Clip of the Day~The Raven

A treat for Hallowe'en: Christopher Walken narrating Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven. Thanks, Joe, for pointing this one out!

Clip of the Day--Taken Out of Context...

Okay, this is one of those scenes that deserves to be taken out of context! Prepare yourself for an intimate look at Picard and Q:

Cyber Mourning

While I was visiting my brother this weekend, we learned that a World of Warcraft pal and fellow guild member unexepectedly passed away. How do you react to that? We didn't know what to do, so we posted condolences on our guild site while trying to get over the shock.

I know some guildees in real life, but I didn't know 'Fort' outside the game. Yet I know his voice from chatting over Venti; I know what it was like to raid with him and hang out with him. I know what a great guy he was and how generous he was...all without having met him face to face.

I didn't know much about him in real life. I've found out from his obituaries that he was a beloved teacher and that his school was hit hard by his death. Heck, I must have known that he was a teacher--surely it came up at some point.

I don't know exactly how to mourn in cyberspace...but I do know how terribly we'll all miss Fort. I suppose, in the end, we didn't have to meet him face to face to understand what a dear man he was.

Clip of the Day~Is there such a thing as too gay?

Lol--this is a priceless bit from Ugly Betty...

Mid-term Headache

Well, I got A's on two out of my three midterms, but I may have just failed the last one. Ever have one of those tests where nothing on it is what you anticipated or studied for?

Wait--that wasn't entirely the case. I believe I did well on one section, but none of the essays were what I expected. Worse, I'm dealing with a professor who seems to dislike my writing style. (Ok, I'm going to be arrogant enough to throw this in: how is that possible? My other profs love my writing style. How can this one prof be immune to my grooviness?)

I'm giving myself a pep talk at the moment, assuring myself that the world doesn't come crashing to a halt even if I fail this damn course. I haven't quite convinced myself yet, but I'm getting there.

Meanwhile, I'm going to throw myself into my writing to get the agony out of my system...

~Rose

Picture of the Day~Christian Bale as John Connor

I had to look twice, but here's CB as John Connor in the upcoming TERMINATOR-SALVATION:

These Blue Eyes

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction, Star Trek (Spock-McCoy)

Rating: G

Summary: This drabble (exactly 100 words!) takes place after STAR TREK III: THE SEARCH FOR SPOCK. Spock may not quite recall McCoy yet, but he remembers the good doctor's eyes...

~

My memories may be fragmented, but I know these blue eyes. I know how they will sharpen to confront a medical conundrum. I know how they will brim with laughter over some incomprehensible human joke. I know how they will flash when offended by ‘cold’ logic.

Their owner carried my katra. I’ve been told that I did not explain this burden to him; that I did not give him a choice. And yet there is no reprimand in these eyes: there is only a wry humor and a warmth that I cannot fathom.

But he is not affronted. He…understands.

~The End~

Clip of the Day~Classic Bones & Spock

Hehe--great advertisement for classic Star Trek episodes:

STAR TREK XI~New Pics!

Great pics here (I swiped them from TrekCore)--but not a single slash shot of Spock & McCoy! Sigh...Still, I like this one of the big three on the bridge. Urban's got McCoy's thoughtful look down:

This one below is a nice shot of the cast--but where's Spock?

Ah, Spock was otherwise occupied, I see:

Here's Kirk in trouble, perhaps:

And this seems to be the bad guy:

And a ship:

And the same ship, apparently, in distress:

And that's all for now...sigh. Maybe the Spock-McCoy slash pics will be in the next batch.

NaNoWriMo Is Coming!

Arrrgh--NaNoWrimo madness is going to begin on November 1st. Yup, it's National Novel Writing Month time. That's when you somehow write a 50,000 word story over the course of one month.

Confession: I've never actually completed NaNoWriMo. But...that's ok. The month of writing with wild abandon has always given me great story ideas.

But, somehow, between now and November 1st, I have to finish up a bunch of fanfics so I can start writing a new story with a clear conscience. Yeesh...if only I didn't have to work for a living. It would be much easier to write without all those hours going to my job =P

Further Study Needed

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: PG

Summary: Spock finds an intriguing new human to study…This is a slashy friendship-fic.

~

"Hey there," said a friendly voice.

Spock glanced up at the blue-eyed human who had just sauntered over to his table. The man was smiling affably as he set down a pint glass full of dark beer.

“You present the appearance of a man with a problem,” the stranger continued.

The man seemed genuinely concerned. He did not appear to have another agenda, so Spock answered his question. “The humans in this bar seem intent on—on making inappropriate advances towards me.”

The stranger cocked his head at that. "I see. So, you, ah, have your pick of partners. That doesn’t sound like a problem to me. But I take it you don’t want the attention?”

Spock struggled to process the human's question. True, he was in a popular bar where such overtures were, apparently, expected. He had already noticed several couples meeting for the first time, but nonetheless leaving together. But he had chosen an unobtrusive corner where he could sit quietly and merely observe the social interactions of the human patrons—he wished, after all, to maintain a comfortable distance.

Why was it then that so many humans, both male and female, insisted on (as one particularly blunt woman had put it) ‘trying their luck on him?’

The blue-eyed man grinned at Spock's hesitation. "It's a yes or no question," he said encouragingly.

He spoke with an American accent, Spock noted—more specifically, a Southern drawl. He was not in uniform, but that did not mean that he was a civilian. Given the proximity of this establishment to the Starfleet base, its popularity and the slim civilian population in the area, there was a 61.4% chance that this man was in the service.

The man was still smiling at him, Spock realized, with a questioning look in his eyes.

"You are correct,” Spock managed. “I did not come here to engage in human mating rituals. Therefore I do not wish the attention.”

The human's grin only deepened. "Then you chose the wrong bar, my friend. But don’t worry; as long as you appear to be absorbed in a conversation with me, no other human will come onto you.”

“Are you ‘coming onto me?’” Spock asked, suddenly suspicious.

“If I were, I’d be more direct about it,” the human promised as he helped himself to the seat opposite him. “Instead of asking if you had a problem, I’d have asked you if you wanted to flirt.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the man's audacity. He had not, after all, invited the stranger to sit down. Still, Spock found that he did not wish to repulse him. On the contrary, he was intrigued. This might prove to be an invaluable opportunity to learn more about human rituals.

“You would have asked me if I wished to flirt?” he repeated.

The stranger nodded as he drank from his beer. “Yes,” he answered, setting the pint glass down again. “It’s a surprisingly effective line. You look the object of your interest straight in the eye, smile and say, ‘Hi. Would you like to flirt?’ Most of the women I’ve tried it on found it charming—and it saved a hell of a lot of time.”

"Had I been the object of your interest, how would you have responded if I had answered in the affirmative?" Spock inquired, his curiosity piqued.

The man took another swallow from his beer. "If you'd said yes to wanting to flirt? Well, I'd have flashed you this very sexy grin"—he paused to demonstrate—"and then I would have said, 'Great. You first.'"

Spock blinked. The stranger was not classically handsome, but his ‘sexy grin’ was surprisingly compelling.

"And then you would have said how much you like blue eyes on a human," the man continued.

Spock wasn’t certain, but he thought he detected a teasing quality to the man's voice. "But that is illogical," he objected. "Why should I be partial to one eye color?"

"Oh, it wouldn't have to be true," the stranger assured him, setting down his glass again. "First of all, I'd probably buy it. And even if I didn't, I'd like you better for lying to me about my looks."

