Passive-Aggressive Release by Ster Julie

Title: Passive-Aggressive Release

Author: Ster Julie

Codes: AOS, Spock, McCoy; Rose’s “In Dr. McCoy’s Office” Challenge

Also See: Related stories/chapters by Ster Julie

Rating: [PG]

Part one of one

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just borrow them and return them well-loved.


A/N: Thanks to my big sister, the scientist, for being my consultant on the rocks. I liked the tourmaline-mica-quartz-feldspar conglomerate, while she preferred the dog tooth calcite bc it was the right color and looked more alien.


--ooOoo--


Spock positioned another sizeable stone in front of him, aimed, and swung the sledge hammer up into a powerful arc.


*SMASH*


Again.


*CRACK*


This time the rock fractured somewhat in half, its edges sharp and jagged, its russet and golden interior glinting as the numerous crystals caught the sun just so.


Spock mindlessly moved the large halves off to the side and repeated the process. Position. Swing. *SMASH*

Swing again. *CRACK* Move aside. Repeat.


Doctor McCoy observed Spock at a distance, not wanting to disturb the Vulcan as he worked out his grief and anger. The Enterprise was making its routine bi-monthly stop at the Vulcan colony during which time the medical staff would make wellness checks, provisions and donations would be delivered, and Spock would have time to interact with the members of his House.


So why is he out here alone and doing hard labor? McCoy wondered, looking at the sizeable pile of cleft stones, and the long line of rocks waiting a turn at the edge of a newly plowed field.


The words “passive-aggressive behavior” rolled around McCoy’s mind. He tried to study Spock’s face but found it difficult from a distance. McCoy took a deep breath and drew as close as he dare to the swinging sledgehammer and the flying chips of stone.


Spock took only enough time to flick a glance at him as he continued to work. “Doctor,” he said as he took another swing.


“I nearly finished the wellness checks on all the Vulcans,” McCoy reported.


“Nearly?” *Smash.*


“One got away,” the doctor continued.


“Got away?” Spock repeated. *Crack.*


“Yes,” McCoy continued. “I had to track him down. I found him exhibiting passive-aggressive behavior, splitting stones in this heat.”


Spock stopped the hammer in mid-swing. “Are you referring to me?” he asked, incredulous. “There is nothing passive-aggressive in my behavior, Doctor. The artisans need these stones cracked to be used in the memorial monument. I am merely doing my share of the work.” Spock hefted the heavy hammer once more.


“So why aren’t you using a power tool, even a phaser?” McCoy countered.


“I get a more satisfactory outcome with the hammer,” Spock defended.


“You mean you get more satisfaction by smashing those stones yourself, Spock,” McCoy accused.


“Really, Doctor!”


“How many times have you imagined Nero’s face on those rocks?” he accused. “How many times have you bashed his head in? Bashed in the heads of those who didn’t help you save your world? Do you see Chekov for saving you but not your mother? Do you see your older self and smash him, too, for not stopping the destruction of Romulus in the first place?”


Spock flung away the sledge hammer with a cry, not trusting himself, fearing he might use it on McCoy.


“Cease!” he roared. The Vulcan bent over and rested his hands on his knees. His harsh breathing was the only sound for a while.


McCoy reached into the pack he carried and pulled out a small pop-up tent. He set it up on a flat patch of ground and motioned inside.


“Step into my office, Spock,” he invited. “It’s too damn hot out here.”


Reluctantly, Spock straightened, brushed his hands and clothes off and moved into the shelter.


McCoy grabbed a chunk of rock and brought it inside. He studied its crystalline interior as Spock drank down a few water packs.


“Why do you think I am exhibiting passive-aggressive behavior?” Spock asked.


“You’re being self-destructive,” McCoy explained.


“Elucidate.”


“You’re working outside during the hottest part of the day,” the doctor continued, “doing work by hand that could be done with power tools. Where is your water supply? Where are your safety goggles? You may be crushing rocks, but you are also crushing something in you.” The doctor hefted the rock again. “Why so many of these, anyway?”


Spock took a deep breath. “The artisans will be using them to line the inside and outside of the memorial,” he explained quietly.


“Why are you working on this alone?” McCoy queried gently. He noted that the Vulcan suddenly fell silent at his question. “Well, looky there. Spock’s actually squirming!” the doctor noted.


“When I come here,” Spock began, “everyone knows their place. Everyone has their job to do. It is an efficient community. I am an outsider when I come here.”

“But I thought you were head of a House,” McCoy observed.


“Some Head of House,” Spock said with derision. “I am not here long enough to make a difference. I have no say over who joins my House. I do not know any of the new members. I have adopted children, but I cannot even raise them.”* Small stone chips fell from Spock’s bowed head like tears. “It’s as if I do not belong here either.”


McCoy sat back and processed all that he heard from Spock, turning his thoughts over as he turned the rock in his hands.


Spock took the stone from the doctor. “This stone will bear witness that I was here,” he continued, “that I contributed something tangible to the colony. The stones will be set into the matrix comprising the domed shape. Their rough edges will symbolize out great pain, our raw grief. The play of the sunlight on the crystals will create beauty out of that grief.”


McCoy thought awhile over all Spock had said.


“I’ve been worried about you, Spock,” he admitted at last. “You have lost so much.”


“No more than any of the others,” the Vulcan interjected.


“Maybe,” McCoy admitted, “but they have the support of each other. Who do you have? You say that the control of your House has been usurped because you are not here long enough. Maybe it’s time to ask for leave. God knows you have it coming. At the very least, don’t do this kind of work without provisions and safety equipment. And for Pete’s sake, talk to the members of your House. Make them make room for you and your needs. Find a way to communicate with your kids every day. I’ll even help foot the telecom bill.”


Spock gave the doctor a warm look. “That will not be necessary,” he said.


The two men sat in the relative coolness of the shelter. McCoy fished around in his pack and withdrew two ration packs and several more water packs.


“No point in me lugging this back,” he commented.


“Are you leaving, Doctor?” Spock asked.


“My work is done here,” he replied. “I have conducted the last of the wellness checks on the Vulcans here at the colony.”


“And your findings?” Spock prompted.


“They show promise,” the doctor reported. “The incidences of suicide have fallen dramatically. Everyone is finding release in working together to build a new society.”


McCoy smiled gently.


“Especially our first officer.”


END


* See “Rejected and Despised--The Halflings”

Darkness and Silence by Liederlady

Author: Liederlady

Title: Darkness and Silence

Date: May 29, 2009

Characters: ST XI (AOS) Kirk, Spock and McCoy

Rating: G, friendship fic

Word count: 2,988

Challenge: Rose’s “In Doctor McCoy’s Office” challenge to illustrate Bones’ clinical psychiatry expertise while helping (at least) one of the crew members.


