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When McCoy walks onto the bridge, Spock is sitting in the captain’s chair.
“What’s going on?” he asks. Spock turns his head to look at him. “Where’s Jim?”
“The Captain is below in Engineering,” Spock answers. “Mr. Scott wanted to show him something.”
McCoy feels himself relax. Usually the only times Jim isn’t sitting in his chair is if he’s off shift, on a landing party, or down in sickbay with an injury.
“Well, I only came up here to talk with Jim,” he sighs. “I’ll just find him later.” He turns to go.
“Wait,” Spock says, and McCoy turns to look at him. Spock gets up from the chair and walks towards him. He seems to be studying McCoy closely, and McCoy feels himself grow tense.
“Well? What is it?” McCoy asks impatiently when Spock still hasn’t said anything.
“One of the instruments in our lab has been malfunctioning,” Spock tells him. “I believe it may be a problem with one of the lamps that may require us to purchase replacement parts from the nearest available supplier.”
McCoy stares at him. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Why are you telling me this?”
Spock looks impatient, as if McCoy should already know the answer. “There is an identical instrument in your lab. It should still be functioning properly.”
“My lab? You mean the biomedical lab?” McCoy asks, still a little thrown. “Are you saying you want to use it?”
Spock nods. “Yes, thank you. I will begin to move my equipment in as soon as possible.”
With that, Spock moves back to the chair and sits down, leaving McCoy feeling like someone pulled the metaphorical rug out from under his feet. He seems to have just agreed to let Spock move in with him into his lab. Mentally, he thinks about how much free space is in there and realizes that with one more person, it’s going to be a tight squeeze.
“God help me,” McCoy sighs, and goes into the turbolift. He’ll need to make preparations.
-
When Spock said that he would move in his “equipment”, McCoy thought that meant a few PADDS, a couple beakers, and maybe a set of glassware. Instead, he finds that Spock has installed an entire terminal, and there are labelled beakers and vials and what looks like an entire distillation set-up bubbling away and slowly dripping liquid into a flask.
“Spock!” McCoy barks, when he sees him come into the lab. A few heads turn, but McCoy pays them no mind.
“What is it, Doctor?” Spock asks.
“Look at this!” McCoy says loudly, gesturing to Spock’s things.
Spock does not seem to see the problem. “Yes, Doctor?”
“Move your shit, Spock, it’s getting onto my side of the counter,” McCoy tells him.
“I do not understand,” Spock replies calmly. “Did you not intend to assign me this entire counter to work on? I was told to put my things here.”
“No, I didn’t intend that!” McCoy says angrily. “Look around, Spock, there’s not much room in this lab.”
Spock does look around, as if considering. “Yes, it does seem quite disorganized.”
McCoy splutters. “Disorganized? Now you listen here—”.
“All right you guys, break it up!” Jim interrupts. He was being led into the lab by a scared looking lab technician.
McCoy straightens. “Jim! What brings you down here?”
“I heard you two were ready to strangle each other so I got called in to sort it all out,” Jim answers, looking amused. “So what happened this time?” he asks patiently.
“Spock’s things are on my side of the counter,” McCoy tells him, realizing as soon as he’s said it how ridiculous it must sound.
Jim seems to agree because he begins to laugh loudly, leaning against a lab counter for support.
“All right, laugh it up, Captain,” McCoy says, crossing his arms. “We’ll see who’s laughing at your next physical.”
Jim’s laughter abruptly dies. He clears his throat and straightens. “You’re a sadist,” he tells McCoy, who only smiles in response, making sure to show all of his teeth.
“Will that be all, Captain?” Spock says drily, plainly wanting Jim to leave.
Jim just grins at him and begins to pat his pockets. Finally, he triumphantly pulls out a sticky tangle of electrical tape. “I think this was Scotty’s,” he explains, as he unwinds it. He goes over to the lab counter and sticks the tape directly in the center.
“All right, men,” Jim says. “This side is Spock’s side, this side is for Bones.” He points to each side in turn.
McCoy rolls his eyes. “We get it, Jim. You don’t have to treat us like children.”
“It’s difficult not to when you both act like this,” Jim says, looking like he’s about to start laughing again, but he stops himself when he sees the look on McCoy’s face.
“Well, that was fun. Back to the bridge,” Jim says quickly. He goes over to the lab technician who had gone to tell Jim about Spock and McCoy in the first place and claps him on the shoulder. “Next time, Mr. Chopra, only call me down here if they reach for sharp objects. I’m guessing you’ll all be used to this very soon. If you need any help coping, just talk to anyone on the bridge. They’ve seen enough of these two to give some valuable pointers.” Chopra nods, looking overwhelmed.