"But that is—"

"Illogical?" the stranger supplied.

"Yes."

His grin grew even deeper. "So it's true about Vulcans and logic, I see. Well, yeah—you're right. But humans aren't very logical when it comes to their appearance."

He paused for another sip of his beer. "Now," he continued, "would you like to pretend to answer yes to my hypothetical question about flirting? It sounds like you need the practice."

Spock felt a faint blush creep into his cheeks. "It is unnecessary to practice a skill that I never intend to use."

"How do you know you'll never use it?" the stranger countered. "Even Vulcans can't predict the future, can they? So you never can tell just what skills will come in handy."

Spock frowned. He could not deny the logic of that statement. "That is true," he owned. “But I cannot lie merely to apply a compliment.”

“So you don’t care for my blue eyes?”

He was definitely teasing this time, Spock noted. “I said no such thing,” he retorted. “I will admit that—that the color of your eyes seems to suit you. However, I am indifferent to such physical characteristics.”

The stranger’s eyes danced at that—apparently he found this situation quite amusing. “Well, in that case,” he said, “you’d skip telling me how much you like my eyes and ask me about myself instead. Here, I’ll go first to give you an idea. So tell me about yourself.”

“That is not a specific question.”

“Fine,” the human said. “So what’s your name? What do you do? I know by your uniform that you’re a science or medical officer in Starfleet—and that in itself is unusual for a Vulcan. Serving in Starfleet, I mean. Now do you serve on a ship or at the base? Are you stationed here or just on leave?”

Spock cocked his head at the man. “Why would asking for such information be construed as flirting? Is it not common for any newly-met humans to ask such questions, even if there is no intention to bed each other?”

The human seemed to choke back a laugh at that. “First of all, flirting doesn’t always lead to sex. I wish to hell it did—but no such luck. Of course, in this bar it probably does more often than not,” he added with a wry smile.

“Second of all,” the stranger continued, “everything depends on how you ask the questions—and how you respond. You have to be encouraging either way. And you have to make it clear that you’re interested in what the object of your flirtation has to say.”

He paused and gave Spock a thoughtful look. “I must admit that you’ve got that last part down. You appear to be hanging on my every word, sir. That’ll take you far. Now just look equally interested as you answer my questions.”

Spock took a deep breath as he formulated his answer. “I am called Mr. Spock,” he said at length. “I am both first officer and science officer aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. We are here to provide our crew with shore leave and to rendezvous with our new chief medical officer.”

The blue eyes widened at that. For a long moment, the stranger didn’t say anything. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Indeed?” he asked at last. “So tell me, Mr. Spock, how does a Vulcan end up in Starfleet—and aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, no less? I thought Vulcans preferred to stick tight with other Vulcans.”

Spock stiffened. “Surely the scientific opportunities provided by the Enterprise are explanation enough? But I find that I am also a corrective presence aboard a ship full of irrational humans.”

The stranger’s eyebrows shot up at that—but then he favored Spock with another slow smile. “Touché,” he said. “I deserved that, didn’t I? But I can’t help thinking that those irrational humans must occasionally act as a corrective to your logic.”

“Certainly not,” Spock insisted. “Logic requires no corrective.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “Well, perhaps you’ll meet a human one day who will convince you otherwise.”

“The odds of that happening are quite low.”

The stranger took another swallow of his beer. “Do you know something? I think I’ll take on that mission myself. I’d like to make you see that logic sometimes does need correcting.”

Now Spock’s eyebrows shot up. “You seem intelligent enough to realize that you won’t change my mind on this subject over the course of one conversation. Therefore, to complete your mission, you must be planning on seeing me again.”

The stranger grinned. “That, Mr. Spock, is inevitable. I suspect we’ll be working rather closely together for the next—oh, almost five years.”

Spock stared at him. “Then you must be—”

The stranger held out his hand. “Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, new chief medical officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise, at your service.”

“I see,” Spock managed, shaking the doctor’s hand as briefly as possible. He had learned to adapt himself somewhat to this human greeting, however distasteful he found such unnecessary contact. “Allow me to assure you, Doctor, that your personal mission is not likely to prove a success.”

“We’ll see about that,” McCoy responded amiably. “Meanwhile, though, it’s your turn. Ask me about myself.”

“With what object? You have just introduced yourself—I know who you are, what you do and where you will be serving.”

McCoy flashed him a patient smile this time. “So ask me where I’m from. And keep looking interested.”

But Spock shook his head. “While it would no doubt prove interesting to learn more about your origins, it would be inappropriate to do so under the guise of flirting. I appreciate the information you’ve shared, but given that we are both serving aboard the same ship, the lesson must cease.”

“Why would it be inappropriate?” the doctor asked, looking genuinely surprised. “No offense, Spock, but you need the practice. Besides, this flirting isn’t real. And even if it was—well, do you mean to tell me that there are no shipboard romances aboard a vessel the size of the Enterprise?”

“Regrettably, they do exist,” Spock assured him. “But I would not forgive such a human weakness in myself—nor even the appearance of it.”

The doctor laughed. “Careful—don’t let those pointy ears of yours go to your head. I’ve never heard it said that Vulcans have achieved perfection.”

Spock gave him a sharp look at the reference to ‘pointy ears’—but that gentle teasing in the doctor’s voice made it impossible to take offense. “I have not said so either, Doctor. However, unlike humans, Vulcans control the emotions that lead to unsuitable pairings.”

“Is that so?” McCoy asked, his eyes dancing again. “Well, I’ll resist the urge to prove you wrong on that score too—I can only handle one life mission at a time.”

He paused and stood up. “Well, where to now? I still have a few hours of freedom left before I have to report to Jim—uh, to Kirk, that is. There’s a pub not far from here with traditional Irish music. Shall we take a look?”

Spock raised his eyebrow again. He had not missed the fact that McCoy had casually referred to their captain as ‘Jim.’ So he and Jim were likely friends—that explained why Jim had gone to so much trouble to ensure that one Dr. Leonard H. McCoy became the new chief medical officer.

Fortunately, Spock knew that Jim would not have pulled strings to have McCoy brought aboard if the doctor was not fully qualified. For Jim, the needs of the Enterprise always came first—even before friendships.

Meanwhile, Spock was unsure how to react to the doctor’s invitation. McCoy seemed to take it for granted that they should spend the next several hours together—despite the fact that they had only just met. Apparently, the doctor already considered the Vulcan both a shipmate and a friend.

“Was that a yes?” McCoy prompted, cocking his head at Spock. “Come on, I’ve got to start my campaign to teach you the limitations of logic.”

Spock allowed the barest trace of a smile to cross his lips. “I believe the time I spend with you this evening, Doctor, will prove invaluable in furthering my study of humans. Therefore, to accept is only logical.”

McCoy laughed. “That’s the spirit,” he said. Then he paused to shake his head at Spock. “It’s going to be an interesting five years.”

And that, thought Spock as stood up and pushed in his chair, was one statement on which he and the doctor could agree.

~The End~

Clip of the Day~O'Brien sings The Minstrel Boy

This is my all time favorite scene from STAR TREK: The Next Generation. In The Wounded, O'Brien sings the first verse of a classic Irish folk song (and war song) called The Minstrel Boy (lyrics below):



There is another fine version of this song--more rousing than O'Brien's, if not as emotionally taut--by Danny Quinn:



And Star Trek: Deep Space Nine also made good use of the song:



And now for the lyrics. I'm giving you both verses, even though O'Brien sings only the first:

The Minstrel Boy

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
"Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"

I've also seen a third verse to this song, allegedly added by the Irish regiments fighting for the Union during the American Civil War:

The Minstrel Boy will return we pray
When we hear the news we all will cheer it,
The minstrel boy will return one day,
Torn perhaps in body, not in spirit.
Then may he play on his harp in peace,
In a world such as Heaven intended,
For all the bitterness of man must cease,
And ev'ry battle must be ended.

