Throughout All Time

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Original Fiction; One-Shot; Flash-Fiction

Rating: PG

Feedback: Any and all comments & critiques welcome and encouraged! (Help me improve my writing . . .)

Summary: One man's wry and grudging observations on the Mourner's Kaddish.

~

“Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba . . .”

I mouthed the words along with the cantor and the other mourners. Assuming the guy leading services was a real cantor. Probably not; he was more likely a competent congregant. This synagogue was too poor to afford a full time hazzan.

“b’alma di v’ra, kir’utei,”

I hadn’t been here in years. I hadn’t even come when my father died. I didn’t sit shiva for him either; I was too angry. My wife was appalled—Eileen’s a nice Catholic girl who understands the power of ritual. But I was adamant. I despised the man while he was alive, so I refused to go through the motions of mourning his death.

“v’yamlich malchutei b’chayeichon u-v’yomeichon . . .”

My God, I can’t believe how easily these words come back. That’s why my father forced me to go to Hebrew school, I suppose. He almost never set foot in synagogue himself, yet he wanted to make sure I knew something about it. Bloody hypocrite.

“u-v’chayei d’chol beit Yisrael,”

My parents never lit candles on Shabbat or recited the blessings. We didn’t keep kosher. Hell, even our Seder was just a glorified family dinner. And yet my father made sure I learned enough to feel obliged, on the anniversary of his death, to come and say Kaddish for him. God damned hypocritical bastard.

"ba’agala u-vi-z’man kariv, v’imru amen.”

I kept mouthing the words, even daring to speak up now that I knew I wouldn’t embarrass myself. Part of me wished that I could have stayed home and said it in private, but that was unthinkable. You need ten Jews to say Kaddish—it doesn’t work in isolation. If I was going to recite the damn thing at all, I was going to do it properly.

“Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach l’alam u-l’almei almaya.”

I rolled my eyes, wondering what my father would think if he could see me honoring his life. “May his memory be a blessing,” people had told me. I had to fight the urge to snort with laughter. Memories of what? Of his hypocrisy? Of his endless criticisms? Of his biting sarcasm? Of the unforgivable things he said about my wife?

“Yitbarach v’yishtabach, v’yitpa-ar v’yitromam v’yitnasei,”

He was good with the grandkids; I’ll give him that. Not that he would have ever have laid eyes on them if it were up to me. But Eileen insisted.

“v’yit-hadar v’yit’aleh v’yit-halal sh’mei d’kudsha, b’rich hu . . .”

It must have killed him to watch us raising the kids Catholic. But why should I have taught them anything about Judaism? Eileen’s the one who cares about religion, not me. Unlike my father, I won’t play the hypocrite for my children.

“l’ela min kol birchata v’shirata, tusb’chata v’nechamata . . .”

That means my kids will never say Kaddish for me. Well, so be it. Why should I care?

“da’amiran b’alma, v’imru amen.”

I closed my eyes, picturing my father saying Kaddish for my grandfather, and my grandfather saying Kaddish for my great-grandfather, and so on back through the generations. The line would end with me. My son would never stand in shul on my yartzeit, the anniversary of my death. He'd never even heard the word yartzeit.

“Y’hei sh’lama raba min sh’maya . . .”

I opened my eyes as the prayer kept tumbling out of me. So my son would never say Kaddish. My father would ask what I expected when I married a gentile. But that wasn’t the problem. Eileen would have gladly taught the kids about Judaism—her idea had been to raise them with a sound knowledge of each faith and let them choose when they got older.

“v’chayim aleinu v’al kol Yisrae-el, v’imru amen.”

I argued that if we were going to give them any religion, it had to be one consistent faith. Otherwise we’d confuse them. They’d end up coldly agnostic like me or in some God-forsaken Messianic congregation. I could stand watching my kids growing up Catholic, but I’d be damned before I’d see them in some crazy Christian ‘synagogue’ filled with pretend Jews.

“Oseh shalom bi-m’romav,”

But for the first time, I thought about what my kids were missing. No, not Hebrew school. I wasn’t cruel enough to force that on them. But to think that I had kids who didn’t know what someone’s yartzeit was . . .

“hu ya’aseh shalom . . .”

I bowed to my left, to my right and then straight ahead. Funny how your body remembers to bow even if your brain doesn’t see the point. Did I believe that I was literally bowing before God’s throne, and to the angels standing to the right and left of it? No, but here I was going through the motions.

“aleinu v’al kol Yisrae-el . . .”

God damn it. It did matter. I almost tripped over the words, stunned, as that realization hit me. I wanted my kids to say Kaddish for me someday, even if they were only going through the motions. I wanted them to learn how to make a real Seder—the kind I only experienced as a guest on second night. I wanted them to argue and question everything in shul. I wanted them to notice that something was missing when the family didn’t sit down together for Shabbat dinner. But I’d already made my choice. I wasn’t about to confuse my kids now. I’d have to play the hypocrite after all and pretend not to care.

“v’imru amen.”

I could do that, I told myself. Of course I could. I knew all about playing the hypocrite: I’d learned from the best.

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...

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~

When the Ax Falls~A Spiced Peaches Story

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash fan fiction; Star Trek; Spock-McCoy

Rating: PG

Summary: Bones wonders how much Spock remembers of his most embarrassing moment…

Right now, this story is only available here at Spiced Peaches XVI. I was working on it right up to the deadline, lol--and while I like it, I think I might expand it eventually. Meanwhile though, enjoy!

A Remarkable Honor

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Star Trek, Fan Fiction, Spock-McCoy

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Star Trek

Feedback: Any and all welcome!

Summary: In this drabble, McCoy reflects on the honor that Spock has bestowed upon him. This is set during Amok Time.

~

Sweet Jesus—he wants me at his wedding. He's entitled to have his friends accompany him...and he counts me as such. Right along with Jim.

Why am I surprised? Of course we're friends. How else could we have survived all our bickering and arguing? But I didn't expect him to pick me as one of his best men.