“Jim,” McCoy growls, stepping towards him threateningly.
“All right, I’m leaving!” Jim says, and backs out of the lab.
McCoy shakes his head and turns back to the lab counter, only to find that Spock has already begun sliding his equipment over to his own side. He sighs and sits on a lab stool, pulling a microscope towards him. They’re off to a great start.
-
McCoy has plenty of duties that keep him busy aboard the Enterprise. There’s an endless supply of patients to treat. As a result, his experiments in the lab are usually neglected. But every now and then, he’s able to spend a whole day there, running tests and analyzing some of the new specimens that the Enterprise picks up on its journeys.
It’s peaceful and quiet, and lets him appreciate all the wondrous things they’ve been seeing on this scatterbrained voyage they’re on. Now that Spock’s here though, he’s guessing all that quiet and relaxing is no longer an option.
Spock’s other duties as first officer must give him a lot to deal with, but he still spends a surprising amount of time in the lab. He’s there almost every time McCoy is, which makes him suspect that Spock is foregoing sleep. He sometimes means to ask, if it were not the fact that, since that first day, they haven’t had much conversation.
In fact, it seems like they’ve made an unspoken agreement not to talk to each other while they’re in the lab. They each work at their own sides of the counter and they don’t fight. All considered, it’s a mutually agreeable arrangement.
Yet the longer it goes on, the more McCoy wants to break the silence, even at the cost of ruining whatever neutral ground they’ve set up in the lab. Despite any heated discussions they have anywhere else on the ship, when they come here to the lab, it’s like they set all that aside. Temporarily, at least.
He finally works up the courage one day. They’re both at the sink, washing glassware. Spock is meticulous, wiping down each surface until McCoy is sure even the dust specks are gone. Together at the sink, shoulders brushing, reaching over each other’s arms to the soap dispenser or the towels, the silence feels comfortable enough for him to breach.
“So what kinds of experiments are you running anyway?” he asks, with as much nonchalance as he can muster.
Spock regards him from the sides of his eyes before turning back to his glassware. If he’s surprised at McCoy for speaking to him, he doesn’t show it.
“I am devising a computational model studying the effects of naturally occurring ionic liquids on the upper atmosphere of class H rocky planets.”
McCoy nods, like he knows exactly what Spock is talking about. “All right, then,” he says, and takes his clean glassware back to his counter.
Spock joins him a moment later on his side of the counter, and to McCoy’s surprise, asks him, “And you?”
It takes McCoy longer than it should to remember. “I’m trying to isolate the gene responsible for the gamma radiation resistance in the bacteria we picked up on that last planet. I want to see if it can be used to provide some sort of defense against radioactive environments.”
Spock sits down at his terminal. “I see.”
McCoy should just let the conversation drop. It’s already awkward and unsettling. Neither of them are really the small talk sort of people. But Spock hasn’t told him to shut up yet. And he’s got nothing better to do while his test is still running. He props his elbow onto the counter and looks over at Spock, who is working diligently at his terminal.
“So, computational models?” he asks. “How far have you gotten?”
Spock looks up from his work. He seems to be hesitating, as if judging McCoy’s intentions. Just when McCoy is beginning to think that Spock will refuse to show him, he opens up something on his terminal. McCoy gets up to look. He sees graphs and figures, most of which are indecipherable to him.
“Looks detailed,” he grunts. In truth, there’s so much technical jargon on this thing that it’s practically a different language.
Spock makes a strange noise, like a sharp exhale. McCoy stares at him, and realizes that Spock just laughed.
“Not funny,” he growls, not appreciating being laughed at. Spock looks at him from the corner of his eye and although his face is blank once more, there’s still a glimmer of amusement.
“I simply do not think that this is your area of interest,” Spock says.
“You don’t know what my areas of interest are,” McCoy says. “I could be interested in this.”
Spock looks unconvinced. “Perhaps, but you still lack the necessary background information.”
“Then teach me,” McCoy challenges, because he’s not really enjoying being treated like an ignorant layman. Suddenly, it feels important to prove Spock wrong about this. “That’s what you did back at the Academy, right? You were a teacher?”
“Yes, but not in this subject. It would be—”.
“I’m not asking you to prepare a lecture, Spock,” McCoy says. “Just give me a brief introduction.”
“Very well,” Spock says, after a while. This surprises McCoy. He was mostly expecting Spock to tell him to go back to his side of the lab and leave him alone. Instead, Spock seems to think for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, when he’s ready he pulls up one of the figures and begins to explain what his project is.
Despite himself, McCoy finds himself interested. Spock’s a good teacher. McCoy pulls up a lab stool and listens as Spock explains several figures, occasionally pointing out things of interest. McCoy tries not to ask any stupid questions, but Spock patiently answers all of them. He’s disappointed when the timer on his PADD beeps, cutting them off.
