Lawful Obedience, Part Twenty-Two

by J. Rosemary Moss

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

LINK TO PART ONE

~

Lee forced himself to concentrate on his studies for the remainder of the morning—that enabled him to set aside his anger. But by the time he returned to the cabin to meet Sulu for lunch, he found that he couldn't stop his hand from shaking. Fortunately, Sulu was delayed on the bridge, giving Lee time to reign in his emotions.

He sat down on his bunk and balled his hands into fists. Until this moment, some part of him had still regarded his experiences in this time as a wild, entrancing dream—albeit with a poignant realism to it. But that dreamlike quality evaporated in the face of the very real anger that was coursing through his blood.

This was no dream.

Nor was he merely on assignment with his family waiting patiently back in Virginia. His wife and all his children were dead. The world he knew was gone.

He shut his eyes. He had never feared death. He was grateful to God for the years he had been given, but he had not looked for an unnatural lifespan. But this stranger—this woman with no face and no name—had foisted just that upon him.

There was a sickening cruelty to that—to force a man to outlive his family and everything he held dear. Nor had she stopped at that. She had toyed with his mind, not caring, apparently, if she drove him insane in the process.

Why? Of what use to anyone was he in this century? Lee didn't question his worth, but neither did he exaggerate it. Why had this stranger selected him? What did she expect from him?

He felt his fists tighten. But he was determined not to give into his anger. He would not allow anger to control him.

He wanted answers—but they would have to wait. Tomorrow, he reminded himself. Tomorrow they would reach Octavian VII. Perhaps the answers waited there.

Meanwhile, he still needed to reign in his anger—he needed to give his mind something else to contemplate. And so he went to the computer and called up Scripture and the Book of Common Prayer. It was something, he thought, to have these at the mere touch of a finger. He missed having the actual books at hand; he missed the feel of the pages and the scent of the leather covers. But there was something to be said for the ability to call up any translation or edition he pleased.

He found no magical verse to set his mind at ease—but he did find comfort in the familiar words and meditations. Grief would come soon; he knew that. Grief for his wife and his children and everything he had lost. And nothing would allay that grief. He was wise enough to realize that. He would simply have to wait for time to dull it.

But time, it seemed, was one thing he did have.

~

Spock sat down at the table in sickbay, composing his thoughts. He would not speculate further on T'Pring. He would wait to hear his mother's advice first: although she was not Vulcan, she understood the protocol of Vulcan betrothals. She might well devise a solution to Spock's dilemma that Spock himself would not have imagined.

More worrisome would be his father's reaction to a broken betrothal. Even assuming that Spock found an honorable way to part from T'Pring—would his father accept the logic that had driven him to it? Would his father ever accept Dr. McCoy as Spock's bond-mate?

It was unlikely, Spock conceded. Sarek would argue Spock's logic and object to the doctor. He would no more accept McCoy than he had accepted Spock's decision to join Starfleet.

So, once again, Spock would find himself at odds with his father. But should that signify? His father did not speak to him now. Little would change when Spock bonded with McCoy.

Yeoman Rand chose that moment to walk into sickbay, interrupting Spock's thoughts. She had a small, hopeful smile on her face and she was giving McCoy an imploring look.

The doctor grinned at her as he took a seat next to Spock. "What's up Rand?" he asked as he nodded at the chair opposite him. "Is that a schedule I see in your hand?"

"Yes," she admitted, sitting down. "Doctor, I need two of your technicians from 09:00 to 10:30 the day after tomorrow. Greene and Shapiro, I mean. I'm trying to get a minyan for my bat mitzvah. I've got one from 10:30 on, but not before."

"A minyan?" McCoy asked.

"A quorum, Doctor," Spock interjected. "A minimum of ten Jews is required for full Jewish services."

Rand smiled at him. "Exactly." Then she turned back to McCoy. "So can I borrow them, Doctor? They have off for my party, but not for the service."

"Of course," he answered. "Barring any medical disasters, they can stay for the whole service—they don't have to rush back at 10:30. I can spare them. How many people are you up to?"

"Greene and Shapiro make six—so I've got four more to go." She paused, giving both men what Spock would call an arch look. "I know you'll both be there early. I don't suppose you two would like to convert real quick? Then I'd have eight."

McCoy grinned again, but he shook his head. "Tempting, but no thanks."

Spock, however, was narrowing his eyes at Rand. "Yeoman, you must know it would be impossible for Dr. McCoy to convert so quickly—furthermore, you must know that it is inappropriate to proselytize within Starfleet."

The doctor rolled his eyes heavenward at that, as if seeking forbearance. Yeoman Rand, Spock noted, looked thoroughly nonplussed.

"I was just teasing, Mr. Spock," she assured him.

"Don't you ever recognize a joke when you hear one?" McCoy asked with an exasperated smile.

"I was merely pointing out the inconsistencies of her question, Doctor."

Rand gave him a tentative smile of her own. "I apologize for the misunderstanding, Mr. Spock," she said as she rose to her feet. "And thank you, Dr. McCoy! I really appreciate this."