I'm honored that he wants me there. I never dreamed that he'd trust me to witness this Vulcan ceremony. Jim was one thing, but I thought Spock considered me all too human.

See that? He values my 'human failings' after all.

~The End~

No More Secrets

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Star Trek, Fan Fiction, Spock-McCoy

Rating: G

Feedback: Any and all welcome!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Star Trek

Summary: In this drabble, McCoy realizes that his past is an open book to Spock...

~

There are no secrets between us now. That’s the legacy of this katra business: he knows every last damn thing about me.

I know his secrets too, but he can pretend not to blush over his embarrassing memories. Vulcans don’t suffer embarrassment. But I’m just an illogical mess of a human who ran away from his cheating wife, leaving his daughter behind. God, what must Spock think of me?

It doesn’t matter right now. He’s not operating on all thrusters. But once he’s himself again, I’ll have to face him.

And I’ll have to face the chagrin in his eyes.

~The End~

Forever In Sight

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek; a Kirk-Spock-McCoy friendship fic/pre-slash.)

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Star Trek.

Summary: In the wake of The Empath, Kirk and Spock manage to comfort Bones and take him to task at the same time.

~

“Farewell.”

That was the last word we heard from those damn Vians. I struggled to a seated position just in time to watch them disappear with Gem.

“Where'd they go?” I demanded as Jim propped me up with his arm. “What will they do with her?”

“I believe they intend to save Gem and her people,” Spock answered.

“I hope so,” Jim added. “But it’s out of our hands now.” He paused and looked me over. “How are you, Bones?” he asked.

I shook myself a little, trying to take in everything that had happened. “I think I’ll live,” I answered. “Thanks to Gem.”

He nodded...and then he pulled me into a hug that knocked what little breath I had left right out of me. “Good,” he said, all but crushing me. “That means I can still strangle you myself.”

I smiled a little and let my head collapse against his shoulder. “I take it you two are a bit sore about how I, ah, disposed of you?”

“You disobeyed both of us, Bones.”

“That is not entirely true, Jim,” Spock objected. Then I felt him sit down on the other side of me and place his hand soothingly on my back. “Dr. McCoy quite properly used a hypospray in order to give you much needed rest. He acted within his rights as our chief medical officer.”

I turned my head a little so that I could see the pointy-eared hobgoblin. “Why, thank you, Mr. Spock,” I said in my best drawl. “I’m glad you understand the logic of my decision.”

“The logic of your decision to render our captain unconscious, Doctor,” Spock corrected. “I, on the other hand, was in no medical need of a hypo. Your decision to render me unconscious and ignore my orders was unethical and illogical.”

“It might have been disobedient, Spock, but it wasn’t unethical or illogical. I can come up with plenty of logical reasons that prove I was the better choice to face those Vian monsters and their torture than you.”

“None of which will satisfy me,” Spock assured me. “And I am your superior officer.”

I rolled my eyes. As if I needed reminding.

Jim pulled me even closer to him. Next thing I knew, he was absent-mindedly stroking my hair. Sweet Jesus. I knew I shouldn’t allow him to baby me that way—but somehow I’d lost the will to resist his comfort.

“Very well, Spock,” Jim said at length, “I’ll concede that Bones was within his rights to administer that hypo to me. But we still have to deal with the fact that he knocked you out and disobeyed your direct order. So I suppose I’ll have to leave his punishment to you.”

“If you court martial me, Spock, at the very least they’ll kick my ass out of Starfleet. `Course, I might not mind that—but I’d hate to be sent to some reform colony.”

“I have no intention of instigating a court martial,” Spock assured me, keeping his hand on my back and—incredibly—even massaging me gently. What the hell had come over these two?

Still, I could feel myself relaxing at his touch, just like before. I wasn’t lying when I told him he had a good bedside manner. He’d have made an excellent physician…although I’m pretty sure I’d die before admitting that.

“The circumstances of your disobedience were rather extraordinary,” Spock continued. “Therefore I do not believe a formal court martial to be necessary or desirable.”

“I won’t argue that,” I said. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll be paying for that disobedience with nightmares for the rest of my life.”

“Even if I were to admit to feelings, Doctor, your nightmares would hardly affect them in a positive manner.”

I grinned at that and shook my head a little. But I didn’t have the strength to reprimand him for his literal-mindedness.

“If he weren’t in so much pain already,” Jim said over my head to Spock, “I’d tell you to tan his hide.”

“I doubt Spock knows what that means,” I said, rolling my eyes again.

“Oh, don’t worry, Bones. I’ll be happy to explain it to him.”

“On the contrary, I am aware of the meaning of that phrase,” Spock insisted. “However, Jim, I do not believe we would find a precedent for such a punishment in Starfleet.”

“Well, I’ve no objection to creating one,” Jim told him.

“Go to hell,” I said.

I felt Jim laugh a little at that as he rested his chin on top of my head. “Why’d you do it, Bones?”

“That’s a damn fool question, Jim,” I informed him. “You wanted to do the same and face the torture yourself—and so did Spock. I was the only one who had the means, that’s all.”

He sighed, pulling me so close that I was beginning to expect a marriage proposal. “We’re never going to let you out of our sight again,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“Hey Spock,” I said, in a voice that was muffled because of Jim's embrace. “Aren’t you going to correct his reckless promise that the pair of you will watch over me for all eternity?”

“No, Doctor,” he said evenly.

I rolled my eyes yet again. These two were going to be a royal pain in the ass—at least for the foreseeable future. I knew for a fact that they’d be fussing over me and checking up on me constantly. And yes, even a hot-shot captain and a walking, talking, green-blooded computer are capable of fussing over a fellow.

If I wanted some peace and solitude in order to recover from what those monsters did to me, I knew I’d have to speak up right away. I’d have to make it clear that I needed some time to myself. But my mouth wouldn’t form the words. Somehow, being looked after didn’t sound like such a bad idea right now.

