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“Wish me luck,” Spock says, eyes defiant. But McCoy looks down, unable to, until the Vulcan is within the metal shell of the shuttlecraft. It hits him like a punch in the gut then, the fear and doubt and hope, and he realizes that something has changed between them.
In Sickbay, the hassle of trying to keep over 400 crewmembers from fainting distracts him for a time. He administers stimulants with a steady hand, moving around the room with mechanical precision like a man working an assembly line. But then Christine catches him staring distractedly at the wall. She smiles gently and says, “I can handle things here, Doctor.”
He sighs and nods his gratitude. “Thanks, Christine.” He’s in the turbolift to the bridge before he can even begin to reconsider. He needs – he doesn’t know what he needs right now. So many things. But if he can just be on the bridge, perhaps the sickening, tight feeling in his stomach will lessen.
When the jumbled, static message comes in from the shuttlecraft, McCoy listens harder than he ever has, trying to hear the Vulcan beneath all the noise. Even without the aid of visuals, his medical instincts kick in, and he’s assessing Spock’s shortness of breath, the exhausted low strain of his voice. His diagnosis isn’t promising.
“Tell Doctor McCoy – “ His heart gives another sickening lurch, and McCoy briefly wonders if he is coming down with something, though his mind is utterly focused on the words over the receiver.
“ – that he should have wished me luck.” McCoy wants to yell, I did, you idiot, I tried, but he understands that he couldn’t face Spock’s disapproval of his human emotions this time, just as he couldn’t wish the Vulcan luck to his face. Not when it means this much. Not when he is so afraid for him. Next time, he will not let the opportunity pass him by.
Even when it seems that Spock is gone, defeated by a goddamn space amoeba of all the stupid things to die from, he can’t accept it. The Vulcan has always been beside him as they support their captain, always inscrutable, occasionally infuriating in his refusal to admit his humanity, but there. A reassuring, constant presence. To accept a world without him is not something McCoy is sure he can face.
But then he hears Spock’s voice again through the transmission, and he doesn’t even try to stop the smile blooming across his face. He knows, for certain now, and will not let this revelation pass without doing something about it.
---
The first place Spock goes to is sickbay. He assures the captain that he is perfectly fine, but he does not even try to hide the lie.
Doctor McCoy looks up as he enters the room, and their eyes catch and hold for a brief moment – Spock learns all he needs to know about McCoy’s worry for him from that gaze – but then the doctor’s hand is on his arm, leading him towards a bed. He lays down, too tired to even think as the sounds and sensations of the room fill his awareness. The astringent smell of disinfectant, the monotonous beeping of the monitors recording his vital signs. His eyes are closed as he feels McCoy’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the other moving the scanner over his body. The doctor’s touch remains a gentle anchor to the physical world, and he forces himself to focus on it, remain awake. McCoy’s fingers tremble slightly, and Spock opens his eyes.For a moment, McCoy is unaware of Spock’s assessment of him. There are tired shadows under the doctor’s eyes, most likely caused by the energy draining presence of the creature, but Spock also knows the man has the tendency to stress himself unnecessarily. Then the doctor notices his glance, blinks as if he is brought out of a deep reverie, and opens his mouth to speak.
“Doctor,” Spock says, before he can, “I assure you, I will be quite well after I rest.” The tension that he hadn’t noticed before that moment lessens in McCoy’s face, and he smiles slightly.
“Of course you would have me worried for nothing. Damn Vulcan stamina.” There is no hostility to his voice. Spock is not sure what he expected – anger, perhaps – but honest relief, despite the insults, surprises him.
“I have always known you possess that which humans call a sentimental heart, Doctor,” he says quietly. The room fills with silence between the two of them. Spock gets up, stands to leave, but McCoy stops him with another hand on his arm. And Spock understands that he is not the only one reassured by touch.
“Spock.” The single word carries more meaning in it than anything else the doctor could say. Spock understands. He is afraid of the feelings rising up inside him as he looks into McCoy’s blue, intense eyes. But he will not resist, suppress them, this time.
“Leonard,” he replies, and takes the man’s hand to grasp in his own. “I am not going anywhere.” He is not talking about leaving sickbay, and he knows that McCoy is aware of this.
“You sure as hell aren’t,” McCoy replies sternly, then he laughs. It is fascinating, the way emotions move across the man’s face.
“We will soon arrive in Starbase Six,” Spock says, his eyes lit with affection. “Perhaps it would be agreeable for you to accompany me on leave, to better ascertain my physical state.”
McCoy’s eyes widen, and he barely manages to suppress a knowing smile. “Hmm. I’m going to have to. I don’t trust you not to work yourself to exhaustion. You’ll need my expert medical advice to keep you out of trouble.”
Spock gently releases his grip on McCoy’s hand, gives the doctor one last look, and leaves the sickbay to finally get a much-needed rest in the security of his own quarters.