Yay Me!

Between last night and tonight, I survived two midterms. And I think I did well on each--huzzah!

(Yeah, yeah--I already graduated college, but I'm back for my teaching certificate. I don't want to be a sub forever, lol.)

In celebration, I shall be returning you to your regularly scheduled stories tomorrow...

Picture of the Day~Nice Shot of the Boys

I love this cap from The Empath~these two just seem to fit together, don't they?

Clip of the Day~Sherlock Holmes' Mood Swings

Ohmygosh, this is too funny. A big thank you to Igiveup for pointing it out:




Hehe, allow me to repeat one of the comments on Youtube: Lie back and think of England, Watson! (Although I don't think the good doctor really minded at all...unlike the portraits of Queen Victoria, which seemed quite put out.)

A Useful Tool

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Sherlock Holmes)

Rating: G

Summary: In my first Sherlock Holmes drabble--a regular, 100 word drabble, I'm afraid; not a 221B special!--Watson finds himself scandalized by his friend's ruthlessness...This takes place during The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton.

~

I stared at Holmes, horrified. His ‘engagement’ is but a tool, a means of gathering information. But, contrary to his opinion, that girl is no mere instrument to be used and tossed aside.

I know his character. I’ve seen what lengths he will go to for the sake of justice and decency. Why must he mar that great heart of his with such utter thoughtlessness?

Holmes swears that a rival will cut him out. I pray he is correct, but I cannot help but spare a thought for the poor girl.

She will never know what became of her fiancé.

~The End~

Picture of the Day~A Favorite Shot of Bones

I kinda like Bones out of uniform. Although The Man Trap isn't one of my favorite Star Trek episodes, it does have the virtue of presenting Bones in just the black t-shirt...um, as opposed to the blue uniform shirt over the black t-shirt, that is:

Starlight Issues

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek)

Rating: G

Summary: Kirk and Rand find a quiet moment to chat up some issues, but this time it's not romance...

~

Kirk spotted Janice Rand in Rec Room Six. She was elegantly sprawled in a corner chair with her feet up on a spare. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible to appear so elegant while sprawling, but she seemed to pull it off. On the other hand, he’d seen Uhura manage that too. Maybe it was a gift all women shared—like being able to change their clothes without revealing an inch of skin when they so pleased.

Rand had her eyes shut, but that didn’t stop him from pulling up a chair beside her. She must have heard him, because her eyes fluttered opened. He could tell that she was about to jump to her feet and stand at attention, so he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“At ease, Yeoman,” he said.

She smiled at that. “Yes, sir,” she answered, slouching down even further.

He smiled back. “Are you having a meaningful fast?”

She nodded. “Yeah—but I’m kind of bleary eyed now.”

“I can imagine,” he said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “But shouldn’t you still be at the Yom Kippur services? I thought they went all day.”

“We have a two-hour break right now,” she explained. “And God, I need it. It’s powerful stuff—but these prayers get repetitive after a while. I think we’re trying to wear God into submission.”

Kirk laughed. “Well, it probably works. God’s probably ready to forgive anything by the end of the day—as long as you all shut up about it.”

“That’s the idea,” she said, still grinning. Then she made a face and let out a sigh. “I don’t even know if I believe in God—sometimes I do, but mostly I’m agnostic.”

The captain shrugged. “As I understand Judaism, that’s not uncommon—or even a big deal. You’re supposed to wrestle with God. Besides, it’s more about what you do than what you believe, right?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But you know Lt. Cohen? She really believes. I mean, she has issues with God, but she really does believe. I wish I was more like that.”

She paused and slanted her eyes at him. “Or more like you. I don’t even know what religion you are—I can guess, but I don’t know for sure—but I’ve always suspected that you manage to believe.”

He raised his eyebrows at that, surprised by the insight. But he wasn’t about to give too much away. “Perhaps,” he said with an enigmatic wink. “But if I do—well, suffice to say that I have issues too.”

She rolled her eyes at that statement, but Kirk noticed that she was still smiling.

He grinned back at her as he stood up. “Would you like a blanket?”

“No thank you,” she answered. “If I get too comfortable I’ll be out for the rest of the day.”

He nodded. “All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She muttered something back as she shut her eyes again. Kirk was about to head for the door, but he paused and stared down at her for a moment. Then he shook his head a little as he thought about his own issues. Here he was, captaining a ship full of different religious beliefs, but he had never articulated his own.

And he meant to keep it that way. Whatever religions his family had practiced, whatever he believed or didn’t believe, whatever issues he had with the Divine—well, somehow he could keep it all in perspective out here among the stars.

And, for him, that made a crazy sort of sense. Somehow those stars gave him more answers—and forced him to ask more questions—than any religious service ever could.

And that, he supposed, was part of what kept him out here.

~The End~

A Distant Port, Part Five

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Sherlock Holmes, Star Trek)

Rating: PG-13

Link to Part One

~

I shall not describe the establishments Dr. McCoy and I investigated—not in detail. Suffice to say that they were not the low houses of the West End, but more discreet and more costly. They were equally reprehensible, however, when it came to the age of some of the girls. Quite a few could not have been above fifteen. In fact, they were likely younger.

McCoy raised his eyebrows at that in the very first house—I could see his outraged disapproval. But I shrugged to indicate that such was all too common.

He frowned angrily but said nothing. By the time the madam came to greet us he had managed to hide his anger, taking on the role of an eager customer. He bowed to her and gave her a devilish smile after kissing her hand. I had to bite back a smile of my own—he was bringing all the charm of the American South to bear. And the abbess was by no means immune to it.

In one sense, I found that odd, for I did not think him an excessively handsome man. He had pleasant enough features, of course, and rather extraordinary blue eyes—but I was nonetheless surprised at the fuss the abbess made over him. But charm, I’ll own, is not defined by looks alone.

He seemed equally charmed; I couldn’t help but wonder if he found the woman attractive. I had expected him to be ill-at-ease with her. In fact, I found myself wondering if the madam enticed him, or if he lusted only after males.

That was an odd thought to cross my mind, but I couldn't quite dismiss it. I wanted to know if the good doctor found both men and women attractive. He seemed such a respectable fellow—if he could be attracted to both sexes then perhaps there was nothing so very shocking about such varied tastes.

That thought brought me up short. Why the devil should I care? I had never entertained any thoughts of sodomy; I was not in the least attracted to males. So surely I should be indifferent to this question?

McCoy convinced the madam to speak with us privately. I watched, entranced, as he led the conversation round to Sulu. He pressed good coin into her hand—but to no avail. Unless she was a consummate actress, she had never seen the Oriental man. We were not discouraged, however, as we left. This was only the first on a rather lengthy list of establishments.

It was a cool, drizzling night, but neither of us commented on the weather as I guided the doctor toward the next establishment. McCoy said only that he was relieved to be out of 'all that smoke.' Apparently cigars and pipes were not so common in his age.

His mind soon became otherwise occuppied, however. He was furrowing his brow—no doubt in concern for Mr. Sulu. Meanwhile, I was still doing my utmost to squelch my curiosity.