So I didn’t argue with them. I closed my eyes instead and let myself slip into unconsciousness. And then I slept better than I ever have in my life. I don’t even remember our return to the Enterprise. I just remember knowing that I was safe.

Because even if those Vian bastards haunted my dreams, Jim and Spock would be there to chase them away.

~The End~

~To Reach This Season~

by J. Rosemary Moss

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

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Kirk helps Bones see Spock's dual-heritage in a new light.

~

Bones leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Damn it Jim, I'm not asking Spock to find God."

Kirk grinned, trying to imagine Bones in a relationship with anyone who had, ah, found God. "I think it'd be inconvenient for you if he did—you're too comfortable as an agnostic."

"Exactly," he agreed, smiling a little in return.

The two men were sitting in Kirk's cabin. They were each seated on opposite sides of a table with a bottle of Saurian brandy and two half-filled glasses between them. Kirk picked up his glass and took a long, slow sip.

"But I can't stand to see him ignore and dismiss every part of his human heritage," Bones continued. "He's a Jew through Amanda—it wouldn't kill him to light a menorah once in his life."

Kirk considered that. He understood where Bones was coming from on this—it did seem a shame to watch Spock ignore his human half. Especially around the holidays. If Spock had it his way, he'd skip all the parties and wind up meditating alone in his cabin.

On the other hand, though, he sympathized with Spock as well. It wasn't easy to juggle two contradictory backgrounds. He couldn't blame Spock for choosing his Vulcan half and sticking with it.

"I can't think why Amanda never taught him this stuff," Bones went on, "Why didn't she raise him to celebrate more of his human history?"

Kirk set his glass down and frowned at his friend. "I don't know about that. I think Amanda might have done the right thing."

The doctor narrowed his eyes at him. "You can't mean that, Jim-boy. Would you have wanted your folks to choose either Christmas or Chanukah, instead of raising you on both?"

"Sometimes," he answered.

"Why?" Bones demanded. "One's not better or worse than the other."

"I didn't say it was," Kirk snapped. "Look, Bones, it's not always easy to find your way around two separate heritages. I'm not comparing my situation to Spock's, but even I got tired of trying to figure what the hell I was back when I was growing up."

Bones stared at him. "Was it that big a deal?"

Kirk looked away for a moment and then shrugged. "We didn't belong to a synagogue, we didn't belong to a church, but we celebrated both sets of holidays and managed to annoy both sets of grandparents."

He paused, frowning again. "If I got confused as a kid, and sick of all of it, imagine what it must have been like for Spock. For God's sake, his parents were from two different planets. I think Amanda had to make sure that he got one consistent upbringing—even if that meant shortchanging his human half."

Bones had picked up his own glass, but he set it down slowly at that. "I hadn't thought of it that way," he owned. "Jesus—I suppose I owe that hobgoblin an apology. I've been on his back about this for a while."

"Look, why don't you leave it up to him?" Kirk suggested. "I have a chanukiah here somewhere. I can dig it up. Invite him over tonight to light the candles and have some dinner. No pressure, no presents to worry about—and just the three of us. No big party. But if he says no, let it be."

Bones sighed, but at length he nodded. "Yeah—I'll do that. But leaving it up to him means we probably won't come."

~

Spock was stepping out of his sonic shower when he realized that Dr. McCoy had let himself into the room. Not only that, but the doctor was lounging on Spock's bunk, raising his eyebrows appreciatively at the sight that greeted him.

"You didn't have to put on that robe for my sake," the doctor informed him, his blue eyes dancing with delight.

Spock felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was relieved that the doctor no longer seemed upset with him, but he forced himself to remain stoic. "You have a remarkably one track mind, Doctor."

"Well, I like to keep my focus," the human explained. "Consider it a form of meditation."

"Indeed?" Spock asked. "Thorough concentration on sex is not a branch of meditation often taught on Vulcan."

"Well, it's not quite a traditional branch," McCoy admitted. "But maybe we should open up a school there dedicated to teaching it—it might be the next big thing. If nothing else, it ought to relieve the stress caused by an overdose of logic."

"I'm sure T'Pau would be delighted with the project," Spock pointed out dryly.

McCoy's eyebrows shot up at that. "Sarcasm becomes you, my love. Very well, we'll set that project aside for now and wait till we can wrap T'Pau around our finger."

"As I believe the human saying goes, that will require us to wait until 'hell freezes over.'"

"Probably. Come'ere you overgrown elf."

Spock complied by taking a seat on the bunk and leaning back against the wall as he wrapped his arms around his mate. He allowed his robe to fall open somewhat, so that the human could rest his head against Spock's bare shoulder and snuggle against his skin.

"I'm sorry I've been pushing you about the holidays," McCoy said suddenly. "We don't have to go to the holiday party and I'll stop hassling you about a menorah."

Spock raised his eyebrows at that, wondering what had brought about this change in the doctor. But the doctor, apparently, had decided to answer that himself.

"Look, Spock," he said. "I come from a long line of Southern Protestants. If a Methodist married a Baptist it was a big deal in my family...and that's about as adventurous as we got. I don't have the slightest idea of what it must be like to come from two completely different cultures. Given that, I had no right to push you to observe human traditions."

He paused for a moment and seemed to collect his thoughts. "Jim invited us over tonight to have dinner and light the Chanukah candles, but there's no pressure. We don't have to go. And if we do go, we don't actually have to light anything—"

"I do not object to going," Spock interrupted. "Nor do I object to joining the crew at the holiday party."

"You had lots of objections before," McCoy pointed out, shifting a little so that he could glance up at him.

"I objected to celebrating the holidays as if they are my own," Spock corrected. "They are not. But I do not object to celebrating them with you and Jim...or even the rest of the crew."

McCoy grinned. "Fair enough. Let's get dressed and head over there. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can get you back here and unwrap you."

~

Kirk glanced over at his two best friends as he set up the chanukiah. Both men were relaxed now, he noted with approval. Any squabbling between them must have been amicably settled. And he took full credit for that.