Summary: Bones understands that, very often, the most effective emotional healing occurs when offering another person succor. He also understands the necessity for the occasional application of guile.

~~~~~~~~~

Darkness and Silence


Spock!” McCoy called out as the Vulcan first officer exited the turbolift on deck five.


Spock turned and waited for McCoy to catch up to him.


“Do you have a minute to talk?”


“Yes. I can spare one minute of the nine point three seven minutes remaining before I report for duty, doctor,” Spock answered.


McCoy scowled at the first officer’s preciseness.

“Yeah. Well, it was just an expression. Can we take this to my office?”


McCoy pegged the expression Spock wore as suspicious. Naturally, the Vulcan would deny it.


Spock nodded and both men took the turbolift to McCoy’s office on deck six.


“Have a seat Spock. Drink?” McCoy asked, indicating a chair and moving to the small compartment that housed his mini-bar.


“Thank you, no,” Spock replied. Apparently, his answer covered both invitations as he remained standing ramrod straight, hands behind his back.


McCoy shrugged and poured himself a shot glass of bourbon before taking his seat. As he took a sip, he was acutely aware of the Vulcan’s dark eyes on him.


After a moment, Spock said, “Doctor, we have used forty-one seconds of your minute.”


McCoy shook his head and took another sip. “Like I said, just an expression. This may take your full nine-and-a-half minutes, Spock.”


“Eight point five six minutes now remain, doctor,” Spock said without a trace of humor.


“Okay, okay,” McCoy said. “I’ll get to the point.”


“That would be advantageous,” Spock said.


“I need your help with something,” McCoy admitted.


“Indeed,” Spock replied.


“It’s about Jim. I’m worried about him,” McCoy said, his brows knit in concern.


“If this is in regard to the captain’s health surely that is your--,” Spock began.


“He’s exhausted, he’s dropped five pounds,” McCoy interrupted. “Hasn’t been sleeping more than an hour or two a night for weeks. What sleep he does get is filled with nightmares. It’s affecting his performance. It was that damned Vulcan mind meld with Spo-- with your counterpart. Jim’s suffering post-traumatic stress syndrome because of it.”


“From a mind meld?” Spock asked dubiously.


“From the emotional upheaval Ambassador Spock was going through at the time,” McCoy clarified. “I noticed it in all of the surviving Vulcans we took aboard. You people actually felt the deaths of your … your fellow Vulcans.”


McCoy’s voice softened considerably at the last.


Spock’s gaze flicked down to the toes of his boots.


“And Jim shared that upheaval, Spock. It’s twisting his insides apart. And triggered his own unresolved grief for his father,” McCoy said sadly, shaking his head.


A long silence ensued. A silence, Spock noted, of forty-two seconds.


“I need your help, Spock. Jim needs your help,” McCoy said.


The Vulcan first officer had not known McCoy long. They had shared brief interactions during the crisis with Nero. However, he and the doctor had worked closely during the repairs to Enterprise’s sickbay and science labs. Spock found the doctor’s emotional outbursts to be intensely illogical. At first, he also believed them to be counterproductive.


However, to Spock’s consternation, McCoy’s emotionalism spurred his staff’s efficiency and dedication to duty. More than once, Spock was present as McCoy imperiously strode through through a ward or lab, leaving criticism, barked orders, sarcastic guidance and, frequently, grudging praise in his wake. Being Vulcan, Spock could not help overhearing the murmured reactions once McCoy had passed. Typically, one or two people would grumble only to be reprimanded by the vast majority.


Admiration abounded for the doctor’s triage and emergency instincts in the wake of Nero’s attack. His clinical ability was universally judged exceptional. Others lauded the man’s ability to calm shattered and scattered souls, including those of the surviving medical and paramedical staff, with a quiet word, a lingering touch or a warm glance.


And the esteem from those who witnessed McCoy’s surgical skill bordered on reverence.


The repairs to sickbay were completed a week in advance of the deadline. McCoy gathered everyone responsible and ordered them to look around at what they had accomplished. He quietly said he was looking forward with great pride to serving with them then brusquely told them to “get the hell back to work already.”


Spock was still regarding his boots when he finally replied to McCoy’s request for assistance.


“I am at a loss to understand how I may help, Doctor McCoy. This is your field of expertise, is it not?”


McCoy nodded. “Yeah. And that’s how Jim will see it. Me ‘treating’ him. He’s already balked. I had to pull rank just to get him to admit to the effects of the mind meld. I didn’t like doing that.”


“You have the authority,” Spock said.


“The answer to this isn’t authority, Spock, but friendship and support. It’s about getting Jim to confront the trauma,” McCoy explained.


Spock finally glanced over at McCoy. What he saw etched in the doctor’s face prompted an unanticipated memory of his mother. She would wear that same expression of concern, even pain, each time he was bullied by the other Vulcan children. Even when Spock grew old enough to master his emotions sufficiently to hide the truth she somehow knew there had been another incident.


“You are his friend, doctor,” Spock answered, summoning c’thia to submerge the memory of his mother to where it could do no harm.


McCoy nodded again. “Damned right. But I can’t fathom the depth of despair that Jim’s experiencing, Spock. You can. If Ambassador Spock was aboard, I’d be asking him for help.”


“Again, I am still at a loss as to how you believe I may help,” Spock repeated stiffly, taking offense at McCoy’s erroneous assumption that he suffered despair.


Spock accepted the reality of the loss of Vulcan and of his mother. He had acted logically after both events, other than his deplorable loss of control in response to Kirk’s baiting. Spock spent hours of intense meditation to ensure such a failure would never again occur.


As he considered McCoy’s words, Spock was suddenly horrified that the doctor expected him to mind meld with the captain and excise the painful memories. The young commander experienced a sudden wave of nausea. Such an act would violate every Vulcan tenet of privacy and ethics.


“Talk to Jim. Just talk. You know strategy and tactics as well as he does. Use that ability to steer the conversation,” McCoy advised. “If anyone can out-maneuver our headstrong captain, you can.”


Spock raised a dubious eyebrow at that.


“Look, I know you’re due on duty. Will you please just think about it?” McCoy asked.


Spock nodded fractionally then turned and headed for the bridge.

~~~~~~~~~~

That same day over lunch in his quarters with the captain, McCoy brought up the subject of personnel evaluations.


“There’s one senior officer in particular who’s showing signs of stress. Enough stress to create a minor drop in efficiency. But what’s more troubling are the physical manifestations,” McCoy said.


“Oh? What are they?”


“Increase in blood pressure, intervals of irregular heart rhythm, marked decrease in appetite, abnormal temperature readings, other metabolic rates all over the scale.” McCoy’s brows dipped closer to each other as he ticked off the irregular readings.


Jim Kirk had thought his friend had invited him to lunch to relax. Now he realized there was an ulterior motive, and an important one at that. He glanced over at the PADD that lay on McCoy’s tray.


“Sounds serious. Who is it?” Jim asked, finishing his sandwich.


“Commander Spock,” McCoy replied, tucking back into his salad.


Jim froze in mid-chew. When he realized his mouth was open and full of mushed sandwich, he swallowed.


“Spock?” He reached for his water glass, suddenly wishing it was a shot of bourbon.


McCoy nodded.


“Do you know what’s wrong?” Jim said, instantly concerned. Vulcans always seem so indestructible.


“I don’t need my Ph.D in psychiatry to venture a diagnosis.”


“What then?”


“Jim, you’re probably better aware than anyone on this ship of what Spock must be going through. The other day you admitted that your mind meld with Ambassador Spock … well, leaked a hell of a lot of despair.”


Jim Kirk slumped back in his chair.


“Are you telling me Spock is … depressed?”


“Vulcans may not suffer post-traumatic stress disorder as frequently as we do, Jim, but that doesn’t mean they’re immune. Hell, they have emotions, but keep them bottled up like a capped volcano. Forget about Spock being half human. Even if he were one thousand percent Vulcan, he’d be dealing with intense anguish. You said it yourself. No matter where they were, every surviving Vulcan felt the rest of their race die. I can’t imagine the overwhelming grief of losing everything you knew as home.”


Kirk shuddered as the memory of Ambassador Spock’s desolation again inundated him.


“How can we help?” Kirk asked, instantly straightening and leaning earnestly across the table.


McCoy smiled inwardly.


“He’s got to talk about what he’s feeling Jim. Trick is how to get a damned repressed Vulcan to talk about something he claims not to have?”


“We’ll have to maneuver him into it,” Kirk said.


“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t go about maneuvering the man the way you did the last time, Jim. Spock’s father isn’t around to stop him from snapping your neck,” McCoy chided.


Kirk bristled. “That’s nothing to joke about, Bones. I hated doing that to him after what he’d been through. It was the only way, the only way to follow Ambassador Spo--”


McCoy reached a hand out to his friend’s arm.


“I know that Jim. I wasn’t joking. Problem is ever since losing it when you taunted him he’s been acting uber-Vulcan.


“Denial of grief is a very dark place, Jim. Perhaps if he thought he was helping someone else deal with similar pain, he might just be able to give voice to his own. Or at the very least, privately acknowledge it,” McCoy ventured. “Misery does love company.”


Kirk stood up suddenly, his brows drawn down as he gazed at his friend.


“Are you trying to head shrink me, Bones?”


McCoy kept his seat and gazed up at his perceptive friend with what he hoped was an appropriately icy stare.


“It’s not like yours couldn’t benefit from it sometimes, captain. And if you can put aside your penchant for self-absorption long enough, we weren’t talking about you. We were talking about our first officer. Your sleep patterns may be disrupted by emotional spillover from the Ambassador, but you’re not the one who lost your home world and your mother in the same instant, are you?” McCoy growled.


Jim Kirk flinched as though physically stricken. Then he retook his seat.


“Sorry Jim. I didn’t mean that to sound so harsh. I know what you’re experiencing is disturbing, but it’s only a fraction of the grief Spock must feel. If anyone on this ship can relate to him, you can. You feel what the Ambassador felt. You understand not just the scope of the loss that the rest of us can, but the profound physical and psychic pain that every Vulcan must be suffering,” McCoy said.


Kirk glanced up at his friend and McCoy couldn’t help noticing the uncharacteristic shimmer diluting the usually intense blue gaze. The young captain nodded then stood slowly and turned away to regain his composure.