“I wish we had a better idea of what was going on,” he said, speaking up suddenly. “Does that cold-blooded machine always keep you in the dark?”

That cold blooded machine, I presumed, referred to Holmes—although the description would also have suited Mr. Spock. “Frequently,” I answered.

He grinned as he shook his head at me. “I’d ask why you put up with him, but I’m not one to talk. Spock’s just as closed-mouthed sometimes. And he hates to speculate without enough facts. He considers such guesses illogical.”

I laughed. “That sounds exactly like Holmes. How do you put up with Mr. Spock, Doctor?”

His grin deepened. “Oh, there are compensations,” he assured me. “Besides, I’m so in love with that satanic elf that I’ve gotten used to his idiosyncrasies.”

I had to force myself not to stop cold in the middle of the street. I never imagined that Dr. McCoy would confess such a thing to me—let alone that he would confess it so casually. We did not, after all, have the benefit of a long acquaintance.

McCoy, meanwhile, did not even notice my shock. “Hell,” he continued, “I suppose that damned logic of his is part of what attracted me to him. Was that what attracted you to Holmes?”

This time I did stop cold. I could feel my face growing hot as I blushed at the doctor’s misreading of my circumstances. He thought that Holmes and I...that we were...I shook myself, dismissing a sudden image of Holmes' grey eyes dancing at me.

Holmes, no doubt, would find this situation eminently amusing.

McCoy stopped as well and raised his eyebrows at me. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

The street was not crowded, but I lowered my voice all the same. “Dr. McCoy, I believe you are laboring under a misapprehension. That is—I mean—there is nothing of an...of an amorous nature between myself and Holmes.”

His eyebrows shot up at that as his face turned from a look of shock to a look of disbelief. But he soon schooled his features into some semblance of an apology. “I beg your pardon,” he said, pouring on that charm from the American South again. “I just assumed that—but I shouldn’t have leapt to conclusions.”

I swallowed at that and began walking again. “No apologies are necessary,” I managed. “But why—why did you make such an assumption?”

He shrugged. “I suppose you and Holmes just seem a lot like me and Spock. So I, ah, assumed that your friendship had an erotic element to it.”

I should have changed the subject. At the very least I should have fallen silent. Instead, almost against my will, I found myself pursuing this outrageous topic of conversation. “Is that how it goes?” I asked. “Is it—is it a rather more intense friendship?”

“Sometimes,” he answered. Then he gave me a canny look. “Watson,” he said, “this can’t be a shocking idea to you. I know that folks have to be hush-hush about these things in your era, but still…”

“I’m well aware that sodomy exists, McCoy. But one does not talk about such things!”

He rolled his eyes at that. “Not all homosexual or bisexual men engage in penetration—oh, never mind. Look, if it’s that shocking how do two men who are so inclined ever manage to hook up here?”

“I—I don’t know,” I owned, guessing at the meaning of 'hook-up.'

“Well, never mind—you’re doing a good enough job talking about it now, I suppose. Your face has turned three shades of scarlet, but you’re still able to get the words out.”

“But I am not so inclined,” I point out, trying to stop myself from hissing at him.

He cocked his head at me, undaunted. “Are you sure of that?”

His voice was suprisingly gentle. Nonetheless, I felt my face flush even deeper—in anger this time. “This conversation has gone quite far enough."

He gave me a small smile, apparently caught between amusement and chagrin. “I meant no insult; it’s just hard to imagine that it’s such a taboo subject in this era.”

I swallowed again. “It is not, I take it, a taboo subject in your day?”

“No,” he agreed. “Things have changed. Laws have changed—you don’t have to risk prison merely to be with the person you love. And you can have a legal marriage.”

“Marriage?” I asked, startled into stopping once more.

He nodded as he turned to face me. “I suppose that’s an impossible thought for you—but yes, people of the same sex often marry in my day. Spock and I are married. He refers to us as bonded, of course, but that means the same thing to a Vulcan.” He paused and grinned again. “Well, it entails a bit more than a human marriage—but it’s the same idea.”

I was flabbergasted. “But how can two men be married?” I demanded in a harsh whisper. “You can scarcely raise children together. One of you has not, I presume, taken the other’s name—”

“Actually, I have a Vulcan name now too,” he interrupted. “Not that I can pronounce it—damned crazy language, if you ask me. And we could raise children. Hell, we might someday. We’ll see.”

I stared at him, trying take that in. I couldn’t imagine what to say to the situation he described, but some words seemed to be called for. “Well, I wish you both every happiness, of course,” I managed.

“Why thank you, Doctor,” he said, giving me a wink. Then he linked his arm in mine and we continued walking.

His Southern charm seemed quite effective, so I allowed him to do most of the talking in the next two establishments. Or so I told myself. In truth, I spoke little because my mind was reeling. What must it be like to live in an era wherein two men could openly cohabitate as—well, as husband and husband? And why was I not affronted by that thought? I should be horrified.

But I was not horrified. Despite the outlandish nature of our conversation, McCoy still seemed perfectly respectable. And why should he not regard Mr. Spock as a husband? If both men felt that intensely for each other...

Perhaps I was making too much of the whole subject. Perhaps it was a rather trifling matter, all things considered.

At any event, I forced my thoughts back to the business at hand. McCoy was flirting with yet another abbess. She was an older woman, perhaps as much as fifty, but well preserved. She was dressed in a gown of rich brown silk, but she did not look matronly or subdued. Quite the opposite.

She laughed with the doctor and willingly led us into a private chamber. But her eyebrows shot up when he steered the conversation round to Sulu. She snapped her fan shut and pointed it at McCoy.

“What did you say your name was?” she demanded.

“Leonard McCoy,” he answered.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Dr. McCoy?”

He nodded. “The same, ma’am.”

For a long moment, she simply stared at him. Then she turned her attention to me. “And who is this? He is not—not the one that Sulu calls Spock?”

McCoy and I exchanged glances. Neither of us had missed her use of the present tense.

“No, but he’s a friend,” McCoy assured her. “Is Sulu here?”

She turned back to him and opened her mouth to respond—but then she seemed to waiver. At length, however, she nodded. “Come with me, gentlemen,” she ordered.

And with that she stood up and swept out of the room, leaving us to follow in her wake.

Someday

by J. Rosemary Moss

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

Rating: PG-13

Summary: In this drabble, Kirk bemoans all the squabbling he has to put up with between his first officer and his chief medical officer…

~

They’re bickering again. God, I’d love to tan their hides—but, alas, this isn’t an 18th century frigate. Starfleet won’t give a captain that kind of authority. So I roll my eyes instead and shake my head at the pair of them.

Someday they’ll figure out that they fight like an old married couple. Someday they’ll hear the affection behind all the insults. Someday Bones will admit that he likes those pointed ears. And someday Spock will own that he needs the good doctor to challenge his logic.

And someday they’ll realize that they were made for each other.

Someday.

Clip of the Day~Karl Urban Interview

Here's a brief interview with Karl Urban about his upcoming role as Dr. McCoy in the new Star Trek film:

Fractured Images

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: R

Summary: McCoy has a bone to pick with both our Spock and the Spock from the Mirror Universe...In theory, this one-shot can stand alone, but it's also a companion piece to Reflective Irony, Mirrored Courage, A Subtle Bond, A Lion's Share of Courage and The Horned Gate.