"Hey Jim," Bones called out from his seat, "what's that famous Jewish prayer? The one that's thankful that we all made it to this moment alive?"

Spock cocked his head at him. "I believe that is the gist of the Shehecheyanu."

"Yeah, it is." Kirk confirmed, grinning and thinking that it was a miracle these two had made it to this moment without killing each other.

"In fact," he continued, "we'll say a Shehecheyanu right now, in honor of the fact that we're lighting the candles for the first time this year: Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh. Amein. Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season. Amen."

"I'll say Amen to that," Bones said.

"As will I," Spock added, looking fondly at his lover despite his Vulcan austerity.

Kirk shook his head at the pair of them as he prepared the Shamash—the helping candle—for its duties. "Happy Chanukah, you two."

~The End~

No Excuses

by J. Rosemary Moss

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

Rating: PG

Summary: Bones gets his chance to lecture Spock in the wake of Amok Time.

~

Spock entered sickbay with no visible emotion on his face, but internally he was dreading the visit. Such dread was illogical—but it would be even more so to lie to himself.

This would be the first time since his failed marriage ceremony that he would face a physical. And McCoy was no longer ignorant of the Pon Farr. The doctor would be checking and double-checking to make certain that Spock was no longer suffering any ill effects from the blood fever. Spock had to fight to keep his cheeks from flushing in embarrassment.

Worse, the doctor would have quite a bit to say about Spock's prior secrecy on the subject. And Spock could think of no argument in his own defense.

"Hey Spock," McCoy said, looking up at him from the desk in his office. "Grab a chair—I'd like to talk to you for a bit before we get started."

Spock nodded, knowing that this 'talk' would be a thinly disguised lecture. A glance around sick bay confirmed his fears. Apart from the doctor and himself, it was empty. McCoy, apparently, wanted the freedom to express his quite justified anger.

Spock seated himself uncertainly, but made sure to give every outward appearance of composure. "We seem to be alone, Doctor," he ventured.

McCoy nodded. "Yeah. Spock, from now on, I'm going to make sure we have as much privacy as possible when you come for examinations. That way—well, it'll be easier for you if there's anything you need to tell me in confidence."

This time Spock did blush—and he was sure that the sudden green tint to his face was not lost on McCoy. He looked away in embarrassment, but then forced himself to meet the human's eyes.

"You are upset, Doctor, that I did not explain the blood fever to you."

McCoy regarded him steadily, but took his time about answering. At length he sighed. "Spock, I'm your physician. Your health and well being are my responsibility. Now you left me entirely in the dark. I knew that the chemicals your body was pumping into your system were killing you—but I couldn't figure out what was causing them."

"You did eventually figure it out, Doctor."

"Yeah—no thanks to you. Spock, why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

"The blood fever is not discussed with non-Vulcans—"

But McCoy shook his head. "That's not an excuse. First of all, when you accepted a position aboard the Enterprise, you knew damn well that there was no Vulcan healer at hand. You knew you'd have to trust yourself to a human doctor."

The human paused and sighed. "Secondly, Spock, you know that whatever we discuss about your medical condition is strictly between us. Do you honestly think I'd violate our doctor-patient confidentiality?"

Spock felt himself swallowing. "Doctor, I—I," he broke off and looked away again.

"Do you?" McCoy pressed.

Spock shut his eyes and shook his head. He knew full well that the human was trustworthy.

There was a long moment of silence. "All right," McCoy said at last. "I can only think of one other reason that would make you refuse to confide in me. Did you think—did you think that I would tease you unmercifully? That I would try to embarrass you?"

Spock opened his eyes as he forced himself to turn back to the doctor. "The thought had crossed my mind," he said dryly, "But—"

McCoy let out a string of curses, cutting him off. "Spock...oh, God damn it. Spock, listen to me. I know that I—that I poke fun of your logic and your green blood and your pointed ears. But I never meant any of that seriously." He paused, reconsidering that. "Well, maybe the logic," he owned, "but not the rest. Look, I respect you, I admire you and I'd never insult you in earnest. I've always meant it affectionately."

The human paused again and sighed. "If my idiot remarks made you think that I'd be looking to embarrass you—"

"Doctor, you did not allow me to finish," Spock interrupted. Then he paused, collecting his thoughts. He had not expected a heartfelt apology from McCoy. If he were human, he would have been oddly touched by it.

"I did fear that you would make some 'idiot' remarks," Spock explained at last, "but that is not the reason that I neglected to confide in you. I have always recognized the affection in your insults—and therefore your remarks have never troubled me. On the contrary, I find our sparring stimulating."

McCoy stared at him. "Are you certain?"

Spock nodded. "Yes, Doctor."

The human was visibly relieved. "Well, thank God for that. But if you knew I wouldn't violate your confidence, and if you knew I wouldn't try to embarrass you, then why wouldn't you tell me what was going on?"

"Because of my own ill-judged stubbornness," Spock confessed. "It was no fault of yours, Doctor. Vulcans have traditionally shrouded the blood fever in secrecy; I took that to an extreme—a life-threatening extreme. I regret that I did not display better judgment."

McCoy stared at him. "Are you sure that it had nothing to do with the way I've been treating you?"

Spock felt his eyes soften. "I could not ask for better treatment from any physician, Vulcan or otherwise. You are highly emotional, Doctor—and both too gruff and too sentimental—but you are astonishingly competent despite these shortcomings."

The human grinned, clearly mollified. "Thank you. I'll take that as high praise. Now, will you promise to confide in me from now on? No matter how embarrassing you might find your condition—and even if you violate some Vulcan taboo by describing it?"

"I promise, Doctor."

"Good," McCoy said, satisfied. "Now get your green-blooded ass on the examination table. Let's make certain that your body has healed itself from all the strain it's been under."

Spock opened his mouth at the reference to his 'green-blooded ass,' but somehow he managed to bite back a sharp retort. "Yes, Doctor," he said at last.