“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jim said. “Man, but I don’t have a clue how to open such a conversation.”


“Maybe just tell Spock what you told me the other day. About your sleeplessness. About what you still feel from the meld,” McCoy offered.


Kirk whipped around.


“Bones, I can’t do that! The Vulcans are-- well, their mind meld is an intensely private thing. I just can’t start up a conversation about it like ‘Well, hey there Spock, you know that mind meld I had with your older self? Well, man I got a serious dose of emotional transference because your older self isn’t afraid to admit he’s in agony.’ I mean, come on, Bones!” Kirk blurted out in exasperation.


McCoy noticed Jim’s eyes were brimming once more. He didn’t look away. And, this time, neither did Jim.


“Jim, this won’t be easy. You’re an arrogant, sarcastic sonofabitch and you have your own emotional baggage to deal with. We can have future arguments on that front, but there’s something else at stake right now.


“You are the captain of this ship. And one of your people is in trouble. I’m not preaching to you. I’m not going to tell you how to help Spock. All I’m telling you is that it’s your responsibility to try. If he rejects you, there’s not much you can do short of ordering him to seek professional help. Hell, I can do that, but I doubt it would hold much sway. You’re his commanding officer.”


Kirk winced before saying, “Who was forced on him.”


“Doesn’t make a difference to a Vulcan. Duty’s part of their skin. Spock follows your orders. When he disagrees with them, he tells you but still follows them. That’s his job and, so far, he’s done it well.


“If he can’t work through this, if he stays trapped in that silence, do you really want to be forced to search for a new first officer?” McCoy asked harshly.


Kirk straightened to attention and narrowed his eyes. And McCoy breathed a silent sigh of relief. He knew that look.


“No,” was all Kirk said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four weeks later, Leonard McCoy was up late, nursing a carafe of strong coffee while reviewing the latest crew health and efficiency reports. He was down to his last two: captain and first officer.


The captain’s serotonin levels were rising to optimal ranges thanks to an improved sleep cycle. He’d gained seven pounds. His efficiency ratings were also optimal. In fact, they surpassed those from his final months as a Starfleet cadet.


McCoy smiled wearily and rubbed his eyes before touching stylus to PADD to bring up the next report.


First Officer Spock: Blood pressure, optimal. Heart rate, optimal. Appetite, normal. All metabolic data in optimal ranges. Efficiency rating: Off the scale.


“Back to annoyingly perfect,” McCoy growled happily.


He re-coded the security lock on the PADD before rising to retire.


It had been a hell of a day. They’d almost lost Jim when the Metrons forced him to fight a reptilian opponent called a Gorn—a fight to the death.


In Jim’s absence Spock was in command, but there was little he or anyone else could do but watch the combatants once the Metrons informed the crew Kirk was losing.


McCoy stood next to the command chair the entire time and could almost feel the Vulcan chafing as the physically stronger Gorn battered Jim. Once, Bones heard Spock mutter something in Vulcan.


McCoy was no expert on hand-to-hand combat, but he was well aware that Jim’s initial survival was thanks in no small part to the Vulcan Suus Mahna disciplines he learned from Spock over the past month.


Prior to issuing the invitation to the captain, Spock had elicited McCoy’s advice about the lessons. Bones had been forced to turn away when he said they might indeed be an excellent stress reducer.


The whole ship had been abuzz about Suus Mahna and Spock’s evident proficiency. Many crew members turned out to watch the captain and first officer engage. The single time McCoy snuck into the crowded gym to observe, Spock threw Jim time after time, demonstrating one move after another with blinding efficiency.


After each throw, Jim would pop up with an expression of mixed admiration and determination, intent on mastering at least one of the moves. Before McCoy left, he saw the results of both Spock’s instructive capacity and Jim’s aptitude when Kirk jerked the Vulcan over his hip and slammed him into the mat. Kirk straightened wearing one of the widest grins McCoy had ever seen. But what was even more satisfying was the double eyebrow lift Spock offered in return—unrestrained surprise.


When the captain laughed and stretched out a hand to his first officer, the Vulcan almost smiled.


The crisis with the Gorn ended when Jim’s wits defeated the reptilian opponent and the Metrons were won over by Kirk’s refusal to kill. When Jim reappeared on the bridge, both McCoy and Spock swallowed for what seemed like the first time in hours and both officers promptly escorted their protesting captain to sickbay.


Once the exhausted McCoy reached his quarters, he encountered the first officer.


“Can’t sleep, Spock?”


The Vulcan indicated the negative. “The captain and I were assessing the day’s events doctor,” he explained.


“Oh, right,” McCoy replied.


He’d heard about the evening discussions from Jim. During one, Kirk broke the ice with Spock about the mind meld and the Vulcan reluctantly acknowledged his people’s psychic trauma.


“Doctor, may I venture a personal query?”


McCoy nodded.


“Do humans not grieve over the deaths of family members?” Spock said.


“Not always,” McCoy answered. “Depends.”


Spock’s left eyebrow shot up. McCoy had an idea where this was going.


“Upon what criteria does it depend?” Spock pressed.


“Is this about Jim’s father?” McCoy asked. Spock’s gaze flicked away as he nodded.


“Jim never knew his father. All I ever heard him admit to knowing was what he described as the ‘hero stuff,’” McCoy explained.


Spock was clearly mystified. “Would not his father’s irrefutable heroism confer even greater cause to merit honorable remembrance?” he asked.


“Yes.”


McCoy suspected Jim’s stepfather had persistently belittled the memory of George Kirk, among other things. But if Jim was to ever confirm McCoy’s suspicion, Spock would be the best person to coax such an admission.


Bones had hoped that might happen after Jim managed to elicit Spock’s acknowledgment of bereavement over his mother’s death.


‘In time,’ McCoy thought.


“Spock, can we discuss this tomorrow? I’d sure hate to knock you over by falling asleep standing up,” McCoy said wearily.


“Of course. Good night, doctor.”


“Night Spock.”

~The End~

Challenge: In Dr. McCoy's Office...

The last challenge was a brilliant success--thanks to everyone who contributed! I'm still working on a sidebar link to all the challenge stories; I hope to have that up later today. Meanwhile, I think it's high time for another challenge:

In TOS, the Enterprise didn't seem to have a ship's psychologist. Every once in a while, we'd see Bones double up in that role. How do you think that will go in Star Trek XI? Bones has plenty of material to work with: Spock has just lost his planet and Jim has any number of issues. And there must be other crew members who need a friendly ear.

So lets see Bones playing the therapist for someone on board. This can happen during the movie or after. Let's give the stories a word-count of 3000 or less and let's keep the rating PG-13 or below.

Oh, and you might want to check out this site: Archetype: The Fiction Writer's Guide to Psychology. Lots of good stuff there!

Edit: Forgot to give some important info! I'll post the stories here--but you're free to post them anywhere else: your blog, FanFiction.net, Spock-McCoy Haven, ASCEML, etc. And go ahead and e-mail me your story at jrosemary@gmail.com.

So . . . anyone game?

Caption Needed!

Oy--sorry this is so late! But here's this week's caption contest: have at it, all you K/S types!

Soaking Wet

Much thanks to Liederlady for finding this site dedicated to soaking wet actors--including two of my favorites. Unfortunately, there are no soaking wet actresses. Sigh. I'll just have to content myself with Christian and Karl . . .

Christian Bale

Karl Urban

Two New Challenge Stories!

These two answers to this challenge came in late--but they are worth the wait! We have:

Part One of What Shall Separate Us by Mary Chodan (aka Womanwarrior)

and

Second Chances by Qzeebrella

A warm welcome to both authors--thanks for answering the challenge!

Future Plans: We'll definitely have more challenges--I'll put a new one up tomorrow, along with a new caption contest. And I'll put a link to all the challenge stories on the sidebar, to make them easier to find. I'll just need till tomorrow to get organized, lol...

And, as you can see, if you go over the word count or answer the challenge late, no worries. As long as we're exercising our writing muscles, it's all good!

What Shall Separate Us by Mary Chodan (aka Womanwarrior)

Author: MaryChodan (aka Womanwarrior)
Date: May 23, 2009
Archive: SpockMcCoyHaven (also Fanfiction.net)
Title: What Shall Separate Us
Characters: Spock Prime/McCoy Prime
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Major Character Death
Summary: Ambassador Spock has promised to deliver the ‘red matter’ payload into Romulus' unstable sun, preventing the extinction of Romulus and its population. The cost of trying to keep his promise will be higher than he could have imagined.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: What began as a response to a Rose Moss challenge to write a elder Spock/young McCoy ST XI story took on a life of its own and became something else entirely.