“I have to check on my experiment,” McCoy explains.
“Of course,” Spock says, watching as McCoy gets up from the lab stool. “May I ask what you thought?”
McCoy pauses, a little thrown. He doesn’t think Spock has ever asked for his opinion before. Usually, McCoy just asserts it himself, without any encouragement. “Well, it’s definitely not medicine or biology,” he says. “But it’s some pretty fascinating stuff. I’ll have to read up on it in my free time.”
Spock nods. McCoy thinks that he’s going to say something more, but instead he just turns back to his terminal again. McCoy goes over to his experiment set-up and checks the readings. Tonight, he’s going to hit up the Enterprise’s online database and access every article about ionic liquids.
-
A particularly nasty strain of Denebian influenza sweeps through the ship, and suddenly McCoy has barely enough time to sleep, let alone do some extra reading on the side.
There are so few people that haven’t gotten sick that the ship seems like it’s operating on a skeleton crew at all times. Even Jim gets sick, which is great because Jim seems to be allergic to the entire known database of possible cures. It’s a lot of sleepless nights working in the lab with his team to come up with something that viable.
They’re crowded around one of the terminals, waiting anxiously for one of the tests to finish in order to confirm that the cure they’ve synthesized will work. This time McCoy is almost certain that it’s the right one. He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns. It’s Spock.
“What is it?” McCoy asks. His voice doesn’t fully make it out of his throat, feels like it’s stuck halfway with a pile of gravel. McCoy begins to cough. When he’s finished, his eyes are watering.
“Doctor, you are unwell. You look feverish, and you have not gotten the prescribed hours of sleep since the influenza’s outbreak.”
“I’m fine, Spock. We still need to—”. Spock interrupts him with a gentle hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. A shudder runs through McCoy’s body. He realizes that he’s cold, and that Spock’s warm hand feels very good. Before McCoy realizes what he’s doing, he leans into Spock’s touch for a moment, eyes almost sliding shut. His bones feel suddenly heavy, and all he wants to do is rest here.
“Sir! We’ve found it!” one of the science officers yells. McCoy comes back to himself, pulling away. He stares at Spock, whose expression has gone slightly blank. McCoy turns back to the terminal before Spock can say anything, and checks over the readings. Sure enough, they’ve managed to find the cure at last.
The rest of the team are cheering elatedly and clapping each other on the back, but McCoy only smiles grimly. It’s been a tough fight. Things have been hanging on a thread ever since the influenza first began to spread, and he knows the entire crew has been depending on him. He’s feeling suddenly dizzy, but there’s still a lot of work left to do.
“Start replicating this right away,” he tells the science officers. “Bring it to sickbay as soon as you can so I can start administering it.” He turns to head back to sickbay but is stopped in his tracks by Spock. The rest of the science officers leave to start replicating the cure, leaving them alone.
“Get out of my way, Spock, I need to get things ready in sickbay,” McCoy tells him. He tries to push Spock out of the way, but Spock doesn’t move.
“The only reason why you would need to go to sickbay at this time is to check yourself in as a patient,” Spock says calmly.
“What the hell are you talking about, Spock? I’m completely fine,” McCoy says.
“Do not continue to disregard your health, Leonard,” Spock says, and the use of his first name gives McCoy pause. “I cannot allow you to proceed.” Spock looks like he’s serious. The stubborn look in his eye is one that McCoy has seen plenty of times, usually before Spock does something infuriating.
“Spock, I’m the doctor, not you. You’re honestly going to stop me from doing my job? Now of all times?” McCoy says.
“You leave me no other choice,” Spock says gravely.
Before McCoy can say another word, Spock takes his arm and steers him out of the lab. McCoy curses and fights against his grip, but it’s useless. Spock is much stronger than he is, and besides that, it feels like his limbs have been mysteriously sapped of all strength. He flails weakly for a moment, which Spock waits out patiently. All that happens is that McCoy manages to exhaust himself completely. He has no choice but to be led down the hallway.
They stop in front of his quarters, and McCoy makes one last valiant attempt at escape.
“Come on, Spock, wouldn’t it make more sense to take me to sickbay if I’m sick?” he asks, in as innocent a tone as possible.
The bastard easily sees through his bullshit. “I am certain that if I did, you would find some way to begin working again,” Spock says, and dammit, McCoy has no idea when Spock got to know him so well. “Instead,” Spock continues, “it is best that you stay here. I will have a nurse come by later to give you the cure, once it has been produced.”
The doors to his quarters open and Spock gently pushes McCoy inside.