Both men rose to their feet and Spock meekly followed McCoy to the table. The sharp retort was still on his tongue, but he let it die there.

Under the circumstances, McCoy deserved to have the last word.

~The End~

Never Parting

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash fan-fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: R (It's probably PG-13...but just as a precaution)

Summary: In the aftermath of Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, Bones tries to protect Spock and make the Vulcan see reason...

~

Bones sank down onto his bunk, grateful that all the excitement had died down. Well, almost all the excitement. Kirk, being Kirk, had ignored the command to return to space dock in order to be decommissioned--but that couldn’t last forever.

The doctor sighed, wondering what he would do now that his career aboard the Enterprise was really going to end. Kirk, he knew, meant to take advantage of full retirement. It was almost impossible to imagine Kirk retired, but the captain insisted that was what he wanted. It wasn’t, of course--retirement would frustrate the hell out of Jim--but Bones somehow managed not to point that out to his friend.

As for Spock…Bones paused as an affectionate smile played on his lips. That green-blooded hobgoblin might retire from Starfleet, but he still had a long life in front of him; much longer than his human friends. Full retirement was out of the question. Spock hadn’t reached any decisions yet, but Bones knew just what would happen. Spock would finally follow in his father’s footsteps, becoming an official diplomat.

Just then the call button to Bones’ cabin rang. Speak of the pointy-eared devil. Bones knew instinctively that Spock stood without.

“Come on in,” he called, pulling himself to a seated position.

Spock walked in majestically, donned in his Vulcan robes. He looked like some kind of bloody royalty. How did he pull that off?

“Doctor,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Hey Spock,” Bones returned, nodding at the nearest chair. “Have a seat.”

The Vulcan glanced at the chair, but then ignored it. To McCoy’s surprise, he took a seat on the bunk instead, right next to the doctor.

Bones raised his eyebrows at that, but decided not to read too much into it. That would be dangerous--that would bring him to the very emotions he’d been trying his damnedest to suppress. So he ignored Spock’s nearness and just shifted a bit so that he could lean back against the wall.

“What’s up?” he asked, willing his sudden erection to die down. Not that it worked. Damn thing had a mind of its own.

Spock proceeded as if he hadn’t noticed McCoy’s discomfort. Which, hopefully, he hadn't.

“You are well, Doctor?”

“After that little vacation Jim and I took on Rura Penthe, you mean?” Bones asked, cocking his head at the Vulcan. “I’m just dandy, thanks. But next time I’ll stick with Risa.”

Spock regarded him steadily. “I am sorry. I never foresaw such consequences to this mission.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Spock. You can blame Chang and Cartwright and Valeris and everyone else in the conspiracy. You just wanted peace--I can’t fault you for that. And neither can Jim. Besides, you came to our rescue. Though we’re damned lucky that your viridium patch trick worked--I hate to think what would have happened if the Klingons had robbed us of our uniforms.”

“I’d have attempted to use the bond between us to locate you and the captain instead,” Spock explained. “A clumsier method, perhaps, but it may also have proved effective.”

Bones stiffened at that--he couldn’t help it.

His reaction was not lost on the Vulcan. Spock sighed. “Doctor, however much you dislike this bond, it would have been foolish to ignore it in such circumstances.”

“Damned Vulcan priestess,” McCoy said as he leaned back even further and put his hands behind his head. He was even more determined to ignore his erection now. “You’d think with all their rituals and mind probes they could have separated us properly. I may not have your katra any longer, but I still have your thoughts and memories.”

“And I yours,” Spock agreed. “And if you would accept that, rather than fighting it constantly, you might discover that there are advantages to the link between us.”

“Well, if I’m ever stuck in Rura Penthe again, I’ll keep that in mind,” Bones snapped.

Spock stared at him for a long moment and then rose to his feet. “Perhaps now is not the best time to discuss this, Doctor.”

But Bones already regretted his outburst. “Spock, wait,” he said, grabbing hold of the Vulcan’s arm.

Spock took no offense at the intimacy; he merely seated himself back on the bunk.

“It’s not that I mind a link between us,” Bones tried to explain, still keeping a hold on Spock’s arm. “It’s just that--look, I don’t like thinking that you’re stuck with my memories whether you want them or not.”

“You are likewise ‘stuck’ with my memories, Doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got your Vulcan disciplines to spare you embarrassment.”

Spock’s eyes softened. “You have not once attempted to embarrass me by what you have learned from my memories. Are you afraid that I mean to embarrass you?”

“Of course not,” Bones said. “But just knowing what you know about me--damn it, Spock.”

There was a long moment of silence. Spock knew just how attracted Bones was to him. There was no possibility that he didn’t know. Hell, he probably knew just how aroused Bones was now. He must know.

“You speak of your feelings for me,” the Vulcan said at length.

Bones shut his eyes and somehow managed to nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry Spock. I never meant for you to find out. I never meant to--to make you uncomfortable.”

Spock reached out and took hold of McCoy’s chin. “Your feelings have not made me uncomfortable. On the contrary, I have cherished them.”

Bones released Spock’s arm. “But you don’t return them,” he pointed out. “Let’s not pretend that you do. You can let go of me now.”

Spock came as close then to letting out a frustrated sigh as Bones could ever remember. “Doctor,” he said, letting go of his chin, “why do you insist on misunderstanding me? No, I do not have the same feelings for you that you have for me. I will never experience the emotional rollercoaster that you accept as a natural part of your existence. Nonetheless, I am not now--nor have I ever been--indifferent to you. You have long been a thorn in my side…and you have long been as indispensable to me as breathing.”

McCoy stared at him, dumbfounded. “Spock--”

“If you insist on some giddy human emotion from me, Doctor, you will always be disappointed,” Spock continued, cutting him off. “But if you can accept the measured devotion that I do have to offer, I think…I think you will find that we are well suited as bond-mates. And you will understand that you have nothing to fear from this bond.”

