Chapter Text
It had been two months since the second worst day of Spock’s life.
Two months since he had broken Jim’s heart, kissing him goodbye with all of the emotion he possibly could, and feeling something crack inside of himself at his own actions.
Two months since he’d fled his own quarters, leaving Jim behind in the darkened room, stumbling into the corridor and smacking headlong into a solid object.
No, not an object— a person. A very angry doctor, to be specific.
“Ow,” grumbled McCoy, rubbing his forehead and fixing Spock with a disgruntled glare.
“There you are. And you’d better watch where you—” he broke off, seeing the frozen look on Spock’s face.
McCoy studied him for a moment, his eyes searching, before heaving a sigh and grabbing Spock’s arm, tugging him down the corridor.
“Come with me,” he said, managing to sound both exasperated and concerned at the same time, a quality that Spock usually found mildly puzzling. This time, however, he was only distantly aware of the doctor dragging him into a turbo lift and then through the doors of sick bay. Everything around him had begun to take on the surreal quality of a dream, and he was helpless as McCoy shoved him through the doors of the CMO’s office and into the chair across from the doctor’s desk.
McCoy sat too, his arms crossed, his glare as steely as Spock had ever seen it. For a moment, the two men stared at each other, and Spock felt oddly as if he were being tested. Although, he mused, if this were indeed a test, he had surely failed.
McCoy finally broke the silence.
“What the hell happened down on that planet?” he demanded.
The sharp edge to his voice startled Spock, although thankfully, he managed to keep his expression blank. He looked back at the doctor, barely seeing him, struggling to shove his jumbled emotions to the back of his mind and to focus on the conversation at hand. At that though, he was failing, his thoughts refusing to turn from the images of the shattered expression on Jim’s face, the desperate note of Jim’s pleas repeating themselves over and over through Spock’s mind. The pain was cutting into him like broken glass, the guilt and overwhelming heartache tearing through him—
“SPOCK!” McCoy shouted, forcefully pulling the Vulcan from the depths of his own mind and making him blink in surprise.
“Doctor?” Spock asked, and was almost pleased to note that his voice was steady.
“I’ve asked you three times,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “What, in God’s name, happened on that damn planet!?”
“Captain Kirk rescued me from the volcano moments before it erupted,” Spock said shortly.
McCoy was silent for a long moment, his gaze continuing to bore a hole through Spock, who uncomfortably looked down at his hands, clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles had turned white.
“And that’s it?” McCoy said finally, the disbelief evident in his tone. “That’s all that happened?”
“That is a summary of the event to which I believe you are referring, yes,” Spock said, speaking to his lap. It was helping his concentration, if only minutely, to stare at his hands. He could not bring himself to meet the doctor’s gaze.
McCoy scoffed, a sound that Spock knew, without even looking, was accompanied by a roll of his eyes.
“Dammit Spock, you may as well just tell me what happened, otherwise I’m going to go ask Jim right now. And a little somethin’ tells me his story is gonna be different than yours.”
Spock swallowed. How could he tell McCoy what he had done, what he had said to Jim? The doctor already had a less than favorable view of Spock and the way he chose to handle his emotions, and he, not Spock, was Jim’s best friend, as well. By Spock’s calculations, there was only a 3.46% chance that McCoy would agree that his decision to break up with Jim was the logical course of action. And besides, how could Spock begin to explain the situation when McCoy didn’t even know that they had been dating in the first place?
“Doctor, why were you outside of my quarters?” Spock asked suddenly. Vulcans didn’t lie, but they could evade the hell out of a question.
McCoy looked taken aback at the shift in conversation.
“I was trying to comm you for twenty minutes, but you didn’t pick up. You’re out of your Vulcan mind if you think you and Jim aren’t getting a physical after that stunt,” he scowled.
“And speaking of Jim, I couldn’t find him either. He wasn’t in his quarters.”
Spock said nothing.
“Spock, where is he?” McCoy sighed, his anger seemingly fled. He scrubbed a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. “Damn it, the longer we play this little game the harder it is for everyone.”
“I believe that Captain Kirk is in my quarters,” Spock admitted.
McCoy frowned, his confusion evident. “Is he alright? Wh–”
“Doctor,” Spock interrupted, suddenly wishing very strongly to be anywhere but in McCoy’s office, having this conversation. “The captain’s physical health remains within normal parameters. However, I believe that he could benefit from emotional support at this moment. I suggest you go find him at once.”