“Rest well, Doctor,” Spock says, and McCoy could swear he sounds pleased with himself.
“You smug, sadistic son of a bitch! I hope you—”. The door closes in his face, cutting him off. He tries to open it, but Spock must have used some kind of override code because it refuses to respond.
Breathing heavily, McCoy paces angrily around his quarters before sitting down on a chair and crossing his arms. He plans on keeping himself awake, just in case someone in sickbay needs his help, in case the cure turns out to induce terrible side effects, in case Spock realizes what a terrible mistake he’s made and comes back to get him.
In the end though, none of those things happen and he falls asleep.
-
Even after he gets the cure, he still has to spend a day recovering. Any other time, he’d refuse to listen to Spock and resume his duties anyway. But now that he’s less feverish, he knows that if he set one foot in sickbay, Chapel would chew his head off. He privately considers the fact that she didn’t catch the flu as proof that she’s made of sterner stuff than ordinary mortals, so he really doesn’t need to get on her bad side.
But sitting around his quarters means that he gets bored very quickly. The door to his quarters mysteriously unlocked itself while he was passed out, which he noticed when he got up to let in the nurse with the cure. So, technically, he could go down to the recreation room and watch some vids. McCoy just can’t find the energy to get up. Even he has to concede defeat sometimes. At least he’s not feeling dizzy anymore.
After staring at the wall listlessly for twenty minutes, he snatches up his PADD and turns it on. To his surprise, he finds that several recent downloads have been made, even though he hasn’t touched it since before the flu broke out. He accesses the files, and finds several scientific reports written about ionic liquids.
“Spock,” McCoy says, shaking his head. The bastard must have come in after he unlocked his door. It would explain why McCoy found himself with a blanket roughly tucked around him when he woke up. His memories are hazy, but he doesn’t quite remember doing that.
“I’m still mad at you, asshole,” McCoy says loudly. “You’re not getting away that easily.” Even still, McCoy opens up one of the reports and begins to read.
-
Once McCoy is cleared for duty, he heads back to sickbay, and is pleasantly surprised to find it in passable working condition, and not the chaotic disease-ridden ruins he had expected. Nurse Chapel greets him coolly as he walks in, as if there hadn’t just been an epidemic that threatened the safety of the entire crew.
But this is the Enterprise, after all. Unprecedented life-threatening crises are just another day at the office.
There seems to be no trouble with adverse side-effects to the cure and for the most part, everything is back to normal. Jim still has a worrying cough, but the kid has always taken a bit longer to recover than most. McCoy gives him some hyposprays and grudgingly lets him go back to the bridge.
“You look a bit restless,” Chapel notes when she comes into his office later to pass along some reports. “Got a hot date waiting?”
McCoy laughs sarcastically. “That’s rich,” he says, as he signs off on the reports. “No, it’s just been a while since I’ve checked up on my experiments in the lab.”
Chapel smiles knowingly before leaving. McCoy snorts and lets her go.
But Chapel is right. He’s distracted, and finds it hard to work. He can’t stop thinking about Spock coming in to check on him, putting a blanket over him, even knowing that McCoy would get bored and downloading some literature for him to read. Spock could have easily gotten someone else to do all that. It seems so uncharacteristic for him, even though, over the years, McCoy can say with confidence that Spock cares a lot more than that emotionless exterior would lead one to believe.
It’s just a little staggering that Spock cares about him.
-
He finally finds the time to slip away to the biomedical lab. As he’s heading over, he sees Spock in the hallway. Everything he wanted to say, every angry rebuke and demand he had planned to throw in Spock’s face mysteriously vanishes. Instead he says: “I read those articles you downloaded for me.”
He can’t tell who is more surprised, him or Spock. Spock looks like he’s ready to frog march McCoy back to sickbay. “I’m still mad at you,” McCoy says quickly. Instead of looking cowed, Spock looks slightly relieved that McCoy is angry with him, which is not the intended effect at all.
“Is that so?” Spock says coolly, as they round the corner.
“Yes, it is,” McCoy says. “In fact, you should be thankful I’m not reporting you to Starfleet and having you court martialed.”
“In return,” Spock says, not even missing a beat, “I will not accuse you of conduct unbecoming of a Starfleet officer and have you discontinued as this ship’s chief medical officer.”
McCoy snorts. “How generous of you.”
“I endeavor to be generous in all things,” Spock replies.
And this is familiar, this conversation. It feels like they’ve had it many times before and it should feel frustrating that they’re always at odds with each other. Most of the time, it is. But McCoy has been unsettled ever since he woke up alone in his quarters, feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous, not even knowing if the cure had worked and the crew had been healed. For the first time all day, he feels like things are back to normal, that they managed to walk away from another crisis intact.