Spock paused and his eyes took on almost a tender look. “We have wasted much time. That is as much my fault as it yours. But I almost lost you at Rura Penthe. In light of that, I do not wish to allow any more opportunities to pass us by.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes at him. “Spock, what the hell are you offering me? Look, you’re already one of my two best friends. If that’s all you want from this bond--”

“I am offering you a full-fledged relationship, Doctor. I wish to be your friend, your lover--your partner.”

He spoke the words so quietly and dispassionately that it took McCoy almost a full minute to discern their meaning. “My partner?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Bones took a deep breath. “Are you offering this only because you’re stuck with the bond anyway? Are you just making the best of a bad situation? Are you figuring that as long as we’re forced into the intimacy of this link, we might as well enjoy some sex?”

Spock cocked his head at him. “Are you afraid the sex will not be enjoyable?”

Bones started at that and then chocked back a laugh. “No--no it’s not that. Spock, if it hadn’t been for this bond, would you still want this?”

There was another long moment of silence. Bones found himself holding his breath as he waited for an answer.

“As I said, Doctor, I have never been indifferent to you,” Spock said at last. “However, had it not been for this bond between us, I do not know if I would have surmised your feelings for me. Moreover, during our first five-year mission, I do not believe I would have felt myself capable of dealing with human emotions on such an intimate level.”

He paused and gave Bones a look that almost melted the good doctor. “However, this bond has taught me that I have no need to fear your human passions…any more than you should fear my Vulcan logic. Indeed, you are not so illogical as you pretend to be. Nor am I completely devoid of emotion. We have much more in common than either of us imagined.”

Bones sprang up suddenly and began to pace the room. He couldn’t afford to be that close to the Vulcan. Spock was offering him everything he ever wanted--but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He had to give that green-blooded hobgoblin every out that he could think of.

“Spock, in the normal course of things I’ll die before you. Quite a while before you.”

“Whether I lose you as a full-fledged partner, or lose you as one of my two best friends, the grief will be unbearable, Leonard.”

Bones nodded. He couldn’t argue that. Nonetheless, he could still think of more outs. “And if I know you, you’ll finally become a diplomat, just like your father. I won’t be accompanying you on every mission, Spock. I’ve been lying here thinking about what to do with my life after I step down from the Enterprise. I--I don’t intend to retire from Starfleet. I think I’ll just switch from active duty on a starship to research and medical development.”

“You have always been a gifted researcher,” Spock owned. “No doubt you could obtain permission to conduct some of your research at the Vulcan Science Academy.”

Bones grinned. “That’s true--I suppose I can put up with that desert planet again for our sake. But there will still be long periods apart, Spock. We won’t exactly be spending every minute together.”

Spock stood up and walked over to him. Bones meant to back away, but somehow his body refused to obey orders. So he didn’t resist--not even as Spock placed his hands on his waist, drawing him closer.

“Doctor, we can never be parted from one another, no matter how many miles might come between us.”

McCoy nodded slowly, taking that in. “I suppose I knew that already. That fact scares the hell out of me--you couldn’t get away from me even if you wanted to.”

Spock grabbed him by the chin again. “You are an infuriating human,” he said, pulling the doctor so close that McCoy could feel the heat from his breath. “I have no desire to escape from you. And I do not need you to protect me from you.”

Bones shut his eyes, letting his mouth be drawn ever closer to the Vulcan’s. “I’m a lousy partner. I have two failed marriages to my credit. You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he warned.

“On the contrary, I know precisely what I’m getting into. We have no secrets from one another.”

McCoy’s arms went around him and their lips met. They did little more than brush against each other, and yet Bones felt his whole body come alive in response. God help him, he wanted this overgrown elf. He would die if he couldn’t have Spock now--he would just shrivel up and die.

“One last chance, Spock,” he whispered. “One last chance to get out while you can.”

But he felt Spock’s lips again--and he felt his own body flare up in response. Sweet Jesus--he couldn’t let the Vulcan go now.

You’re a goddamned fool, Spock, he thought as he savored the taste of the Vulcan. But I’m done trying to make you see reason.

And maybe that was just as well. McCoy had always known that reason was overrated.

He just never expected Spock to agree with him.

~The End~

Love and Tofu

by J. Rosemary Moss

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

Rating: PG

Summary: In this drabble, McCoy shows his appreciation to Spock when the Vulcan attempts to celebrate an old American holiday with him.

~

McCoy grinned at Spock. Who’d have guessed that the overgrown elf would insist on a private Thanksgiving dinner? This wasn’t supposed to be a romantic holiday, after all.

But there was nothing wrong with a romantic dinner—except that this one would be vegan. Tofu turkey had never been a favorite of McCoy’s, but Spock was trying so damn hard that he’d have to force himself to eat it. He could always fill up on the real thing later.

Bones shook his head a little as he stared down at the tofu. My God, he realized, this must be love.

~The End~

Two Little Words

by J. Rosemary Moss

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

Rating: PG

Summary: When he can't find the words, Spock grasps for some other way to express his gratitude to McCoy. This takes place between Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.

~

"Doctor?"

Spock watched as McCoy glanced up at him, cocking his head. The doctor was sitting on his bed with an old fashioned terran book in hand. His room was plainly but comfortably furnished: the Vulcan priestesses had clearly attempted to anticipate the human’s needs.

Both men were patients at this facility; both were subject to the invasive mind probes of the Vulcan healers. Spock did not have to guess how little Dr. McCoy enjoyed these procedures; he was keenly aware of the doctor's displeasure.

It was no fault of the healers. They were merely attempting to restore the two men to independence. But Spock knew that he and McCoy would never be completely free of each other. The healers themselves had admitted as much.

"Come on in," McCoy invited, growing tired, no doubt, of the Vulcan's silence. "It's good to see you—we've hardly spoken. What's up?"

Spock took a tentative step inside. "You are having difficulty sleeping, Doctor," he managed.

