handing it over. “Can you figure out who that is?”

Spock studied the picture. It depicted a young human male dressed in what was probably a 19th century uniform of the United States Army. He was—by human standards, at least—an uncommonly handsome man, with thick black hair and an expressive pair of dark eyes.

“I do not recognize him,” Spock admitted. “Should I?”

“Yes, you’ve heard of him,” McCoy assured him. “Come on, take a guess. I’ll even give you a hint: he’s a great hero of mine.”

Spock furrowed his brow at that. He knew that McCoy had little interest in military history, apart from what directly concerned medicine. “Was he an army doctor?”

“No—in fact, he started out as an army engineer.”

The Vulcan lifted his eyebrows in surprise. While McCoy’s interest in military history was minimal, his interest in engineering was non-existent.

McCoy must have noted his surprise. “I’ll give you another hint,” he said generously. “He had a lot to say about duty and lawful obedience—that’s why I pulled those pictures out.” The doctor paused and grinned. “I figured his words would help me tolerate this punishment of yours.”

Spock stared down at the picture again, frowning thoughtfully. “Was he from Georgia?” he asked. That might explain McCoy’s devotion.

“No, but he was a Southerner,” McCoy assured him. “A Virginian, in fact.”

The last piece of the puzzle clicked in place—yet Spock was certain that he must be mistaken. “Robert E. Lee?” he asked incredulously.

“The same,” McCoy confirmed. “That’s the earliest known painting of him. Handsome fellow, wasn’t he?”

Spock ignored that. “Am I to understand that you admire a man who fought for slavery during the United States' Civil War?”

“Civil War?” McCoy asked, raising his brows as his blue eyes glinted with mischief. “I believe, sir, that you are referring to the War of Northern Aggression.”

Spock did not grace that with a response.

“And the war was not about slavery—it was about the right of the Southern states to secede from the Union.” McCoy continued, allowing his Georgia drawl to become more and more prevalent. “A right they clearly possessed, according to the 10th Amendment of the United States Constitution.”

“That is a highly debatable interpretation of that amendment, Doctor,” Spock said dryly. “Besides which, the Southern states would have had no reason to secede, were it not for the issue of slavery.”

To Spock’s surprise, McCoy grinned again. “That’s probably true—but don’t ever say so in front of my family. But Lee wasn’t pro-slavery. Hell, he didn’t even believe in secession.”

“Which begs the question of why he chose to fight for the Confederacy.”

“It was his duty, Spock.”

“Surely, by the mores of his day, his duty was to his country?”

The blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “Virginia was his country, Mr. Spock.”

Spock frowned and handed back the picture. “I cannot share your admiration, Doctor. It is illogical to fight for a state that is opposed to your own ethics.”

McCoy set the picture aside, along with the others. Then he leaned forward and took hold of Spock’s arm.

The Vulcan made no objection to that familiarity. Although he was sensitive to impressions from touch—impressions that could prove overwhelming—he had accustomed himself to the moods of certain humans…the doctor among them.

Besides, no rush of human emotion assaulted him at present. McCoy was in an analytical frame of mind. In fact, the doctor was regarding him in much the same way he would regard a troublesome specimen in a lab.

“Spock,” the doctor was saying, “can’t you muster a smidgeon of human feeling? Can’t you imagine loving your home, right or wrong?”

“Such a love is not only illogical, but dangerous,” Spock answered. “Surely the excessive bloodshed of that particular war—even by human standards—proves as much.” He was tempted to add that, for a man who thought so highly of emotion, McCoy was considering the question quite coolly and rationally.

At length McCoy sighed, acting keenly disappointed in Spock’s display of logic—although in reality the doctor seemed more amused than disappointed. “Well, I’m sorry that you dismiss such a fine man out of hand,” he said. “And he was a good man, Spock, whatever his faults. Some of my ancestors served under him.”

“To give preferential treatment to the opinions of your ancestors merely because they are your ancestors is also illogical, Doctor.”

McCoy laughed and released his arm, causing Spock to be conscious of a brief feeling of highly illogical disappointment. He was so surprised that he almost missed the doctor’s next words.

“You wouldn’t last two minutes as a member of my family, Spock,” he was saying.

“Since it’s difficult to imagine a scenario that would make me part of your family, I will endeavor not to concern myself over the matter.”

McCoy rolled his eyes again. “Fair enough,” he owned. “Well, it’s getting late. Thanks, Spock, for dropping by.”

Spock nodded as he stood up and turned to leave.

“Hey Spock,” McCoy said.

Spock turned back to him.

The doctor gave him another sheepish smile. “I wouldn’t mind company tomorrow either. We can debate the 10th Amendment, if you’d like.”

The Vulcan answered without hesitation. “I look forward to it, Doctor.”

LINK TO PART THREE