He doesn’t let himself consider the implications of him using Spock, of all people as a way to ground himself.
So McCoy continues pretending to be mad at Spock all the way up to the lab. Like always, as soon as they step through the doors, they stop arguing. An anti-contamination beam sweeps through the entrance room, searching both of them for any harmful contaminants. McCoy doesn’t know what anyone could possibly want to smuggle into the lab, but he endures the scan anyway.
“Were you able to follow the language of the articles?” Spock asks. McCoy twists to look at him, and the room beeps at him for moving while the scan is still in progress. It takes a while to remember what Spock is talking about.
“Yeah, I was able to muddle through,” McCoy says, trying not to move. “I’d say these ionic liquids could have big implications for atmospheric engineering. Making inhospitable planets suitable for life and all that.”
“Connecting this phenomenon to the fostering of life is very characteristic of you, Doctor,” Spock says. McCoy isn’t sure if he’s being made fun of, and he can’t see Spock’s face enough to gauge his expression. If it was any other person, McCoy would think he’s being complimented, but this is Spock.
The scan ends. The doors to the lab open in response, and the two of them walk over to where their lab coats are hung.
He tries again. “I mean, given their unique properties, I’d say it’s worth studying. I think the fact that we were able to find these ionic liquids in a naturally occurring state is pretty groundbreaking. I’d like to see what you learn with your research, Spock.”
Spock has been watching him fixatedly as he’s been talking, and McCoy’s starting to feel self-conscious. He doesn’t know why Spock’s looking at him like that, and he hopes he hasn’t said anything colossally stupid. He goes to put on his lab coat, only to find that it isn’t hanging in its usual place.
“Ah,” Spock says, and when McCoy looks over at him, he realizes that Spock has accidentally put on his lab coat. The shoulders fit badly and the sleeves are much too short.
McCoy feels his lips twitch and he makes a tremendous effort not to laugh. “I, er, think that’s my lab coat.”
“Yes,” Spock says in a strained voice, and McCoy wonders if he imagines the faint blush on Spock’s cheeks. Spock quickly slides out of the coat and hands it to him. Their fingertips brush for the briefest of moments, and McCoy finds his mind fixating on that point of contact for much longer than necessary.
They each don their own lab coats, and begin working quietly on either end of the lab counter.
-
Surprising no one, the Enterprise flies from one danger straight to the next. This time, the menace of the week isn’t a highly contagious influenza, but some kind of bright orange slime mold that came into the ship on the soles of the landing party’s boots. It grows at an unheard of speed, covering almost every surface in two of the ship’s decks and spewing out noxious fumes that keep anyone from getting too close.
McCoy is on the bridge when the third deck is lost to the slime mold and has to be evacuated.
“This is ridiculous,” Jim says, slumping in his chair. “We’ve tried depriving it of oxygen, setting it on fire, even phasers. Nothing’s working. Scotty says that if it reaches Engineering, we’ll lose the ship.”
McCoy looks around. “Where’s Spock?”
“He went to go help evacuate the deck,” Jim answers. “So far, no one’s been badly injured, but I’m not taking any chances.”
“Jim, that deck’s been empty for a while. Spock should have been back by now.” He tries to swallow past the automatic panic that hits him.
Jim looks worried. “Lieutenant Uhura, try contacting Mr. Spock.”
Uhura nods and taps at some keys on her console. She nods at Jim when she’s done.
“Captain.” Spock’s voice is as calm as ever. McCoy slowly unclenches his fists.
“Spock, where are you?” Jim asks, leaning forward in his chair.
“I have been able to secure a sample of the slime mold. I am currently in the biomedical lab,” Spock answers. He sounds distracted.
“What the hell are you doing in there, Spock?” McCoy asks angrily. “That lab is way too close to where the slime mold is. Everyone should have evacuated from there already.”
“I was not aware that you were on the bridge, Doctor. As I said, I have a sample of the slime mold. I calculate twenty-three minutes before the slime mold reaches my location.” There is a pause. McCoy imagines Spock working with that graceful efficiency that never seems to be rushed, even in times like these. “I will use this time to devise a countermeasure.”
“I’m coming to help you, Spock,” McCoy tells him.
Spock doesn’t answer for a while. Then: “I would welcome your help.”
Jim looks slightly bemused at this exchange. McCoy isn’t too sure he’s heard properly either. “Are you sure about this, Bones?” Jim asks him.
McCoy nods. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t mess up all the calibration settings on my microscope.”
-
When he makes it to the biomedical lab, he’s surprised to find that most of the science officers have stuck around, even though the official evacuation was called a while ago.
“What have you found so far?” McCoy asks, as he comes up to them.