~

I slammed into my cabin and hurled myself onto my bunk. I landed on my back, so I clenched my fists, crossed my arms against my chest and glared up at the ceiling. God damned, pointy eared, tyrannical bastards—both of them! My Spock and the Spock from that hellish mirror universe, I mean. They were both determined to infuriate me. As far as I could tell, that was the sole purpose of their lives.

I kept glaring at the ceiling. That didn’t make me feel any better. Of course, I didn’t want to feel better. If anything, I wanted to feed my anger. Wallowing in annoyance sounded like a damn good idea too.

The door to my cabin opened. No signal, no warning—it had to be either Spock or Jim. I turned my head at the intruder. It was Spock. Good. Now I just needed something to throw at him.

Spock stiffened as my hand found an old-fashioned medical book on the shelf by my bunk. Then he ducked as I sent it sailing across the room in the general direction of his head. Not that he should have bothered—my aim was way off.

The Vulcan frowned at the book, which had landed behind him and several paces to his right. “It is as well that you chose to practice medicine, Doctor; I do not believe you would have had much of a career in baseball.”

All right—he gets a few points for knowing about a good-old terran sport. To reward him for that, I softened my glare. “What do you want, Spock?” I demanded.

He pulled up a chair next to my bunk. “Will you tell me what is on your mind, Doctor?”

“Sure,” I answered. “I’m trying to decide if I’m angrier at you or at your counterpart. Damned hard choice.”

Spock narrowed his eyes at me. “How much contact have you had with my counterpart?”

“Much less than usual,” I retorted. “He’s blocking me at the moment. I can still sense him, but it’s as if there’s a wall between us.”

That was the truth. There was a bond between me and that other Spock that, as I understand it, was the result of the mind meld he forced on me. Well, not exactly forced. That’s what I keep trying to explain to my Spock and Jim. I wouldn’t take back a second of that meld. And I’m glad this link or bond or whatever it is exists—even though it was muffled right now.

Spock, of course, looked relieved to learn that his counterpart was blocking me. He doesn’t approve of this bond. In fact, he keeps coming up with more reasons that I should ignore it. That’s his new hobby.

I sighed and rolled over onto my side, facing Spock and propping myself up with my elbow. “And you’re blocking me from any research files concerning Vulcan mind melds. In short, you’re censoring what I read.”

“I have restricted those files from everyone except the captain,” Spock corrected.

“But the restriction was aimed at me—I’m the only one who wanted the damn things!”

“That is true, Doctor,” he owned, keeping his voice maddeningly calm. “I do not wish you to use the materials—however vague and speculative they may be—in an attempt to deepen your bond with my counterpart. It is unlikely that such an attempt on your part would succeed, but you might harm yourself in the effort.”

He wouldn't have those files restricted for long—and he knew that. After all, I could claim that they were medically necessary in helping me analyze Spock’s own mental health. He’d have to give them up sooner or later. Nonetheless, I didn’t remind him of that. I decided on a different tack.

“Then help me yourself,” I said. “You know how these bonds work.”

“I have offered to help you, Doctor,” he pointed out. “I am willing to teach you how to shield your thoughts from my counterpart.”

Somehow I conquered the urge to strangle the green-blooded hobgoblin. “I’m not worried about shielding my thoughts! I want—look, as far as I know, he’s not prying. But he can sense when I’m upset or worried or in pain. And sometimes he can make it so that…well, it’s as if we’re having a conversation. But it’s always on his terms.”

I paused, groping for words. “I can sense him. I mean, I can feel his presence and grasp the gist of his thoughts—but that’s all. I can’t initiate these conversations between us.”

“And that angers you?”

“It frustrates the hell out of me,” I said. “And it’s even worse when he blocks me like this. Or shields his thoughts from me or whatever the hell it is he’s doing.”

“This has happened before?” Spock asked, raising one eyebrow at me.

I nodded. “He does this periodically—for one of two reasons, I suppose.”

“Which are?”

I decided to start with the innocuous reason. “One, he’s sleeping with someone else and he thinks I’d be jealous.”

“You would not be jealous if he has taken another partner?” Spock asked, cocking his head at me.

I shook my head. “No. How could I be? We’ve never slept together. We’ve never even kissed. We both wanted each other after that mind-meld—but there was no time to act on that. I don’t have any claim on him.”

“And you do not believe he has any claim on you?” Spock pressed.

I shook my head again. “I married Natira, didn’t I?”

Spock gave me a wry look. “You divorced rather quickly.”

I smiled a little at that. “Yeah, in record time,” I admitted. “But the point is that I wouldn’t expect your counterpart to forsake all others. He’s not married to me.”

Spock furrowed his brow at that, but he did not comment. “What is the second reason?” he asked instead.

I swallowed before answering. I didn’t like to think about the second reason. “He’s up to something that he knows I won’t approve of. He’s fighting the Empire from within, Spock. And in the name of that fight—well, let’s just say that he thinks the ends justify the means. He’s not going to shrink from much. Besides, he still has to play his part and pretend to go along with the Empire’s orders. He tries to sabotage the worst of those orders but…” I let my voice trail off.

Spock didn’t say anything. After a full minute of silence I rolled my eyes at him.

“Go ahead, Spock,” I told him. “Remind me what a ruthless bastard your counterpart is. Ask me why I want to encourage the bond between us. Tell me that I must have lost my mind.”

“Are you in love with him?” Spock asked instead.

That caught me off guard—Spock almost never asks me about my emotions. Usually he’s too busy complaining about them. “I’m in love with you, you overgrown elf. You know that.”

“That would not preclude you from also falling for my counterpart,” he pointed out. “Your irrational feelings for me might, in fact, ‘bleed over’ to him.”

I grinned depsite myself. “They might at that,” I agreed. “In truth, Spock, I don’t know if I’m in love with him. I know I want him; I know I care for him—hell, I suppose I do love him a bit. He’s growing on me. But that’s not the same thing.”

Unless I was imagining things, Spock took a deep but subtle breath before he spoke up again. “Doctor, if I asked you to ignore this bond, because of your irrational feelings for me, would you?”

I stared at him. “You’re asking me to give up your counterpart out of love for you?”

He looked embarrassed by my rephrasing of his question, but he nodded regardless. “Yes.”

I sat up and reached out to touch his arm. “Are you—have you changed your mind about me?”

“No,” he answered, meeting my gaze and holding it. “I am sorry, Leonard. I cannot return your feelings.”

“Cannot or will not?” I asked, tightening my grip on him.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he reached out with his free hand to clasp my other wrist. “Both,” he answered. “I cannot become involved with you without sacrificing my commitment to Vulcan philosophy. And therefore I will not.”

I swore under my breath as I released him. “Spock, what the hell does your Vulcan philosophy have to do with this? Look, I give you a hard time about your logic because—well, because you need someone to challenge you on it. But I’m not asking you to renounce Surak.”

He tightened his grip on my wrist. He didn’t realize it, but he was holding me exactly the same way that his counterpart had before the mind-meld. His grip wasn’t as tight—he wasn’t trying to convince me that he was willing to break my wrist, after all—but the similarity was still eerie. Now all Spock needed was a beard…

But I didn’t complain. This was my Spock. I knew he’d never harm me—and that was more than I could say for his counterpart. Damn tight grip, though. Spock didn’t know his own strength.

“Doctor,” he said, managing to keep his voice even, “I would—I would become all too human if we were lovers. I have tried to explain that before.”

“Your counterpart doesn’t feel that way,” I shot back. “He’s not worried that this bond between us will destroy his commitment to Vulcan logic.”