McCoy was silent for another moment, studying Spock, who was surprised at the strong emotions welling up in him at the thought of McCoy hearing what he had done from Jim. It was illogical to delay the inevitable distrust and hate McCoy was sure to harbor for him, but he was surprised to find that he was saddened at the thought of losing his almost-friendship with the doctor.
After another beat, Spock stood warily, McCoy continuing to stare at him.
“If we are finished, Doctor–”
“We are most certainly not finished. Sit down,” McCoy growled, flipping open his communicator.
“McCoy to Lieutenant Uhura.”
“Go ahead, Doctor.”
Spock heard Uhura’s voice crackling through the communicator, and although she hid it well, he could detect the faint strain of worry in her tone.
“I need you to go to Spock’s quarters and find the captain,” McCoy said.
“On my way. Do you want me to bring him to sick bay?”
“Not yet. Just take him back to his quarters. McCoy out.” The doctor shoved his communicator back into his desk drawer. “Spock,” he said, frowning, “I said, sit down.”
Spock, seeing no point in arguing, sat, but McCoy was already rummaging through the cabinet behind him.
He turned around after a moment, proudly setting a bottle of chocolate liquor and two glasses down on the desk.
“Been saving this,” he said, beginning to pour two drinks. “Not sure for what, but… I knew it’d come in handy.”
He nudged a glass across the desk to Spock, raising his own with an indulgent half smirk.
“Cheers.”
Spock warily tapped his glass against the doctor’s, and took a small sip. It burned sharply, and he couldn’t help but cough.
McCoy failed to hide his smile.
“70% cocoa. 80 proof,” he boasted as Spock regained his composure.
“Now,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair and swirling the dark liquid. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or are we getting drunk for no reason?”
Spock stared silently down at his glass, running a nimble finger around the lip. He knew his fidgeting was a dead giveaway, and that McCoy could see right through his pretenses and could tell that something was seriously wrong. However, Spock could recognize an olive branch when he saw one, and knew this was the doctor’s way of expressing his genuine concern. Concern for him, Spock realized with surprise. While McCoy was clearly worried about Jim, he was also trying to be there for Spock. He found that he was remarkably grateful for the doctor’s unexpected care.
Steeling his nerves, Spock took another sip of his drink, this one much more successful than the first. He raised his gaze to meet that of the man across from him.
“Captain Kirk and I began a romantic relationship approximately 4.39 months ago.”
Spock had been expecting shock, or confusion, or even possibly disgust from McCoy. What he had not expected was for McCoy to roll his eyes and take a healthy sip of his drink.
Spock was shocked, and if he was being honest with himself, a little hurt.
“Doctor—?”
“Please,” McCoy snorted. “Neither of you two are as sly as you think you are.”
“So you were aware—”
“The whole bridge crew is aware, Spock,” McCoy said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “The rampant flirting between you and Captain Obvious doesn’t exactly fly below the radar.”
Spock was at a loss for how to respond to that statement.
“Look,” McCoy said earnestly, leaning forwards. “I know you two had your reasons for keeping quiet, and I respect that. I’m not about to stick my nose into your business.”
“You are— not upset?”
McCoy blew out a breath.
“Upset? Nah. I’ve been waiting for Jim to tell me any day now.”
Again, Spock was at a loss for words, and a beat of silence stretched between the two men.
“But… Spock,” McCoy said after a moment. “You two idiots obviously make each other happy. And don’t bother denying it, it’s clear as day,” he said, leveraging an accusatory finger at the Vulcan across from him. “You practically light up every time he walks into the room.” McCoy furrowed his brow. “So what’s the matter?”
Spock took another sip of his drink, practically a gulp, and set the empty glass down on the desk in front of him.
“I terminated the romantic relationship between Jim and myself.”
McCoy let out a low whistle, already reaching for the bottle to refill Spock’s glass, and to top himself off for good measure.
“And why’d you do that?” the doctor asked, peering at the Vulcan over the rim of his glass.
If he had been human, Spock would have sighed, but even with his half-Vulcan heritage he failed to completely hide his absolutely-not-a-sigh.
“Doctor, surely you have noticed Jim’s tendency to put himself in danger for the sake of others, particularly with little thought for his own safety,” Spock began.
McCoy waved his hand in a clear go on gesture.