It was not a question—and McCoy did not take it as such. He flashed Spock a wry grin as he tossed his book aside. "What's wrong? Is my insomnia keeping you up too?"

Spock nodded.

"My apologies," McCoy said. "With all this meditation your damn healers recommend, I suppose I'll learn how to protect you from it eventually."

Given the doctor's extreme hostility to the 'damn healers' and their teachings concerning meditation, Spock did not think that likely. However, noting the expression on McCoy's face, he refrained from estimating the odds. Instead he stood there awkwardly, not quite knowing what he wished to say.

There had been a certain awkwardness with Jim as well, but not to this extent. True, Spock had spoken little to the Admiral, but there had seemed less need for words. Somehow the friendship between them had been enough. And Jim seemed to understand Spock's reticence and unexpressed gratitude; just as Spock understood Jim’s grief for the loss of his son.

Yet it was not that Dr. McCoy did not understand him. There was little that McCoy did not understand of Spock now—and little that Spock did not understand of him. Spock grasped for some logical cause of this awkwardness, but could not find one.

McCoy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Did you come in here to complain, Spock? I'm sorry for keeping you up—but I don't know what to do about it at present."

No, he was not here to complain; Spock knew that much. It went against his Vulcan training, but he wanted to thank the doctor. That notion could not be entirely foreign to Vulcans, for his father had thanked Jim. Spock merely wanted to assure the doctor that he knew and appreciated all that he had gone through on his behalf. It should have been simple to say as much, but Spock found his lips frozen.

Spock was still sorting through his memories, still trying to make sense of the jumble. Some memories were his own; others belonged to McCoy. It would take…it would take some time to separate them.

But one memory stood out: Spock inflicting his katra upon McCoy. He remembered pinching the proper spot between McCoy's neck and shoulder, thereby rendering him unconscious. He remembered the mind meld that he had forced upon the doctor.

At the time it had seemed logical; or so Spock had convinced himself. McCoy was his friend, he was at hand, and he was trustworthy. Moreover, for all their arguments, there had always been an underlying empathy between the two men which seemed to render McCoy a likely candidate.

But Spock had put the doctor at grave risk. His katra nearly drove McCoy mad. If Kirk and Sarek had not figured out what had happened…if McCoy had died trying to recover Spock’s body…or if the ritual to separate Spock and McCoy had gone awry…

And there was the invasion of McCoy's privacy. Just as Spock had no secrets from the doctor, the doctor no longer had any secrets from Spock.

And Spock had not asked permission. There had been no time. He had assumed that the doctor would have agreed, no matter the risk. But looking back at that moment, Spock realized just how much he had taken for granted in that assumption.

Suddenly Spock realized why he had come tonight. This was the first time since the Fal-tor-pan…since the ritual that he was alone with the doctor. This was McCoy's first opportunity to express his anger at Spock in privacy. It seemed only right and fitting to give the doctor a chance to do so.

If McCoy would only explode at him, Spock would know how to respond. However fragmented his memories might be, he knew that he was accustomed to emotional responses from the doctor. Given such a response, Spock would find his voice. He would even find the words to express his gratitude—however human such an expression might be.

But there was no explosion. Why? Even with his jumbled memories, Spock could recall bitter, cutting remarks from the doctor on little provocation. Where were those remarks now? The doctor had every right to them, considering what Spock had subjected him to.

One thing, at least, had not changed: the doctor was growing impatient. "Spock,” he asked, “are you going to say something, or are you going to stand there glowering down at me?"

"I am not glowering, Doctor," Spock objected.

"Well, you're giving a damn good impression of it," he retorted. Then he paused to roll his eyes. "Christ, Spock, don't just stand there. Come here and sit down."

Spock ignored the irrational religious reference as he made his way to the bed and took a seat beside the doctor. But he did not stop staring at McCoy. He was searching for the anger that should be blazing in his eyes.

It was not there. "You—you are not angry." Again, it was not a question.

"About what? This whole katra thing?"

Spock stared at him, wondering how the doctor had managed to refer so offhandedly to the burden of carrying Spock’s very soul—not to mention the pain of the ritual that followed and the danger along the way.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “The ‘whole katra thing.’”

The doctor shrugged. “Could’ve been worse,” he drawled. “Next time, though, just ask me for a kidney.”

Spock raised his eyebrow at that. “Why should I require one of your kidneys? Vulcan anatomy—”

But McCoy’s laughter cut him off. To Spock’s astonishment, the doctor nearly doubled over before resting his head on Spock’s shoulder. Then he flung his arms around Spock, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Oh God, Spock, I’ve missed you,” he said, still laughing.

Spock permitted the embrace and even managed to return it, although he was still bewildered by the doctor’s actions. He had expected anger and biting irony from McCoy—or at least exasperation—not this warmth and affection.

“Doctor,” he began, keeping his arms around the human, “I—” he paused again, trying to form the words of gratitude. But again, his lips seemed frozen. “I—”

“Oh, shut the hell up, Spock,” McCoy said, still holding him. “I know what you’re trying to say and I don’t give a damn if you speak the words out loud or not. You’re welcome—and I’d do it all over again if you ever needed me to.”

His grip was almost painful, Spock noticed. It was as if the doctor feared losing him again. Spock knew he should speak now, but he could manage only a nod.

“But you owe me,” McCoy continued. “If I ever need a kidney, I expect you to donate yours.”

“That is illogical, Doctor,” Spock reprimanded. “Kidney transplants are a thing of the past. And even if they were not, no kidney of mine would ever be compatible with your—”

“Oh for the love of—don’t you think I know that?” McCoy asked. “Christ Almighty, I hope you have a higher opinion of my medical skills than that. I don’t care—I want it anyway.”

“But it would do you no good.”

“On the contrary, it would bring me immense satisfaction,” McCoy assured him, “even sitting in a jar.”