Thanks to Rose and her insightful, sharp-eyed beta and encouragement. Mistakes are all mine!

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the Trek universe and its inhabitants...at least on paper.

Vulcan terminology:
adun-- beloved spouse
Kaiidth--What is, is.
kam--affectionate diminutive attached to first name
katra--soul, life essence
q'omi--human (affectionate term when used with "my")
Shi'kahr--site of Spock's ancestral home on Vulcan
t'hy'la--lover, brother or friend; any combination of the three


What Shall Separate Us

“You know what must be done, Spock,” the Vulcan scientist quietly intoned.

Spock did not turn around, but continued to look down at the elderly human sleeping quietly in the living quarters of the science laboratory. Spock sighed softly. His warm long-fingered hand gently pushed the old man’s thinning white hair off of the wrinkled forehead.

Spock’s thoughts strayed to contemplate the human’s hands. At age 150, Doctor Leonard McCoy was understandably frail, the blue veins prominent in the translucent parchment skin. Yet the vital-from-within spirit that had animated those hands was as young as the day they had met.

In his mind’s eye he saw again a much younger McCoy performing delicate surgery on his father, Sarek…expertly bandaging a plasma burn victim in Engineering…gently comforting a badly injured yeoman in Sickbay.

And then Spock saw their first night together. He and the doctor had been debating once again in Sickbay, McCoy’s hands punctuating one of his illogical rants. Spock had instinctively caught him by the wrists when the doctor had come too close. McCoy’s startled expression had mirrored his own reaction. Those fascinating hands, deftly exploring him….

One hundred years together. I wonder if it is possible to calculate how many times his hands have touched me.

Spock closed his eyes at the thought and smiled slightly.

No matter the number, the answer will always be…not often enough.

From the corner of his eye, Spock saw the Vulcan scientists leave the room. They knew it was logical to allow Spock time with his human t'hy'la. The man was old and ill, but in no immediate danger. His Vulcan healers were always nearby. Proximity to both would keep Spock focused on the immediate concern. He would do what needed to be done.

After they left, the Vulcan’s hand automatically found McCoy’s meld points. The human stirred, his head unconsciously nestling into the heat of Spock’s delicate fingertips.

It is time, Len-kam.

McCoy’s eyes shuddered open in a blank stare, then focused on Spock. “Did I fall asleep again, adun? Dammit, why didn’t you wake me?”

Spock smiled slightly, his brown eyes warm with affection. “You obviously needed the rest, Len-kam, or your body would have allowed you to stay awake.”

The human made a face, and then grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling. “I used to be able to stay awake a LONG time, remember? Of course, we were doing something a helluva lot more interesting than trying to blow up a supernova.”

Spock’s breath caught imperceptibly.

Eyes blue as a Georgia sky in summer, blue as the plantation lake sparkling in the sun. My t'hy’la, my q’omi….

The Vulcan took McCoy’s hand in his own, caressing the cool aged fingers and gently tracing the pattern on the doctor’s pinkie ring.

The old man squeezed Spock’s hand. “So how long will this fool’s errand take?”

“It is not a ‘fool’s errand’, Len-kam. The people of Romulus are depending on us to….”

McCoy waved impatiently at Spock, motioning for him to help the doctor sit up. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It was a JOKE, darlin’, a JOKE!”

Spock shook his head slightly in amusement, and then waited while McCoy put his thin arms around the Vulcan’s neck. Spock lifted the human easily, a fleeting stab of fear causing his stomach to twist.

So light, like a fledgling silverbird.

The doctor’s Georgian drawl broke his reverie.

“Well, you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna carry me over the threshold,” McCoy teased as he settled against the Vulcan’s neck and chest.

Spock’s voice unconsciously shifted into a pedantic cadence. “I will carry you to the observation deck, doctor, and set you in your hoverchair. Sunak and T’Kir will care for you in the laboratory after the launch, and I will retrieve you when I return. I have already asked Healer T’Lar and Healer Skon to stay with you in the laboratory as well.”

McCoy’s head shot up and he studied Spock closely. “Well, aren’t you the formal one. Doctor? Since when do you call me doctor?” His voice took on a tinge of sarcasm. “C’mon, Mister Spock, what’s up? The job is pretty cut and dried, right? You blast off, shoot the red stuff into the sun, save the Romulans and come back. It’s not like you’re off on a five-year mission!”

Spock did not reply, but continued to carry McCoy down the corridor toward the observation deck.

“Dammit, you pointy-eared hobgoblin, answer me! What aren’t you telling me? It’s not like I’m going to fall over dead if you tell me what’s going on, you know!”

The Vulcan never broke stride but his body stiffened slightly, then relaxed.

McCoy’s eyes widened. “My god,” he breathed, then was quiet for a moment. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re scared! You’re thinking I might die while you’re gone. Admit it…you’re scared I’ll die. ”

The doctor’s eyes never left the Vulcan’s profile, but Spock looked straight ahead as he walked, his face a silent mask of concentration. Only his eyes betrayed the truth of McCoy’s words.

Why must you do this now, my q’omi...against you my heart has no shield, no defense.

“What would you have me say,” Spock said evenly as they reached the observation deck and he prepared to settle McCoy into the hoverchair.

The human’s hand caught Spock’s arm. Spock could feel the quick, uneven beat of McCoy’s pulse in the doctor’s fingertips. The Vulcan straightened up again.

“Adun,” McCoy’s voice became gentle and he turned the Vulcan’s face toward his own. “I’ll be alright, I promise. You gotta admit I’ve been a lot better since the last time I was in the healing center.”

“You nearly expired,” Spock replied quietly.

“But I didn’t, did I?” McCoy reasoned. “I’m taking all the pills, and I’m doing the breathing treatments and drinking all those nasty tasting Vulcan teas. I’m feeling better, really. You’ll be back in 12 standard hours, and then we can go home to Shi’kahr and sit in the garden. Hell, we can plan a spring vacation to Georgia if we want to…yeah, why don’t we do that?”

Spock smiled slightly at the animation in McCoy’s voice, but said nothing.

“Dammit, Spock, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Sudden tears sprang into the human’s eyes. “Hold me for awhile, will you?”

“I am not upset, my q’omi,” Spock began, cradling McCoy as he carefully sat down in one of the deck’s viewing chairs. “I have never contemplated having to leave you for any reason. To do so now is…. My duty is clear, and it is logical that I perform it.”

The Vulcan pulled the doctor closer.

“But where you are concerned, t'hy’la, my logic fails me. There are many things I wish to say to you now, yet I have said them all many times. When I tell thee that I love thee and cherish thee, it is as wondrous as if it was the first time. The same joy that I felt that first time is now a thousand fold. Yet somehow the words seem inadequate. I…fear….”

McCoy’s tears now flowed freely down his wrinkled face. The thin chest heaved convulsively as the old man gasped, “My god, Spock….”

Alarmed, Spock automatically put his hand over the doctor’s heart.

“Len-kam, you will become ill again….”

“I’m alright, darlin’.” McCoy smiled weakly and covered the Vulcan’s warm hand with his own. “I’m always alright with you here.”

After a few minutes, the doctor’s breathing quieted.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you, adun,” he whispered. “Hell, I’m surprised this old heart hasn’t ruptured from it. I wish I could put my katra in your head right now and you’d know, you’d know….”

“I do know, beloved, both here,” Spock murmured, sliding McCoy’s hand to his own meld points, “and here,” pressing the doctor’s hand against his own right side.

Instinctively, each man reached two fingers to the other, as they had done innumerable times before. A century of memories and feelings melted together, distilling into a warm, shining glow permeating both of their minds, hearts and souls, filling them to overflowing.

This time the illumination revealed the last of the dark places each had kept out of fear or embarrassment. Now there were no secrets, and each one knew and reveled in the other fully, completely. Regrets and mistakes were forgiven and transfigured. Triumphs and joys were celebrated fully, completely. Each filled the other.

Spock was still holding McCoy when the Vulcan scientists came to tell him that the ship was prepared and that the ‘red matter’ had been loaded. Quietly, Spock settled McCoy into his hoverchair. The old doctor’s blue eyes were luminous and his mouth curved into a tender smile.

Once more, each man reached two fingers to the other. The Vulcan scientists withdrew silently. There was still time.

Parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched, my Len-kam, my q’omi.

Parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched, my adun, my own darlin’ t'hy’la.

~

“I grieve with thee, Spock.”

“I thank thee, Sunak, both for thy grief and for standing in my stead.”

“It was my honor, Spock. He was a fine physician, a man of integrity and a worthy partner to the son of Sarek. I will guard his katra, as will my son and his son and my House, until it can be returned to Georgia as you have instructed. I have already contacted Captain Picard of the Enterprise, and he has said he will be pleased to carry us to Earth at his earliest availability. I shall leave for Enterprise immediately.”

“I am grateful, Sunak. Live long and prosper.”

“Peace and long life, Spock. Your service does all of Vulcan honor.”

Spock wearily closed his eyes, remembering what had transpired just moments ago. His instruments had told the Vulcan scientists that the Romulan sun had supernovaed prematurely. He had hoped that the doctor would be asleep when he had personally confirmed that the resulting singularity would pull his ship into its maw. McCoy’s anguished cry told him that his hope had been in vain.

He had felt the sudden rush of adrenalin and noradrenalin surging like a tidal wave through McCoy’s aged veins and arteries, their by-products ravaging the doctor’s cells. Small proteins produced by an overly excited nervous system rocketed their toxins to the human’s racing heart, effectively stunning the muscle.

As he listened to the controlled voices of the Vulcan healers, he knew that his t'hy’la would not live. The doctor’s gasping moans confirmed Spock’s own experience of terrible crushing pain deep in McCoy’s chest, a desperate shortness of breath, lungs filling with fluid.

Spock had done his best to comfort his life partner, tenderly cocooning McCoy in the strength of their bond.

Parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched, my Len-kam, my q’omi, beloved.

His life ebbing into a whisper, McCoy had strained to reply.

Parted… never parted…never....

Now all was silence.

Spock felt as though he was floating. He exhaled, suddenly aware that he had been holding his breath.

An alarm rang throughout the cabin.

He did not open his eyes.

The singularity was pulling him into its blackness.

All that he was and is still lives. Kaiidth—what is, is.

to be continued....

Second Chances by Qzeebrella

Title: Second Chances
Author: Qzeebrella
Genre: AOS/Star Trek XI, Spock-McCoy
Rating:PG
Summary: Spock prime tries to fight off what he feels upon seeing this universe's McCoy...

~oOo~

I had just turned to board the ship bound for the Vulcan colony when I spotted him. Len, my Len and yet not mine. So very young and vibrant and alive. Younger now than when we first met and he was looking right at me.

I swallowed hard. I wanted to go to him. Wanted to touch him and talk to him and just drink him in. But he wasn't mine and no matter how much I longed to go to him, I couldn't. For if I did, I might steal him for myself and rob the other me of him.

Besides, he'd probably see me as just another Vulcan elder. One possibly related to Spock.

"Spock!" That beloved voice shouted and he ran to me.

"You know who I am? The other Spock told you?"

"The other Spock? No. I recognized you," Len said. "I looked over and saw you and thought my eyes were playing tricks on me at first, but then I realized you were Spock. Why do you say, 'the other Spock?' Are you telling me you're not the pointy eared hobgoblin I know?"

"Yes. I am another. From another universe. Transferred here through space and time."

"And dimensions. Or whatever it is that separates universes. I'm not a quantum physicist."

"No, you are a doctor."

"And you're all alone," Len said and reached one hand out to squeeze my arm and I couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

"Oh god. I'm sorry." Len wrapped his arms around me. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Please. If you keep holding me like this, I will want to make you mine. Like you were before."

"Really? I mean really?" Len said. "You and I were together? And you'd be tempted to make me yours now?"

"Yes. But you are not my Len. And I'd be stealing you from him. From myself."

"We're not together. Him and I."

"Not yet. But you could be, in time, and I can't rob him of the possibility," I said, trying to gather up the strength needed to push McCoy away. "I came to cherish you. So very much. With all I was and you, the other you, made life precious. And you could become so to him. He deserves to have that."

"So do you and this Spock, he's not quite you. Your lives are different and he might find someone else he could cherish just as much as you could, maybe, cherish me, even though I'm not quite your Len."

I swallowed hard, then shook my head. “He’ll never find someone as good for him as you would be. The other you completed me. Made me whole and there is no one else in the universe who could do that for him. He deserves to know how good it feels to have you in his life, as I had you." I breathed Len's familiar scent in and out, allowed myself to soak in Len's presence. "But I don’t know if I can let you go, now that I’m holding you in my arms and letting myself feel you. You are much like him. You feel like him. And I could distinguish you and yet cherish you, but I am much older than you."

"I know. About 150, maybe 160. It's hard for me to tell, even with all the studying I've been doing on Vulcans since meeting, well, you. But, if what I've read is right, you have at least another 100 years to you, even with your mixed blood and I have only just that."

Spock felt the tears fall out of his eyes. "A bit more than that, if your life follows that of my Leonard. But, the other Spock needs you. Just as I needed you."

“Maybe and maybe not. But I’m not letting you go. Not when there’s no guarantee the Spock in this universe will even want me, much less love me, the way you did me. The way you might be able to love this me, even though I‘m not him.”

I stood still, holding Len, trying to think logically. This McCoy was different from mine. The eyes were different, but his essence, the thing that made McCoy McCoy and thus beloved to me was the same. This McCoy was so young. So vibrant. So alive. And willing to accept me for all I was, just as my Len had. And we could have a hundred years together, or more. Together. As one. We were once and could be again. I could love this McCoy. I could cherish him. I could accept that this McCoy wasn’t the one I knew. I could accept that this McCoy was different and yet just as worthy of being loved. Just as easy to love. Everything in me yearned to make him mine.

But it would be stealing him from the other Spock.

“No it wouldn’t, you green blooded bastard.” Leonard said. “You aren’t stealing me from him! He doesn’t have me! You do!”

And I KNEW. Knew it was too late. For if Len could say that to me, could know what I had been thinking, then it was too late. I had somehow made this Len his. And I wanted to regret doing so. Wanted to feel guilty for stealing him from the Spock of this universe. But I couldn’t. For Len was mine and though I would miss the Len from my universe forever, I couldn’t pass up the chance to have this one as mine. I couldn’t give him up.

And tears fell from my eyes. From grief for my Len. From joy at holding another, just as cherished. From getting a second chance. For not getting onto the Vulcan ship a moment too soon. For the Spock of this universe and for all he had lost, all I myself had lost and gained and lost and gained in just this one moment Len became mine. Again. And forever.

~The End~

Caption Winner!

The jar has spoken: gratz, Julianna!

McCoy: I'm not the one in pon farr! Just get me to Spock pronto, will ya?

My Favorite Karl Urban Pic...

Ok, the caption winner will be up later today. Meanwhile, I thought I'd share this:

Spill.com's Star Trek XI Review

Thanks, Igiveup, for pointing this out: a funny--ok, hillarious--and thoughtful review of Star Trek XI. You know these guys are good, because they talked about how brilliant Karl Urban was! In fact, I liked this review so much that I ran over to Spill.com to watch some more & even ended up registering there.

Caption Needed!

Ok, all. Let's see what we can do with a wild-eyed McCoy. . .

Picture of the Day~Happy Sigh...

I know, I know--don't worry, the caption contest photo is coming, lol. It will be up today! Meanwhile, though, I just had to share this pic of Christian Bale (which I shamelessly stole from Raven over on Goldfish Memory.) Enjoy!

Crossing the Line by Igiveup

Here's Igiveup's answer to this challenge!

Title: Crossing the Line
Author: Igiveup
Genre: AOS/Star Trek XI, Spock-McCoy
Rating: PG

Summary: While speaking to Dr. McCoy, the elder Spock reveals important information about Vulcans. . . and himself.

~oOo~

He was hurting. McCoy knew it even before Jim had driven Spock to such a violent reaction. Despite the Vulcan's insistance on not having emotions, it was clearly a lie. The other Vulcans---and Spock himself---might try to blame his reaction on his human half, but McCoy knew better. Vulcans weren't deprived of emotions, they just supressed them; burying them down deeply within themselves.

An entire planet destroyed, so many lives lost forever...

McCoy remembered what he had said to Jim when they first met: "My wife left, took the whole planet with her and left me with only my bones."

It was that remark that had earned him his nickname: Bones. As much as he liked the name, which only Jim used, the comment that inspired it now left a sour taste in his mouth.

Jocelyn hadn't taken Earth away from him. McCoy understood that now. Nero showed him what losing a planet really felt like when it came to Vulcan---and had nearly done the same with Earth.