Spock looks up as he approaches. “Its physiology apparently allows it to grow in the presence of very little moisture, using virtually anything as a substrate from which to spread on. We have not been able to find a way to stop it without endangering the safety of the crew.”
McCoy looks around at the science officers. A few of them worked with him to help make the cure. This time, it’s even more important that they work fast. He can already see desperation setting in.
He rolls up his sleeves. “Let’s see what I can find, then.”
A part of him hadn’t thought it would be possible, but working together with Spock, they manage to find a weakness that they can use against the slime mold, a vulnerability to a particular enzyme that is harmless to most other life forms. They’re just getting ready to put something together that they’ll be able to pump through the ship’s ventilation systems when the Enterprise shudders and jolts around them. McCoy staggers and nearly falls, managing to catch himself on one of the lab counters. He hears the sound of breaking glass as something hits the floor.
“It must have reached the engineering deck,” Lieutenant Phan says, her eyes wide.
“Everyone all right?” McCoy asks, looking around. He catches sight of a broken bottle and acid spilled over the floor. Crouched on the ground is Spock.
“Someone get this cleaned up!” McCoy shouts. He turns to Spock. He is taking shallow, rapid breaths and his teeth are clenched tightly from the pain. He’s hugging his injured side, making it difficult for McCoy to see the extent of what has happened.
“Look at me, come on,” McCoy says. Spock’s eyes find his. His breathing slows by a little bit, but he still doesn’t move. “Spock, dammit, I need to see. Let me see.” He finally manages to get Spock to uncurl enough for him to look at the damage. McCoy sucks in a breath. Acid has splashed over Spock’s right shoulder and much of his arm. It’s already eaten through his uniform shirt, and into his skin. McCoy has to act fast.
“Get up. Spock. Don’t do this to me. You need to get up.” McCoy heaves forcefully at Spock’s uninjured arm until Spock rises woodenly to his feet. McCoy helps him to the other side of the counter, where the emergency shower is. He uses some scissors to quickly cut at the remains of Spock’s shirt. Luckily, none of the rest of him got splashed. He peels away the cloth as quickly and carefully as he can.
Once the burnt skin is exposed, McCoy turns on the emergency shower and pushes Spock into the torrent. He feels a tugging motion and realizes that Spock’s fingers are twisted tightly into his sleeves, not letting go. Spock’s chest is still rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes are half-closed. Water washes away at Spock’s skin. McCoy hopes that the acid hasn’t had enough time to go much deeper than the outer layer of skin.
“Spock, you have to let go,” McCoy says softly. “I have to go get a medkit. I’ll be right back.” At first McCoy thinks that Spock hasn’t heard him, but eventually Spock releases him. His eyes have gone glassy with pain, and this is what makes McCoy move faster, running over to where the emergency medkit is kept and pulling out a hypospray. He runs back to Spock, who has his head bowed under the force of the water.
McCoy steps closer with the hypospray. Some of the water from the shower hits him. It’s freezing. Spock’s eyes open as McCoy approaches. He tilts his head to allow McCoy to inject the hypospray into his neck. “This will help against the pain and keep you from going into shock,” McCoy explains.
Spock nods. “Doctor, time is running out.” His voice is a low growl. “You must finish working on the countermeasure. I will be fine.”
“You need medical attention, Spock. I’m taking you to sickbay and that’s final.” McCoy studies Spock’s arm. He’d like to keep him under the shower for longer to make sure all the acid is washed away, but Spock is right. They’re running out of time. “Consider this as revenge for when you locked me in my own room.”
The side of Spock’s mouth quirks up by the tiniest bit.
Lieutenant Cervantes comes up to them. The science team has been working diligently while McCoy has been taking care of Spock. “Sir, the slime mold is almost here,” she says.
“Okay,” McCoy says, taking a deep breath. “Take whatever we have to Scotty. He’ll know how to get it through the ship’s ventilation systems. I’ll take Commander Spock to sickbay.” Cervantes nods and goes to tell the others. They quickly head out.
McCoy turns off the emergency shower. Spock is completely soaked, hair plastered to his face. He is very pale and is trying very obviously not to shiver, but there is no time to dry him off. McCoy wraps him in a lab coat and guides him to the doors, letting Spock lean on him for support. As they near the entrance, an alarm sounds.
“That’s the contamination alarm,” McCoy says in horror. “It’s already here, dammit.” He yanks open a wall compartment and pulls out a pair of respirators. He fits one onto Spock and then puts one on himself. It’ll have to be enough against the fumes from the slime mold.
“Why do you and I always get into these kinds of situations?” McCoy says, mostly to himself.
To his surprise, Spock responds. “I believe you enjoy it far more than you say.”