Spock let go of my arm and stood up. “I would not rely too heavily on his grasp of Surak’s philosophy, Doctor,” he told me, his voice dripping with venom. “The principles of respecting and, whenever possible, preserving life seem to have eluded him.”

“That’s not fair, damn it!” I began.

But for once, Spock wasn’t interested in continuing the argument. He slammed out of my cabin—the same way I had slammed into it earlier.

I stared in his wake. I had no idea that I had gotten that far under his skin. And as I thought that over I almost smiled. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? Didn’t that mean there was hope for us? But who the hell knew with Spock? Maybe he’d take this as an excuse never to speak with me again—except in a professional capacity. God damn it.

But I shouldn’t have worried. Not five minutes later my door opened again and Spock walked back inside.

“I apologize for my outburst,” he said, his voice stiff and formal.

“I’m sorry too,” I returned, smiling at him and, hopefully, enticing him with my baby-blues. “I shouldn’t have compared you to him. Cry friends?”

I watched him visibly relax at that as he nodded. He walked back to the chair he had abandoned and sat down again. Then he reached out and took my hand in his. I started to get my hopes up—but I should have known better.

“Leonard,” he began, “am I to understand that you will not give up my counterpart?”

I sighed. “No, I’m not going to ignore this bond. He’s an aspect of you, Spock. I don’t want him out of my life. And I’m not going to turn my back on him.”

To my surprise, he accepted that. “Then it is all the more imperative that you learn to shield your thoughts from him—for his sake.”

“What do you mean?”

Spock’s eyes bored into mine. Not that I minded—hell, I wanted to lose myself in those obsidian eyes of his.

“You said that he can sense when you are in pain,” Spock said at length. “That is not quite how a bond works. He feels what you feel, Doctor. While you were recovering from the xenopolycythemia, he experienced your pain and discomfort for himself. No doubt he shielded himself to some extent—but he would have experienced the full weight of your pain first. You can protect him from that in the future.”

I swallowed at that. “If that’s the case,” I said slowly, “then couldn’t I feel his pain?”

Spock nodded. “Unless he has shielded himself from you.”

I shut my eyes. “So that’s another reason for him to set up this wall between us. He’s hurting.”

“Yes.”

I opened my eyes again and took a deep breath. “All right, Spock. You win. Teach me how to shield my thoughts.”

~

“Bones?”

That was Spock’s voice—and it was right next to my ear. But it wasn’t my Spock. He never calls me ‘Bones.’ But the other Spock does. He picked up my nickname from the mind-meld and he’s been using it ever since. It’s his way of distinguishing me from my counterpart.

I moaned softly as I felt him wrap his arms around me and slide into the bunk beside me. My God, his body was hot. Not that I was complaining, mind.

“Bones,” he repeated, nuzzling against my neck.

I knew I was dreaming. These interactions only came in dreams. But they were the product of the bond between us—not my imagination. I was sure of that.

“Stop,” I told him. I was still angry at the pointy-eared bastard. I had to remember that.

“You object?” he asked, his voice full of surprise.

I almost grinned at that. Of course he wouldn’t understand why I was upset. It seemed natural to him to call all the shots.

I opened my eyes and rolled over to face him, beard and all. Like me, he was stripped down to his blacks. That made him look damn sexy.

“Why have you been shutting me out for the past week?” I demanded. “Why the wall between us?”

He raised his eyebrows at that, somehow managing to look both amused and affronted at the same time. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone taking him to task.

“Well?” I wasn’t letting him off the hook.

He propped himself up on his elbow and cocked his head at me. “That was for your own protection, Doctor,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I survived an assassination attempt. I did not wish you to share the pain of my recovery.”

So my Spock had been correct. I caught my breath at this fresh proof of just how precarious life is in that other universe. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

“It is likely that the less you know, Doctor, the better off you are.” His voice was maddeningly even—just like my Spock’s. How do Vulcan’s manage that?

“What happened to you?” I asked, softening my voice as I reached out to touch his arm. “Were you knifed?”

He shook his head. “It was poison. Fortunately the assassin was unskilled. The dosage was insufficient.”

“What sort of pois—” I began, but he shut me up with a kiss.

It was electrifying. My whole body came alive as I tasted his lips and then opened my mouth to him. I felt my groin hardening until I was almost in pain.

God, this was just how I’d imagined it. I’d been wandering how far we could take these dreams—now it seemed that I was about to have my answer. But I pulled myself together and pushed him away. I wasn’t going to let him seduce his way out of this.

“I don’t appreciate being shut out,” I told him. “Find some way to tell me what’s going on—don’t leave me worrying about what’s happened to you on that hell ship.”

“You did not see fit to warn me of your hasty marriage or divorce,” he pointed out.

I rolled my eyes at him. “That marriage was before—before I understood that we could interact like this. You kept that little fact to yourself.”

He sighed. “That is true,” he owned. “I was—I was unsure of the wisdom of seeking you out this way, Doctor.”

I cocked my head at him. “What made you decide that it was wise?” I asked.

“I decided no such thing,” he informed me. “On the contrary, I believe this is most imprudent.”

I almost screamed in frustration. “Then why the devil are you here? And why did you contact me in the first place?”

He looked surprised by my reaction. “I contacted you initially because I sensed your pain and distress while you were recovering from the disease that killed your counterpart. I wanted to assure myself of your safety. And I am here now because you are more important to me than acting wisely.”

I stared at him for a long moment, but then I treated him to a slow smile. “That’s not very logical of you.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, it is most logical. I weighed my options carefully and decided that the time we have together is more valuable than the questionable benefits of ignoring our bond.”

“So…you don’t think I’m a danger to your Vulcan logic?”

He shook his head as he reached out to stroke my hair. “No, I do not. It is your excessive morals that concern me, Bones, not your occasional irrationality.”

“Occasional?” I asked, grinning outright this time. “My Spock thinks I’m irrational all the time.”

“You no doubt exaggerate your irrational tendencies merely to annoy him,” he pointed out. “You can be quite childish in that respect, Bones.”

Ouch. Unfortunately, he was right. All right, maybe I’d have to go a little easier on my Spock. But just a little.

“But you do not understand the things I must do to end the tyranny of the Empire,” he continued. “That is what most worries me.”

“That’s the real reason you block me out from time to time, isn’t it?” I asked. “Yes, I know you were protecting me from your pain—but you also didn’t want me to sense what you did to the would-be assassin.”

“That is correct, Doctor. However, I did not torture the man, because I knew you would not approve. So I granted him a painless death instead.”

“Tal-Shaya?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at my knowledge of an ancient Vulcan form of execution. Although in his universe it’s probably not a thing of the past.

“Precisely,” he said.

I shivered a little and looked away. He could kill so damn easily. Not that I quite blamed him under these circumstances, but still…What the hell was I supposed to make of this man? He was honorable, he was doing his damnedest to bring the Empire down—but I didn’t want to think of half the things he was doing to achieve that goal.

He was still stroking my hair. I swallowed, knowing that I wasn't going to push him away again because of our moral differences. I wasn't even sure I had a right to judge him.

“What do you want to happen now, Bones?” he asked. His voice was soft, I noticed—as were his eyes. But the question itself contained no emotion and no pleading. Everything was up to me.

I pushed all my worries aside as I leaned into him and kissed him—a slow, lingering kiss. “I want to be inside you,” I whispered as we broke apart.