Perhaps it was a message from God.

You thought you had problems? Guess again, buddy.

That older Vulcan, Ambassador Spock---according to Jim, he was an older version of their Spock.

"Not only a different time, but a different universe as well," the elder Spock was trying to explain to McCoy. He had come to visit the doctor to give important information about Vulcan anatomy, given that McCoy was going to be treating at least one if not many more during the course of his career.

McCoy had brought the subject over to time travel, trying to understand how this had happened.

"I'll admit my initial thought was that I had simply been pulled into the past. However, as similar as things are to the way I remember them, there are also noticeable differences."

"Such as?"

"Your eyes."

"What about them?"

"The Leonard McCoy I knew had blue eyes. Your personality and mannerisms are pretty much identical though. And for another, my McCoy was also nicknamed 'Bones' by Jim Kirk. Except in his case, he was referning to 'sawbones', an old-fashioned expression for doctor."

Oh, great. Did this mean that Old Spock(it was the easiest way for McCoy to keep him seperate from the young comander turned first officer) knew about McCoy's comment to Jim?

"It was just an expression, and you were hung over at the time."

McCoy looked up, startled.

"Another similarity: your emotions are very easy to read."

McCoy looked away.

"How well did you get along with your version of me?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"We fought quite often. Sometimes in anger, other times were more playful in nature. Crew mates would compare us to both a married couple and siblings. We managed to earn quite a reputation, to the point where some were surprised to see us when we got along."

McCoy chuckled a little. "Why did you fight?"

"At that point in my life I was not at peace with my mixed heritage. I tried to cling exclusively to my Vulcan half. This annoyed my McCoy, who was not shy in expressing his feelings, and who could not understand my refusal to do the same."

McCoy smirked. "Another similarity," he said.

"Indeed, he would try to get an emotional rise from me, with limited success."

"Sounds like something I would do," McCoy admitted. "But I sure as hell won't be bringing up the destruction of Vulcan with him, no matter how mad I get. There are some lines you just don't cross."

Old Spock nodded. "In the heat of the moment, my McCoy would sometimes 'cross the line', but he would always feel remorse, and apologize for it." A look of sadness flashed in those old eyes.

McCoy quickly changed the subject. "So, Vulcan anatomy. I know that your hearts are located where a human's liver would be and that you have green blood. What else do I need to know?"

Old Spock seemed to think for a moment. "We have a third eyelid, to proctect our eyes from our sun... we're usually not aware of it. Much like you are not aware of your appendix." There was still that faraway look in his eyes, as if he were looking into another place and time.

Abruptly, the elder Vulcan seemed to return to the present, locking eyes with McCoy.

"Listen closely, this is very important. I do not know if the Spock of this universe has already been promised to T'Pring, or if so, she survived Vulcan's destruction. But in my universe, in my past, I entered pon farr."

"Pon what?" McCoy interrupted.

"Pon farr. It is the Vulcan mating cycle. During that time we must mate, or we will die. If we have been bonded with some one, it is only they we can mate with."

"Oh," McCoy said, blushing. "Okay, so you're worried about our Spock entering this phase. Well, if this T'Pring person didn't survive---"

"Your Spock can mate with another person."

"Well, he and Uhura certainly seem to be in a relationship. Wait, I saw them kissing in the turbo lift, does that mean--"

"No, Vulcans are capable of having sex whenever they desire. It is only during pon farr that it is a matter of life and death. In my past my silence nearly cost me my life. Jim forced me to tell him what was going on. When we got to Vulcan, T'Pring declared a challenge, naming Jim as her champion. She wanted out of the arranged marriage, having found another. Jim nearly died by my hands. It was only the quick thinking of our McCoy that saved us both."

"Fascinating," McCoy said, and this time the older Spock's eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"If your Spock is as similar to me as your are to my McCoy, than you should be prepared to hear that expression quite often."

He turned serious again. "There is something else I must share with you, from my time. A cure for xenopolycythemia."

"You guys found a cure?" McCoy leaped up. "That's wonderful! People usually die from that within a year."

"I know. Your counterpart contracted it. During a mission together, we came across the cure."

"How?"

"It is a long story."

That haunted look was starting to creep into the old man's eyes again. Never had McCoy seen a more accurate display of the expression, "The eyes are the window to the soul."

"I have taken up enough of your time, Doctor. Ambassador Sarek and I need to meet to discuss where the surviving Vulcans should go from here. There is much rebuilding to be done."

"Hey, look, I'm sorry if I upset you," McCoy said quickly. Just my luck to suffer from foot in mouth disease.

"You did not, McCoy," The elder Spock reassured him. "I hope you and my counterpart will become good friends, as I was with my McCoy. It was he and Jim whom I trusted more than anyone else on the crew."

McCoy nodded. "I'll try."

"It was McCoy whom I trusted to carry my katra."

"Katra, what's that?"

"Ask your Spock," was the reply.

Left alone, McCoy thought over his conversation with the old Vulcan, and of the changes caused by Nero.

The Spock of this universe seemed to be more willing to embrace his human heritage; having said that since Vulcan was destroyed Earth was his home now. Her people were also his people, in addition to the surviving Vulcans.

McCoy did want to try to reach out to him. Spock was going to need all the friends he could get.

Besides, if Spock was more willing to embrace his human side, McCoy would not need to push him as much as his counterpart had...

Check Out These New Stories!

Ok, we have three stories in answer to this challenge so far:

1. Name Calling by Ster Julie

2. Starting Over by Liederlady

and introducing...

3. Back in the Day by J. Rosemary Moss

And we have one more on the way! Igiveup has a lovely piece that's just pending a title.

We also have Ster Julie's Sleepwalker over at Fanfiction.net. She wrote this warm, funny story in response to a caption contest here. (And it's complete now; we find out just what happens as Spock continues to sleepwalk.)

And then there's my first AOS/Star Trek XI effort: a Kirk-McCoy story called Don't Ever Get Me Flowers.

Meanwhile, I know that I'm late on the caption contest. I'm going to put it up first thing Sunday morning. I promise.

Shabbat Shalom, y'all!

~Rose

Back in the Day

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Star Trek (AOS/Star Trek XI); Spock-Prime, McCoy, friendship fic; fan-fiction; One-shot

Rating: PG

Summary: An answer to this challenge--Spock prime takes the time to thank an old friend.

~

Damn green-blooded hobgoblin, I thought as I stalked across campus. I couldn't believe Jim was stalling about picking a first officer, just in case Spock decided to grace us with his presence. Had Jim forgotten what that pointy-eared bastard had done? He marooned Jim on Delta Vega, where the kid damn near got eaten by some ice monster.

I paused mid-stride. In fairness, Jim had been in a mutinous rage when Spock subdued him and sent him off ship. And Spock hadn't meant for Jim to end up in real danger. The kid was supposed to stay in his pod and wait for someone from Starfleet to pick him up.

But when was the last time Jim-boy did what he was supposed to do?

I sighed as I shook my head and plunked down on the green. Maybe I was being too hard on the hobgoblin. Hadn't Spock just lost his mother and his home?

Besides, Jim had been asking for it.

I smiled a little, remembering how I had likened Jim to a prize thoroughbred with the guts and instincts of a champion. Spock had retorted that a racehorse needs to be broken in order to reach its potential. He had a point. Jim's got to learn not to take the bit between his teeth. Even now, with the rank of captain, he still has superiors to work with.

But those superiors no longer included Spock. Was the Vulcan really willing to serve under Jim? Yeah, probably. I remembered how he had resigned his commission immediately when Jim proved that he was unfit for command. He hadn't wasted any time trying to salvage his pride. That took integrity.

“Dr. McCoy?”

I glanced up to find an older Vulcan addressing me. I frowned, trying to place him. I didn't remember him from the Enterprise; he wasn't one of those shell-shocked escapees I had treated.

I started to climb to my feet, out of deference to his age and recent loss, but he placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me. That surprised me. In my brief dealings with Vulcans, I had already learned that they don't like to make physical contact. Most of them won't even shake hands.

I cocked my head at him as he took a seat on the grass beside me. “Do I know you, sir?”

“Indeed,” he answered. “We are old friends.”

I stared at him, not bothering to stop my mouth from dropping open. I knew who he was. Jim had told me about . . . about this older, time-traveling Spock. But hearsay was one thing; meeting him in the flesh was something else.

“You're—you're Spock,” I managed.

He nodded. “It's good to see you, Doctor.”