McCoy tries not to think too hard about that, at least not now. There will be time for that later, he hopes. But he can’t stop himself from wondering if Spock could also be talking about himself.
“Well, it’s now or never,” McCoy sighs, adjusting his hold on Spock so that they’ll be able to move as quickly as possible.
The doors open. McCoy barrels through, taking Spock with him. The anti-contamination scanner beeps at him to hold still, but McCoy pays it no mind, pushing through the doors and into the hallway.
“Doctor, where are you taking us? Sickbay is in the opposite direction,” Spock tells him, his voice slightly muffled by the respirator.
“That’s where the slime mold is. We have to take a detour.”
“The better choice would have been to take the second hallway on your right. Ah, but I see that we have missed it.”
“Shut up, Spock.”
They walk for what seems like hours through the deserted corridors, and suddenly they turn a corner and encounter that bright orange substance creeping along the walls. They find themselves cornered by the slime mold, blocked on all sides by the encroaching mass. The hall fills with fumes that sting at their eyes and threaten to overpower their respirators.
Just when McCoy thinks they won’t make it, a white vapor floods the corridors. It eats away at the slime mold and clears a path for them.
“We did it. It worked!” McCoy says, but Spock only sags against him, unresponsive. The fumes have taken their toll on him. McCoy isn’t feeling too great at this point either. “It’s not far now, come on,” he says.
And mustering up his last reserves of strength, McCoy drags Spock to safety.
-
It is only later, after the damaged skin has been regenerated and Spock is resting, that McCoy lets himself consider what Spock said to him. He’s ready to dismiss it as delusional, something Spock said while overcome by pain and the drugs from the hypospray. But Spock had sounded to be in his right mind at the time.
It bothers McCoy that he thinks Spock might be right. The Enterprise is a deathtrap and this voyage is practically a suicide mission, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling unstoppable every time he and Spock and the crew survive yet another attempt at their life. It’s a feeling he doesn’t know what to do with, and one that he’s more than a little afraid of. He knows the consequences of overconfidence, and in his line of work, the stakes are too high to even think about.
McCoy sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He’s always trying to provoke an emotional response from Spock, but he didn’t expect to have one like this provoked in return. He’s not even sure it was intentional.
Meanwhile, Spock is asleep, his expression serene and peaceful. He was unconscious by the time they made it to sickbay, and hasn’t woken up since.
He wishes Spock would wake up, just so that he could answer one of the many questions buzzing around in his head. Like how it is Spock knows that about him when even McCoy doesn’t. Or why it is that McCoy likes that Spock knows these things about him, considers it proof that Spock thinks of him as more than a brief annoyance. Or what it is that draws McCoy to Spock more than anyone else he’s ever known.
“Shit,” he whispers. Sickbay is darkened and mostly empty, and no one is there to hear him.
-
McCoy is afraid things will change, now that he’s realized his tragic unrequited love for his fellow science officer and all that. But Spock treats him with the same mild tolerance as ever, and McCoy hates that he wishes for something more than that. It’s taken them so long to get to this point. They haven’t had a real argument in months. It’s something close to a friendship, and he can’t ruin that by bringing in his feelings.
This is what he is resolved to do when he comes into the lab. It’s taken a while, but the ship is mostly fixed now. Luckily, it had only suffered minor damages from the slime mold. Scotty is still in a state about possible problems in the engines, but that’s normal for Scotty.
He sits on his stool and pulls his microscope towards him, beginning to look at some samples. It’s been ages since they’ve collected these but with everything that’s happened, he hasn’t had a chance to look them. He moves through them with forceful determination, refusing to acknowledge anyone else’s presence in the lab. He only pauses briefly every now and then to tap some notes into his PADD.
The samples are probably half done before he finds one that gives him pause. “Incredible,” he says, adjusting the focus so that he can see it more clearly.
“What is?” Spock asks. McCoy looks up at him. Spock’s expression is curious. Even though McCoy came into the lab not wanting to make things awkward between the two of them, he still wants to share this discovery with him.
“This plant tissue we found. It shows sign of something that looks a lot like a nervous system. It’s still primitive and pretty basic, but it’s still more than we’ve encountered before. Who knows, a thousand of years from now this could evolve into an actual sentient life form.”
And then McCoy stops talking because Spock is bending forward to look through the microscope. He’s close enough for his shoulder to brush against McCoy’s chest and for McCoy to see the faintest hint of stubble lining Spock’s jaw. He imagines what it would feel like to run the backs of his knuckles against that. Abruptly, McCoy is reminded of what Spock looked like when he had to pull him out of the emergency shower. Dark, wet hair contrasted sharply against pale skin, a trail of it running from his navel to disappear under uniform pants. McCoy shivers slightly from the memory, and fervently hopes Spock doesn’t notice.