He nodded; he wanted it too. We didn’t speak another word. We were too frantic to join ourselves together. We needed to be one.

We were kissing, we were intwined, we were tugging off each other's clothes...and then he was spooning his back against me. Suddenly I couldn’t tell where my thoughts left off and his began. I felt the heat of his skin and the coolness of my own. I felt myself pumping inside him, throbbing, desperately making us into one flesh—and I felt him wanting me deeper, wanting me to explode.

Oh God! This was going to make me crazy—I was both of us. He was penetrating me just as much as I was penetrating him. How the hell would we ever separate again? I was going to lose myself to him…

I must have climaxed, but I don’t remember it. I just remember being overwhelmed by whatever the hell was happening between us. I started choking on tears and then sobbing out of control.

He turned and wrapped his arms around me and we held each other…but I was still experiencing both of our feelings at once. I could feel him holding me—but I could also feel how he felt with my arms around him.

And then that double-knowledge was gone. I could still sense him and the gist of his thoughts, but I wasn’t inside his skin. And that was ok with me, I told myself as I tried to steady my breaths. I wasn’t ready to lose myself that way.

“I am sorry, Doctor,” he whispered. “It would seem that some shielding, at least, is necessary—neither of us is prepared…”

He let his voice trail off, but it didn’t matter. I just nodded numbly. I was exhausted and spent and flat and I had no more emotions to feed into us. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest, allowing him to stroke my hair and my back.

A long while had passed by the time I opened my eyes again. I was awake now, I realized—this wasn’t a dream any more. But that didn’t make sense. I was still leaning against him. He still had his arms around me.

And then it dawned on me. I caught my breath as I broke apart from him. It was my Spock that was holding me, not the Spock from the mirror universe. We were in his cabin—on his bunk.

We were both dressed. I noticed that right away. We weren’t wearing our uniform shirts, but we still had our blacks on. I let out a sigh of relief. At least I hadn’t stripped myself naked in front of him.

“What the hell am I doing in here?” I demanded.

“You were here for lessons on shielding your thoughts from my counterpart,” Spock answered calmly. “But judging by your dream, the lessons have yet to sink in.”

I managed a small smile at that. “Yeah—it’s this damn thick skull of mine. Don’t worry, Spock. I’ll get the hang of it eventually. How’d I end up in your bunk?”

“You fell asleep during the meditation. I moved you here to make you more comfortable.”

I nodded. “Thank you. And sorry—Jesus Christ, I was sobbing in your arms, wasn’t I? God, Spock, I don’t know what to say. I—I apologize.”

He hesitated before answering. “You have no need to apologize, Doctor,” he assured me. “The bond that you share with my counterpart—it is not, as I understand it, an easy thing to control. You will both need to learn to regulate how much of yourselves you share with the other.”

Especially during sex or sexual dreams. Spock didn’t say that out loud—but he didn’t have to. I knew he knew just what I’d been dreaming about. And he knew that I knew that he knew.

I took a deep breath. “This isn’t fair to you,” I said, trying to imagine what he must have felt when I was sobbing against him. “This isn’t your problem.”

“It is very much my problem,” he corrected. “He is my counterpart—some aspect of myself. And you are my friend.”

“He may be an aspect of you, but that doesn’t make you responsible for this crazy relationship between me and him,” I pointed out. “I won’t blame you for washing your hands of this.”

Spock cocked his head at me. “Washing my hands, doctor? This is not a sanitary issue.”

I rolled my eyes. I’m pretty sure he said that just to bring a smile to my lips. And, as much as it pains me to admit this, it worked. “You can leave me to my own devices,” I explained, playing along.

“Doctor, you would not leave me to my own devices, were our circumstances reversed.”

“No,” I agreed, smiling fondly at him. “I wouldn’t.” I paused and let myself collapse back onto his bunk. “Mind if I catch some sleep in here?”

He shook his head, looking surprised that I had bothered to ask. “You are welcome here,” he said, keeping his seat on the edge of the bunk.

I grinned at his formality—especially given the circumstances. But I just nodded as I made myself comfortable. It was damned hot in here, but I didn’t mind. It felt right somehow.

“We’ve turned a corner, haven’t we?” I said. “Your counterpart and me, I mean. We can’t ignore this bond now, Spock—I don’t think that’s even an option anymore.”

“Given the apparent depth of the bond, that is a reasonable conclusion,” Spock agreed.

“He knows me pretty damn well,” I continued. “He thinks that I, ah, exaggerate my irrational qualities simply to annoy you.”

Spock nodded. “You can be quite childish in that respect, Doctor.”

I grinned again. “That’s just what he said. I’ll, uh, try to go a bit easier on you. But my teasing—that’s not what prevented us from becoming lovers, is it? You and me, I mean.”

“No,” he assured me. “It is not. I—” he broke off suddenly. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he was blushing.

But he managed to get hold of himself and speak in that same steady, even voice again. “Ultimately, I seek not merely to master my emotions, but to eliminate them,” he explained. “That is a goal which you would neither understand nor respect. There is a difficult ritual on Vulcan—but the details are not, at present, important.”

I stared at him as I took that in—and somehow I managed to keep my mouth from dropping open. Kolinahr: that was the name of the ritual he sought. The word didn’t just slip into my mind; I knew it. I shivered a little at that, remembering what Spock’s counterpart had said when he first melded with me: “I know what you know.”

Well, apparently I had some of his knowledge now too. And so I had a vague idea of what this ‘Kolinahr’ was all about: a near impossible ritual that only elite students of Vulcan logic even attempted. God damn it! Spock was so insecure about his human half that he was determined to turn himself into Super-Vulcan.

Kolinahr would be the worst thing possible for Spock. He couldn’t get rid of his emotions without destroying himself. Master them, yes. Destroy them, no.

Great—just great. I had one Spock on my hands with severe emotional issues and another one with severe moral issues. Wasn’t there a well-integrated Spock waiting somewhere out there for me?

Of course, I wasn’t all that well-integrated, I reminded myself. My whirlwind marriage to Natira proved that. It’s hard to find someone who’s got their act together when you’re a basket case yourself.

I sighed. I wished I could explain to Spock that attempting to eliminate his emotions was the worst mistake he could make—even worse than the way he denies them now. But he couldn’t hear that from me. He’d have to find out for himself.

“Spock,” I managed, “if this—this ritual blows up in your face, will you let me help you pick up the pieces?”

“It will not ‘blow up in my face,’ Doctor. You needn’t concern yourself.”

“But if it does?” I persisted.

His eyes softened as he reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You need your rest, Leonard. And then we will return to your lessons. Do not concern yourself with my emotions—or my determination to eliminate them. I understand what I’m doing.”

Sure you do, I thought to myself as I closed my eyes and rolled over on my side. In a pig’s eye.

~The End~

A Lion's Share of Courage

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: PG

Summary: In the Mirror Universe, Dr. McCoy is dying. Spock tends to him, but his thoughts are centered on the doctor's counterpart…This is a companion piece to Reflective Irony, Mirrored Courage, and A Subtle Bond, but it will stand alone. (It comes before The Horned Gate.)

(This story was just released from Spiced Peaches--but you can still find it there as well.)

~

Spock stroked his beard as he sat by Dr. McCoy's side. The doctor had been passing in and out of consciousness for the last five hours and thirty seven minutes. He was suffering from xenopolycythemia—an incurable disease that was killing him by destroying his body's capacity to replace red blood cells.