I swallowed. “You know me as a friend? No offense, sir, but your counterpart and I haven't exactly gotten off on the right foot.”

He grinned. How about that—I didn't know this damned stoic race was capable of grinning. But, of course, Spock was half-human.

“My counterpart seems to have started poorly with both you and Jim.”

I forced myself to return his smile. “Well, Jim may have goaded him. And me—I caught him at a bad moment.”

“Causing you, no doubt, to refer to him as a 'pointy-eared hobgoblin.' Or was it a 'green-blooded son of a bitch?'”

I swallowed hard at that. “Ah, you've overheard me say things like that? Back in the day, I mean?”

“Overheard you?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “You said them straight to my face.”

I laughed, suddenly relaxing. “And you don't hold that against me? You're better natured than I thought, sir.”

“There was nothing to hold against you,” he assured me. “I trusted you with my life—and more. In fact, you did something for me, 'back in the day.' Something for which I have never thanked you. I would like to remedy that now. However, I fear it will take some time to explain.”

“That's all right, sir,” I said. Oddly enough, I was starting to savor this man's company. “I'm not due aboard the Enterprise until 0800 tomorrow.”

“That leaves us fifteen hours and twenty-three point six minutes,” he said, looking almost relieved. “That will be sufficient.”

~

Spock and I were still sitting side by side on the green when the sun rose. I should have been shocked by what he told me. If his words were true—and I couldn't bring myself to doubt them—I had carried his very soul inside me.

Apparently, that damn katra of his had almost driven me insane. But I wasn't upset about it. Hell, I even found myself wondering if there was still some vague link between us—something that survived even the changing time lines.

I shook myself, causing Spock to glance at me with concern. “Have I—what is the human expression? Given you too much information?”

I grinned. “No. But I'll never look at my Spock the same way again. Does he know about this?”

“Not yet. I thought that I had best leave that to you—you can inform him or not, as you see fit.”

I nodded. I had no idea if I'd tell him.

I felt Spock shift toward me then and place his warm, elegant, wrinkled hand over mine. “Thank you, Leonard.”

I turned and smiled at him, wishing I had more momentous words for this occasion. But somehow I knew that the words I had would suffice.

“You're welcome, my friend.”


~The End~

Don't Ever Get Me Flowers

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Star Trek (AOS: Alternate Original Series. That is, the alternate universe established in Star Trek XI); Slash; Kirk-McCoy

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Bones tries to put a little romance into a friends-with-benefits relationship.

~

What the hell possessed me to run off to Starfleet? I'm a doctor, not a space cadet. I ought to be settling into a lazy country practice, not learning how to operate during a simulated Klingon attack.

I shook my head as I walked into my apartment. Yes, I said apartment. One of the advantages of entering Starfleet Academy as a fully qualified surgeon is permission to lodge off campus. No wretched dorm for me. I had my own place.

Well, sort of. One glance into my bedroom revealed a lump on my bed. A James T. Kirk-sized lump, to be exact.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't keep a smile from tugging at my lips. I'd learnt from the beginning of our friendship that what was mine was also Jim's. I don't think he spent any time in his dorm. Hell, he'd probably never even laid eyes on his roommate. When he wasn't crashing with me, he was in bed with the female cadet du jour.

I shook my head again as I took a seat on the edge of the bed and ruffled his hair. He moaned, slit his eyes open and then grinned up at me.

"Hey," he said as he grabbed my sleeve and tugged me into an impromptu wrestling match.

I laughed as I fell on top of him. We tousled and tumbled and twisted and untwisted until we managed to rearrange ourselves. I ended up leaning back against the headboard with Jim curled up in my arms.

Ok, ok . . . Jim and I were more than pals. Somehow I'd let this crazy Iowa farm boy talk me into becoming 'friends with benefits.' No promises, no jealousy—those were the rules he convinced me to sign onto. We were just two fellow cadets who liked to mess around when there was no better offer on the horizon.

And so I didn't bother getting angry when Jim chased every long-legged miniskirt in San Francisco. I just savored his rare failures, like his repeated strikeouts with a certain xenolinguist. He was so hot for her that he actually got himself elected treasurer of the Xenolinguistic Club. I'm happy to report that she still hasn't given him the time of day.

I've gone my own way on occasion too. The trouble is, I can't get Jocelyn out of my head. It's not enough that she took the whole damn planet in the divorce—she still has to haunt my dreams as well. That doesn't make it easy to start something up with a new girl.

I sighed. I knew that this 'friends with benefits' idea was going to end in disaster. As far as I could tell, Jim was a God damned sex addict. And I was still rebounding from that vicious divorce. But it didn't feel like a disaster right now. It never does in quiet moments like this, when we're holding each other and it seems as if the whole frantic universe has slowed down just for us.

"Today was my birthday," Jim said at length, his voice drowsy and disinterested.

I stared down at him. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have done something special. I'd have taken you out."

But he shook his head. "I'd rather spend it quiet, like this," he said.

I rolled my eyes. Didn't this boy have any sense of romance? Even 'friends with benefits' are allowed to celebrate special days together. "I'd have at least gotten you a cake," I said. "Maybe even some flowers," I added, just to annoy him.

He punched me in the arm. "Don't ever get me flowers."

I gave him a fake grimace as I pulled him closer. "You should have told me."

He glanced up at me, his expression unreadable. And then I wished that I had bitten off my tongue rather than say those last words. Of course he doesn't celebrate his birthday. He was born the same day his father died.

I sighed and kissed the top of his head. "Sorry," I said. "Hell of a birthday." He didn't say anything to that, so I kept talking. "He must have been a good man, Jim. He saved a whole lot of people."

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice flat.

I started stroking his hair. "Tell me something about him."

Jim took his time about answering. "He didn't believe in no-win scenarios," he said at last. "Pike told me that."

I can't say that surprised me. George Kirk had passed that trait right down to his son. Jim had this stubborn conviction that the rules governing most of us mortals don't apply to him. And sometimes he was so damn convincing that I found myself believing him.

"Are you upset, Bones?" he asked, looking up at me again.

"No, just trying to think up some compromise. We ought to do something to commemorate the fact that you've survived another year."

That brought a smile to his face—a reluctant smile, but a smile all the same. "Fine. You can take me out tomorrow," he said. "Someplace nice. No birthday cake, though. And no flowers."

I stared at him for a moment and then nodded. This, I suppose, was as close as he could come to celebrating his arrival into this grisly universe. And maybe as close as he could come to allowing any hint of romance into our relationship.

"Aye, aye," I told him, thinking about a candlelit restaurant that looked out over the Bay. "I know just the place."

He nodded his assent and snuggled closer to me. A minute later he was snoring softly in my arms. I rested my chin on top of his head as I planned out tomorrow evening. I'd respect Jim's wishes about the cake—I understood why he couldn't permit himself to enjoy anything that deliberately smacked of his birthday. But he'd have to put up with a little romance from me.

I closed my eyes as I made a mental note to call the florist first thing in the morning.

~The End~

Starting Over by Liederlady

Here's our second response to the Nimoy-Urban Challenge. Thanks Liederlady!

Title: Starting Over
Author: Liederlady
Genre: Star Trek Fic
Missing Scene: friendship; pre-slash; Spock Prime/Young McCoy
Rated: G
Word Count: 999 words

Starting Over

by Liederlady

~oOo~

“Personal Log, Stardate 2258.43 Leonard McCoy, Acting Chief Medical Officer, U.S.S. Enterprise.

“I’ve made final rounds with Star Fleet medical personnel for the last of the Vulcan survivors. All have been transferred to the Laurel B. Clark1 wing of Star Fleet Medical Center.

“I would have preferred not to be forced to take a crash course on Vulcan physiology.”

Vulcans! Organs in the wrong place. Meaningless vital signs. I’ve never treated a more resolute, uppity, valiant group of SOBs. Nearly all of them exhibited definite symptoms of shock, not that a blessed one would admit it.

But it showed in their eyes. Less than pain. More like sheer disbelief. An oddly blank stare coupled with an expressionless inflection. From what Jim said, their damned telepathy psychically links them all.

I punch the comm control, slump back into my chair and close my eyes.

If that’s true … Good God! Six billion lives. A whole planet. The enormity is only now hitting. Eighteen crew cases of post-traumatic stress reaction.

And the Vulcans. I can’t imagine what those poor devils are going through, reliving the death cry of their entire civilization.