“I cannot accept the fact that Jim puts himself in such grave danger for my sake,” Spock said, unsure of where to lead the conversation. “He has a responsibility to this ship and this crew, one that he is shirking by ignoring Starfleet safety regulations and putting his personal feelings over his duty.”
Spock took a drink in the ensuing silence as McCoy continued to stare at him. He was beginning to dislike the doctor’s quiet even more than his speech.
“Spock, I’m saying this as nicely as possible, but you’re a fucking hypocrite.”
Spock nearly choked on his drink at the nonchalance of McCoy’s statement.
“Doctor, I am no such thing,” Spock said, spluttering.
“Yes, you completely are,” said McCoy, as easily as if he were talking about the medical duty roster. “Are you really telling me that if it were Jim down in that damn volcano, you wouldn’t do exactly what he just did?”
Spock felt himself flush. “That would not be the same situation,” he mustered.
McCoy scoffed, raising his eyebrows.
“Really,” he drawled. “Please, enlighten me as to how that would be so different from what just happened,” he said, taking a leisurely sip of his drink.
Spock was beginning to think he could feel the chocolate’s effect. He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing.
“I am the ship’s first officer,” he said, taking care to enunciate each word. “It is my responsibility to protect the captain and, if necessary, to save his life at the expense of my own.”
Spock again glanced down at his hands, folded tightly in his lap.
“If the roles were reversed, it would be my duty to save him,” he finished quietly.
A loud bang sounded as McCoy slammed his glass on the desk, startling Spock into looking up as the doctor leaned forward, his expression suddenly hard.
“Spock, are you honest to God telling me that the only reason you’d save Jim from charbroil-death-by-volcano is because of duty?”
Spock met McCoy’s sharp gaze with one of his own.
“Of course not, Doctor,” Spock said shortly. “I… care about Jim very much. But I have a responsibility to keep him alive.”
“I know that,” McCoy said gruffly, “but he has the same responsibility to you, to me… to everyone on this blasted ship. But that doesn’t change how you feel about each other, does it?”
Again, Spock could not think of a response to that statement, so in spite of his better judgement, he took another long sip of the chocolate liquor. He was definitely beginning to feel its effects.
McCoy let out a hearty sigh and leaned back in his chair, taking another swig as well.
“Spock, I do get it. You’re not the only one who has had a significant other put themselves in danger, and you’re not the only one who cares about Jim. But what I don’t get is why you broke up with him over it!”
Spock was startled. How could McCoy not understand?
“Doctor, this is the course of action I must take to ensure Jim’s safety. Surely, you have come to this conclusion as well,” Spock said, blinking twice. The room was spinning, ever so slightly.
For what felt like the thousandth time that day (Was it? Spock couldn’t remember), McCoy glared at him.
“Spock, that is the stupidest reason that I have ever heard in my goddamned life. Do you really think breaking up with Jim is going to cure him of his bone-headed heroism?”
Spock stiffened. “I did what I thought best for the good of the crew and for Jim himself.”
McCoy snorted. “I’ll tell you what you did. You made it worse.”
Spock stood abruptly, steadying himself with a hand on the desk.
“I see no reason to sit here and be judged for decisions I have made in my personal life,” Spock said brusquely, turning to leave. “Good day, doctor.”
Behind him, McCoy groaned.
“Spock, would you stop being dramatic for one second please? I'm sorry, alright? I’m not trying to insult you. For once.”
Spock stopped, his back still facing McCoy.
“I fail to see what you are trying to accomplish,” he said, spinning around to face McCoy and making himself dizzy in the process. Grasping the back of his chair, Spock fixed the doctor with as steely a glare as he could muster.
McCoy’s answering gaze was stern but not unkind.
“Spock,” he said gently, leaning forward across the desk again, giving Spock his complete attention.
“I know this isn’t easy but… just what do you think is going to happen here? That the next time you’re in danger, Jim won’t move heaven and Earth to save you? Because believe you me, with the shit you two get up to, there absolutely will be a next time,” McCoy said, pausing, his eyes meeting Spock’s in earnest.
“And Jim would sacrifice himself in an instant if it meant your life,” McCoy finished.
Spock was finding it increasingly difficult to keep any shred of order to his thoughts, and McCoy’s proclamation was simply too much. He turned and walked out the door, his steps almost steady.
McCoy made an aborted move to go after him, but thinking better of it, instead drained his glass in one gulp.
“Damn it,” he whispered to himself.