With that, she took her leave. Spock watched her go and then turned back to McCoy. The doctor, he discovered, was shaking his head at him.

"What am I going to do with you, Spock?" he asked.

Spock shrugged in response. "It did not occur to me that Yeoman Rand would joke about trying to convert you."

McCoy swiveled in his chair so that he was facing Spock and narrowed his eyes at him. "Or you," he pointed out. "She was talking to both of us."

"It would not be possible for Yeoman Rand to convert me to Judaism, Doctor, because—"

"Let me guess," McCoy interrupted. "Because no human religion could possibly compete with your Vulcan logic?"

Spock considered that. "That's quite likely. However, a conversion to Judaism on my part would also be redundant."

McCoy blinked. "What do you mean?"

"As I understand the matter, I am already a Jew according to Jewish law."

The doctor stared blankly at that. "How—is your mother a Jew?"

"Strictly speaking, yes, although she does not practice the religion."

McCoy frowned. "Then—then you'd count toward Rand's minyan, wouldn't you?"

"I believe so, yes," Spock confirmed.

"Why didn't you tell her that?" the doctor demanded. "We'll be there early and you know she's counting heads."

"I do not wish to be counted."

"Why not?"

"It is not my religion, Doctor. I see no reason to identify with it."

McCoy cocked his head at him. "Is that why you've kept this a secret?"

"I have not kept this secret," Spock corrected him. "No one aboard ship has ever asked me."

McCoy seemed to think that over. At length he managed a wry grin. "That's fair, I suppose."

He fell silent at that, but Spock could see that he was still troubled. Spock didn't understand what was troubling him, however. He knew for a fact that McCoy was not, himself, religious. Why should it offend him if Spock chose not to identify with a terran religion that had no significance to him?

"Why are you troubled, Doctor?"

McCoy took his time about answering. "I'm not troubled—not exactly. I was just wondering…well, why are you hostile to so much of your earth heritage?"

Spock cocked his head at that. "I am not hostile to my earth heritage. My earth heritage simply does not affect me. I choose to identify as a Vulcan."

That answer did not seem to satisfy McCoy. Spock inhaled deeply and confronted him. "Surely, Doctor, you do not wish me to adopt Judaism as my religion? You are not yourself a Jew, nor, to the best of my knowledge, do you even practice the religion of your birth."

"That's true," McCoy acknowledged. "It's been years since I've been to church, excepting weddings and such. And you're right—since I'm not a religious man, it'd be mighty inconvenient for me if you suddenly found God. It's just that…"

He paused and shrugged. "I may not go to church—and neither did my parents much, for that matter. But that was still the religion of my grandparents and their parents and their parents. So it has some kind of value to me, even if I only admit it at Christmas time. It just seems to me that your human heritage—including Judaism and whatever other beliefs your Mom's family had—ought to matter to you."

"But they do not, Doctor," Spock insisted. "I do not deny my human heritage—but neither do I seek to embrace it. I'm afraid you will have to accept me as a Vulcan."

McCoy's blue eyes flashed at that, but to Spock's surprise the doctor did not argue. In fact, he shrugged instead.

"Well, that's your right," he said. Then he stood up and placed a hand on Spock's shoulder. "I've got some lab work to do. I'll pick you up at your cabin later on and we'll go out for dinner—say 19:00?"

Spock nodded. "That is satisfactory."

McCoy nodded and strode off, heading for the labs. Spock remained seated, puzzling over the doctor's reaction.

Spock should be pleased; McCoy had not criticized his choices. He had merely asked questions and expressed his opinion. He had not argued with Spock and he had not lost his temper. He was, perhaps, too sentimental when it came to religious backgrounds—both his own and Spock's—but on the whole the doctor had behaved quite rationally.

So why did his reaction still trouble Spock? Perhaps because McCoy had left so much unsaid—he clearly had not spoken his peace.

Spock sighed. McCoy had not given in, he realized. He would bring up Spock's human heritage again—he was just waiting for a more advantageous moment. McCoy would always harp on his human side; he would never allow Spock to forget that half of himself.

Spock almost permitted himself a thin smiled at that thought. He suspected that his mother—despite her immersion in Vulcan culture—would be quite pleased with the good doctor.

As if in response to that thought, the screen of the sickbay computer flashed. Spock had set it to alert him in case of a response from his mother. Apparently that response had arrived. Spock ordered the computer to convey it to him.

Amanda's face appeared on the screen, smiling warmly at her son as the recorded message began.

"Spock," she said, after greeting him in Vulcan, "it will not be an easy matter to break your betrothal. Please consider this carefully—T'Pring is from an honored family and your father believes she will prove an excellent match for you."

She paused. "But I suspect that you've already made up your mind. Can you to take leave on Vulcan soon? If this can be handled at all, you must be present. Please let me know when I can expect you."

She concluded the brief message in Vulcan. Spock frowned—his mother had offered no detailed plan; surely that was not a good sign. However, he would request the leave. He would speak to Kirk at the earliest opportunity.

LINK TO PART TWENTY-THREE