He could no longer hide the disease, as he had apparently been doing for the past several months. And quite effectively: Spock had been watching him carefully, but he had not guessed. The doctor had taken pains to appear healthy. No doubt he feared what would happen once his fellow crew-members guessed his weakness.

There was little time left to the doctor now—and little that Spock could do for him except see to his comfort. To that end, Spock had made certain that he was given a private corner of sickbay and saw to it personally that he received his painkillers as scheduled.

It was not the habit of the Empire to waste a sick bed and medicine on a crewman who could not be cured. Nonetheless, Spock had insisted—and Kirk had backed up the order. Kirk had even devised a special punishment for the medical officers he caught taking bets on the doctor's lifespan…a punishment they were not likely to forget.

McCoy stirred on the bed. After a deep, ragged breath he opened his eyes. He stared at Spock for a moment and then managed a thin smile.

"You're still here," he drawled.

Spock raised his eyebrow at him. "That should be obvious, Doctor."

He nodded, unoffended. "You've been playing the part of a nursemaid for several days now, Mr. Spock," he said. "And our captain has allowed it, I see."

"Our captain has always been pleased by your loyalty," Spock pointed out. "And I believe he holds you in some affection."

The doctor smiled again—a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I know. He never had to worry about me putting a knife into his back. I just wanted to mind my own damn business here in sickbay."

He paused and then managed a shrug. "Still, it was good of him to allow me some dignity as I die. And it's good of you take such fine care of me—even if you're looking through me the whole time."

Spock cocked his head at that. "Looking through you, Doctor?"

"Yes, Mr. Spock," he answered. "You've been sitting here by my side, seeing to my every need…but not for my sake."

He fell quiet again after that. Spock regarded him steadily, but he did not press the doctor. There was no need. McCoy spoke up again without prodding.

"It's him, isn't it?" he asked. "He's the one you keep seeing whenever you look at me."

There was no reason for the doctor to specify the 'he.' He referred to his counterpart: the Dr. McCoy who served the Federation rather than the Empire in a parallel universe.

"Yes," Spock said quietly. There was no point in denying it. Spock sensed that this Dr. McCoy was gaining the peculiar clarity that seemed to grace humans when they were close to death.

The doctor shut his eyes again. "Tell me about him," he said. "Why is it—why is that you want him, and not me?"

Want—the doctor did, indeed, see clearly. He could now sense the mixture of respect, regard and raw hunger that Spock felt for the other McCoy.

But there was no jealousy in this doctor's voice, Spock noted. He was asking merely out of curiosity. Spock considered him for a long moment, but decided that there was little risk in answering honestly.

"He is very much like you," Spock began. "He is…sentimental. Cantankerous. And he often speaks without thinking."

The doctor opened his eyes at that and stared at Spock. "How does he differ from me?" he asked at length.

"He has a passion and warmth that you lack," Spock answered. "And far more courage. He is not a weakling."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "No, really, Mr. Spock—please be honest. Don't try to spare my feelings."

Spock raised his eyebrows appreciatively. "He is also, like yourself, somewhat of a—a 'wise-ass,' I believe, is the human term."

The doctor laughed at that—but it was a weak laugh that quickly became a fit of coughing. Spock placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"You should rest now, Doctor," he said.

But McCoy shook his head. "I'll have all the rest I could ever want soon enough," he pointed out. Nonetheless, he shut his eyes for almost a full moment. When he opened them again, he cocked his head at Spock. "He wasn't here all that long—my counterpart, I mean. How'd you come to know him?"

"That is unimportant," Spock said. He had reached the limit of what he was willing to share with this McCoy. He would not explain the mind meld that he had forced on the other doctor—on 'Bones.' Nor would he explain how Bones had accepted the meld, even embraced it, rendering it far deeper and more intense than Spock had intended.

McCoy sighed, but he accepted Spock's reticence. "I don't suppose it matters," he said. "But you've changed since then. I guess he's responsible for that."

The doctor paused and favored Spock with a wan smile. "Be careful," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I don't know what you have planned, but Kirk—"

"I have no plans against our Captain," Spock said, cutting him off. "And I am more than capable of looking after myself."

"But Kirk—he seems to have ears everywhere—"

"The captain and I have an understanding," Spock said firmly. "Whatever plans I have neither concern this mission nor endanger it."

The doctor cocked his head at him again, but he let the matter rest.

And that, Spock thought to himself, was another difference between McCoy and his counterpart. The other McCoy—Bones—would never have accepted that answer. He would have plagued Spock to reveal everything. And once he understood the depth of Spock's plan, once he understood that Spock meant to reform the Empire, he would have done whatever was in his power to help.

But this McCoy, even at full health, would never have helped him. He was too cowardly for such an undertaking. He was a good man, in his way—but only when he could afford to be. He lacked the courage of his convictions.

What a pale reflection this McCoy was of his counterpart. Under normal circumstances, he would not even have broached the subject with Spock—it was only his imminent death that had lent him this sudden audacity.

Spock felt a surge of something akin to anger. He was saddled with this McCoy—but think what he could have accomplished with Bones at his side…

But Bones would not have survived here. He would have objected to Kirk's policies. He would have disobeyed orders to save lives. He would have shown mercy even to those properly punished and chastened by torture. And Kirk would have killed him for it—the captain could not have afforded to show Bones the off-hand affection he had shown this Dr. McCoy.

So Bones would have ended up dead. Either that, or the Empire would have broken him and twisted him…as it did this Dr. McCoy.

Spock pushed those thoughts aside. It was illogical, he reminded himself, to speculate on what might have been—just as it was illogical to hunger for something he could not have. He could not have Bones. He did have this McCoy, however. And this McCoy required his care.

And so Spock remained at his side.

Dr. McCoy spoke up one last time before he shut his eyes and stopped struggling to remain conscious.

"I'm sorry," he said to Spock.

Spock lifted one eyebrow. "I was not aware that you owe me an apology," he said.

McCoy smiled at that and, with a last bit of effort, placed his hand on top of Spock's. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be him…I kind of like you better now—now that you've known him."

He paused and then struggled to say a few more words. "Do you think—do you think he's ok? This damned disease may be killing us both…"

"He is alive," Spock said abruptly. "I would know if he were not."

McCoy narrowed his eyes at him, but at length he just nodded. Then he shut his eyes and allowed himself to slide into unconsciousness. He did not wake up again.

The doctor died four hours and thirty-seven minutes later. Spock listened as his ragged breathing stopped and watched as his vital signs plummeted. But there was nothing to be done. He pulled a sheet over McCoy's head and then stepped aside so that the medical staff could prepare his remains for space-burial.

He went to the observatory. As he stared out into space, his mind turned back to the other McCoy—the only McCoy now living. His meld with Bones had shown him a world that he had not thought possible. His interactions with the other Kirk had confirmed that such a world did, indeed, exist. The Empire was not the only way. Tyranny could be overcome.

Despite the illogic of it, Spock wondered again what might have been. He shut his eyes, focused his attention and sensed Bones through the faint, lingering bond that had arisen from the intense melding of their minds. He was still alive, still cantankerous, still passionate, still sentimental…and he still possessed, as his given name suggested, a lion's share of courage.

Spock shook his head. For a brief moment—a mere seven point three seconds—he was glad, almost, that Bones was not here at his side. Bones belonged in that other, better universe. He was, no doubt, most effective there.

But Spock's work was here—and it was time to get on with it. And so he pushed Bones from his mind and abruptly left the observatory.

~The End~