Or would the lost have denied the expression of even that emotion, preferring mute fatalistic logic before being winked out of existence by a single, goddamn madman? I open my eyes to purge the horrible image of Vulcan’s annihilation and run a shaky hand across the breakthough stubble on my jaw before viciously thumbing the comm control open again.

“I’ve notified Star Fleet to assemble a full complement of counselors to treat the Vul …”

The door signal interrupts me and I have to roll my eyes. What now?

“Come!”

The door swishes and through it glides a tall figure in gray.

Him! Spock. The older version. I hadn’t realized he’d come aboard.

Jim had told me of their encounter while I patched up his busted ribs—told it in a sort of wondered daze. He kept mixing up verb tenses and Spocks. He also made me promise not to tell Spock, Commander Spock, anything about it.

Then Jim suddenly hopped off the table, wriggled into his bloody tunic and flew out into the corridor muttering something about “liberating” a scout ship from the Academy pool.

I later learned he’d retrieved the Vulcan from Delta Vega.

I can’t wrap my mind around the idea. One Spock seems problematic enough. But two of them? Like twins separated by a dozen decades.

The figure continues through the doorway and raises hooded eyes to meet my gaze. I brace myself for the same blank look the other Vulcans wore. Instead the dark eyes harbor an enemy I know far too well.

Pain.

Enough to shoot me from my chair and around the desk.

The Vulcan’s head cocks to one side and the leathery skin about the eyes crinkles. And the pain is displaced by something I can’t quite pin down.

“Doctor McCoy, I presume,” he says, with a hint of irony.

I gesture him to a chair.

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes still on me as he folds his frame into the chair.

“You’re Spock,” I say stupidly. I have little notion of what to say to this man who obviously knows-- knew me. And whom I would apparently know at some point.

Blast it. This time traveling is nonsensical enough to spark a blazing ache behind my right eye.

“Yes.”

I wait for him to say what he needs, but he remains silent, just gazes at me with those depthless dark eyes and a strange expression—strange considering what he’d been forced to witness.

Inexplicably he looks at peace.

“How can I help you, sir?” I ask.

“A drink would be welcome, if you would not mind.”

I start at that, but rise to fetch us both one, picking my way through Dr. Puri’s inner sanctum. I hadn’t had a chance to see it before it got converted to rubble by the Narada’s attack, much like the rest of Sickbay.

“I got the impression Vulcans don’t drink,” I say.

“Many do not,” Spock answers.

“Brandy ok?”

“Adequate.”

I hand him his glass and sit on the edge of my desk, waiting. He’d obviously come here for more than a drink.

“To friendship,” Spock says, raising his glass. I return the gesture and we both nurse the brandy. After only a sip or two, I put my glass on the desk.

“You have the appearance of a man with a problem,” the Vulcan says.

I glance up at him.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” I shoot back with a scowl. His left eyebrow creeps up to touch his gray bangs.

That’s right, Len, attack the patient. Great bedside manner.

“Sorry. It’s just-- You can’t return to your own time. Your world, your people. Gone. What are you going to do now?”

His eyes drill into mine and I know I’ve pushed too far for once. This man may know me, but I don’t know him, don’t know how to reach him or treat his breed of agony.

“Start over,” he says simply. “Surely, something you understand, Leonard.”

Suddenly, I cannot look at him, opting instead to stare at my left pinkie where Jocelyn’s discarded wedding band mocks me.

“Other civilizations have survived genocide, Doctor.”

“The odds are against you,” I murmur.

Spock nods.

“A very dear friend once taught me that we may find meaning in life even when confronted with a hopeless situation, when facing a fate that cannot be changed. What matters then is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph.2”

“I know that,” I say, trying to recall it.

“Yes. You do,” Spock’s deep bass replies. “When all hope was taken from him, the meaning Nero discovered was to inflict comparable suffering.”

“Monstrous.”

“Desperate,” Spock corrects. “Nero lacked such a friend as mine.”

We spend the balance of the evening finishing the brandy.

1. Laurel B. Clark was a medical doctor and Space Shuttle mission specialist killed in the Columbia Space Shuttle tragedy in 2003.
2. Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning (paraphrase)

Name Calling by Ster Julie

Here's our first response to the Nimoy-Urban Challenge. Thanks Ster Julie!

Title: Name-calling
Author: Ster Julie
Codes: AOS; S, Sp, Mc
Rating: PG
Part 1 of 1

-ooOoo--

Spock made a detour after speaking to his older self. He sought out Doctor McCoy, finding him about to enter Starfleet Academy’s Great Hall.

“Doctor, come with me,” he ordered.

“Spock,” McCoy complained as he rushed to catch up to the long-legged Vulcan’s stride, “we’re going to be late for the assembly. I can’t afford another demerit.”

“Scan this Vulcan elder,” Spock continued.

McCoy pulled a small scanner from his pocket, the one he called his “salt shaker.”

“Who is he?” McCoy asked.

“You tell me, Doctor.”

McCoy peered at the readout and frowned. He scanned the younger Vulcan at his side and frowned again. “It’s you!” McCoy exclaimed. “I mean, it’s an older version, but it’s you. How can that be?”

“He claims to have traveled back in time,” Spock stated.

McCoy shook his head. “With all this time leaping, I’m going to need a scorecard.”

“I thought I told you to have faith,” the elder Vulcan addressed Spock.

Younger Spock raised his brows sheepishly.

“Go to the assembly, Spock,” the elder chided. “It is important that you be there. I will send McCoy in shortly.”

Spock Prime watched as his younger self scurried away while McCoy eyed the older Spock curiously. He observed the silent young doctor and concluded, “You can not be the real Leonard McCoy.”

McCoy balked at that. “I am the real Leonard McCoy,” he retorted. “Why would you say that?”

“Because the Leonard McCoy I knew was never at a loss for words,” Spock responded.

“Jim told me that you two were friends in your timeline,” McCoy declared. “Were we?”

“You and Jim?” Spock feigned confusion.

“No, you and me, you pointy-eared hobgoblin!”

McCoy saw the Vulcan’s ancient eyes mist over sadly. “I’m sorry!” he apologized. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Spock sighed. “It has been a long time since I heard you call me that,” he whispered.

“So you and I were friends?” McCoy concluded.

Spock shook his head in reply. “No,” he began slowly. “Jim and I were friends.
You and I were t’hy’la.”

“What does that mean?” McCoy wondered.

Spock drew nearer. “It has many meanings,” he explained as he took the doctor’s hand and maneuvered his first two fingers forward. “The one that was special to us was ‘lover.’”

McCoy felt a spark of electricity shoot up from his fingers when Spock touched him. He got a brief glance into the long and abiding relationship this Spock had experienced with his own McCoy.

“But I thought you and Uhura …” he stammered when he could once again find his voice.

Spock smiled gently. “Uhura and I shared a brief dalliance in my time,” he explained. “But our relationship lasted more than a century.”

McCoy accessed the memories he had shared with Spock. “We were married?” he exclaimed.

Spock simply nodded.

McCoy had never ever considered a relationship with any kind of male. He fancied himself a ladies’ man. But somebody put that twinkle in Spock’s gentle eyes. He just couldn’t imagine himself and that younger version of Spock ...

“How did all this begin?” McCoy asked.

“It began with all the name-calling,” Spock said as he stepped even closer. “Like, ‘pointy-eared hob-goblin,’ ‘green-blooded Vulcan,’ ‘walking computer.’ Then there was all the bickering, when you would asked me, ‘Are you out of your Vulcan mind?’ Jim once observed that we argued like a couple of ‘old, married folk.’ At that moment our eyes met and we knew how right Jim was. We were married soon after.”

McCoy swallowed audibly and closed his eyes a moment. He just couldn’t imagine swinging that way with any male, let alone Spock. “I’m a ladies’ man, I’m a ladies’ man,” he chanted to himself. He wondered how bickering with Spock could ever lead to a romance, let alone a marriage. He promised to stop calling Spock names. Well, at least he promised to try.

Suddenly, McCoy felt a light touch on his head, his cheek, as gentle as a benediction. Opening his eyes, he saw Spock Prime standing before him, his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

“Go now,” Spock dismissed. “You’ll be marked tardy, and you can’t afford another demerit.”

“It was … nice meeting you, sir,” McCoy said as he turned and hurried to his seat, wondering how Spock knew that.

Spock watched as McCoy slipped into his place a mere second before the Commandant took the stage.

“Goodbye, my heart,” he whispered.

END

Caption Winner!

We have a new winner this week: gratz, Liederlady!

"Jim, stop f***ing with the transporter & beam McCoy back here."