Spock suspected that the human was—what was the terran word? Teasing. But it was difficult to tell. Perhaps before the events surrounding the Genesis planet, he would have been better able to discern the doctor's meaning. Nonetheless, he allowed the subject to drop.

At length Spock felt McCoy’s grip on him loosen. The human had finally drifted off to sleep, with his head still resting on Spock’s shoulder. Spock sighed, but decided that it would be illogical to disturb the doctor when he’d had so much difficulty sleeping of late. So instead of attempting to break apart, he merely shifted so that he could lean back against the wall.

Soon Spock was shutting his own eyes and resting his chin on top of his friend’s head. He was pleased with his decision to remain, despite his customary dislike of such intimate contact. It was one way, perhaps, to show his gratitude.

And, despite the doctor's distressing lack of logic, he might appreciate the undisturbed sleep more than an incompatible kidney.

~The End~

A Closed-Mouth Hobgoblin

by J. Rosemary Moss

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

Rating: PG-13

Summary: In this drabble, Bones is furious about a little secret Spock has kept...this takes place during the episode Journey to Babel.

~

Why didn’t he tell us? Those are his parents. His parents!

God damn it, he doesn’t trust us. What did he think would happen? Did he think Jim and I would tease him? Did he think we’d say something to embarrass him? How could anything we would have said been worse than allowing Sarek and his wife to realize that Spock hadn’t mentioned their relationship?

You know, there are times when I’d like to take that closed-mouth hobgoblin right over my knee—damn it, now I’m fantasizing.

But it’s a damn satisfying fantasy. I think I’ll stay there awhile.

~The End~

Complacency

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek: The Next Generation; Picard-Q)

Rating: G

Summary: In this drabble, Picard reflects on the painful lesson Q has taught him in the episode Q Who.

~

Eighteen of my crew dead. Why? So Q could kick us out of our complacency. I grant him the necessity of that lesson—but did it require eighteen lives?

He looked almost amused as he responded. If I can’t stand a bloody nose, he said, go home. This is a wondrous universe, but not a safe one.

I ought to be furious with him. I’m outraged by the loss of life. And yet some part of me accepts that he sees a larger picture than we humans do.

God help us, but it’s possible that Q knows what he’s doing.

~The End~

Unexpected Comfort

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek: TNG, Picard-Q)

Rating: PG

Summary: Q offers his brand of comfort to Jean-Luc in the wake of a tragedy.

~

Picard stared down at the corpse of the young ensign. He was laid out in sick bay, soon to be prepared for burial. He looked strangely alive lying there, as if he would awake at any moment. But that was an illusion, Picard thought bitterly. In truth, the lad was dead--and he was dead for no good reason.

The boy had not given his life in battle; he’d had no opportunity for such heroics. Instead, he’d been killed by an aneurysm that Dr. Crusher could not even account for. A freak occurrence, it seemed.

“Upsetting, isn’t it, mon capitaine?”

Picard’s eyes shot up at that. Q had materialized opposite him. He was standing on the other side of the body, dressed in an elaborate suit of mourning that would have been appropriate on earth in the late Victorian era. He even wore the black gloves and top hat to match. And he carried a handsomely carved walking stick.

Picard took a deep breath and forced himself not to roll his eyes at the entity. “What do you want, Q?” he asked, somehow keeping his voice even.

“Why, merely to comfort an old friend,” Q answered, raising an eyebrow.

Picard took another deep breath and managed a small smile. “Thank you,” he said. “But there’s little comfort you can offer, I’m afraid, in the face of such a senseless death.”

“Why Jean-Luc,” Q chided, slanting his eyes at the captain, “surely you don’t doubt that the Almighty Himself can offer comfort under any circumstances?”

This time Picard did roll his eyes. “You are not God,” he insisted. “And if you were I wouldn’t want comfort from you--I’d want to call you to account!”

Q rubbed his hands together in delight. “That’s the spirit! Ooh--what next? Shall I manifest to you as a voice from a whirlwind?” He paused to adopt a mock-thundering tone. “Where were you, Jean-Luc, when I created the multiverse and your pitiful little earth? And where were you when I set the stars in motion and the planets spinning? Do you think that you, a puny biped without a shred of cosmic perspective, are entitled to call Me to account?”

Another reluctant smile escaped Picard at this adaptation from the Book of Job. He almost envied Job at the moment. However much that character had suffered, at least he had his opportunity to put the Almighty on trial, so to speak, for all the injustices of life.

“As I recall, Q, that voice from the whirlwind was not displeased with Job,” Picard pointed out, “despite Job’s presumption.”

“No, He wasn’t,” Q agreed. “But neither could He explain to the puny human why things happen the way they do--and Job came to accept that. Charming story, isn’t it?”

“‘Charming’ isn’t quite the word I’d choose,” Picard returned dryly, turning his attention back to the boy.

Q sighed and snapped his fingers, transforming himself back to his customary uniform. Apparently he’d grown weary of the Victorian outfit.

The entity stared down at the corpse and furrowed his brow. Then he stroked the boy’s hair with what appeared to be genuine tenderness. “It does seem a waste, doesn’t it?” he mused. “For a such a pathetic race, your kind is surprisingly endearing.”

“He was a promising young man,” Picard said softly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Q, I must send word to his family.”

“Of course you must,” Q agreed, moving to the captain’s side and placing an arm around his shoulders. “But I’ll remain with you, Jean-Luc. I wouldn’t dream of deserting you in your hour of need!”

Picard inhaled sharply. “That is quite…unnecessary, I assure you.”

But Q shook his head condescendingly, as if he knew best. Picard opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly found himself seated at his desk.

“There,” the entity said as he took a chair opposite the captain. “Now you can figure out what to say to the boy’s loved ones. I’ll sit right here, quiet as a mouse, ready to lend you whatever succor you require.”

There was a sharp retort on the tip of Picard’s tongue--but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to utter it. In the face of such a pointless tragedy, he decided, he needed all the comfort he could muster.

Even if it came from Q.

~The End~

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~

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~

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~