After what seems like too long, Spock pulls away. “It is remarkable,” he says. He looks genuinely awed, with that bright-eyed look of scientific appreciation that McCoy used to mock mercilessly. Now, he finds himself breathless because of it. He can only nod in response, and turns back to his microscope as soon as Spock looks away.
McCoy doesn’t get much work done after that.
-
The Enterprise makes a stop at a space station. It’s a nice change to put on civvies and see people who aren’t Starfleet officers. It’s a well-deserved break for all of them. He makes sure to get Jim to loosen up. They have a few drinks at the bar together, and McCoy is gratified to see the lines of tension ease up on his friend. Jim winds himself much too tightly sometimes.
“This was great. Thanks Bones,” Jim says after a few hours. By unspoken agreement, neither of them have had enough to get too drunk. Even on a space station, they need to be ready for anything. “I should be getting back to the ship, though.”
McCoy shakes his head. “You and that damn ship. The journalists back at home finally have the answer to what Captain James T. Kirk looks for in a woman: a full array of photon torpedoes and a warp drive.”
“There’s just no one else like her,” Jim says, eyes twinkling. He is silent for a moment. “You and Spock. You have something, don’t you? I could tell.”
“Jim,” McCoy groans, feeling his face heat up. “Do we really have to talk about this?”
Jim’s expression is serious. “A few months ago you two could hardly stand to be in the same room. So yes, I’d say we need to talk about this.”
McCoy sighs. “I don’t know if it’s something. It might not be anything.”
Jim studies him. “There’s only one way to find out,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. Damn kid. He pats McCoy on the back firmly a few times before leaving.
He stays there a while after Jim has left, staring at the bottom of his glass. Then, sighing, he gets up to leave. Instead of going straight back to the ship, he walks around the station. It’s a pretty big place, not like those backwater outposts that they sometimes have to go to when they’re desperate for supplies. This part of space has a lot of colonies, so the station sees a good amount of traffic, and quite a few people with things to sell.
Still warm from the alcohol, McCoy browses for a bit but doesn’t see anything of interest. Beginning to feel a bit tired, he decides to return to the ship. It’s just his luck that he runs into Spock in the transporter room waiting to be beamed up to the ship. McCoy catches his eye and they nod at each other. He half-hopes that Spock will leave it there, but no luck.
“Have you seen the Captain?” Spock asks him.
“No, not for a while,” McCoy answers. “He’s probably on the ship by now.”
Spock nods and McCoy notices that he is carrying something under his arm, a package of some kind. He hadn’t thought Spock to be the kind of person to do shopping in his free time, and he finds himself curious about what it could be.
“What’s that you’ve got there? Souvenir?” he asks, unable to stop himself.
“Hardly,” Spock answers, and McCoy can’t stop the smile that spreads over his face at the mildly affronted tone in Spock’s voice. “There is a scientific supplies store of some repute on this station. I purchased a replacement part for the instrument that was malfunctioning in my lab. I should be able to fix it now.”
The smile fades from McCoy’s face, and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, that’s good,” he says, trying to sound sincere. “Does this mean you’re finally going to be out of my hair?” McCoy winces internally. He sounded much harsher than he had intended.
“Yes, it does,” Spock says, his voice a little quieter than before. “I apologize for being an inconvenience.”
Unfortunately, McCoy doesn’t get to say anything in response since it’s their turn to be beamed up. As soon as they materialize in the ship’s transporter room, Spock walks briskly out. McCoy makes his way back to his quarters, completely miserable.
He had let himself forget that the only reason he and Spock had been seeing so much of each other was by chance. Spock had needed to use something in his lab, and now that he had his own instrument working again, he would move out. Spock had had no choice but to move into his lab, but it had always been something temporary. That was just the way things were and he’d have to get used to it.
McCoy collapses into bed, but after a few hours, he gives up. There’s no way he’ll be able to sleep. He changes back into his clothes and heads toward the biomedical lab. At least at this time of night, no one will be there, not even Spock.
When he gets there, he sees with surprise that half of Spock’s things have already been cleared away. It finally becomes a reality for him that Spock is moving. McCoy tells himself he’s being ridiculous. He’ll still see Spock on the ship, after all. It just won’t be the same.
He stares at Spock’s side of lab counter for a long time. Something red catches his eye. He looks closer and realizes it’s a piece of electrical tape, the tape Jim lay down for them in the very beginning to serve as a boundary. McCoy unsticks it and plays with it absentmindedly. There’s only a small bit of the tape left. After all this time, the rest of the tape has been stripped off. They just haven’t needed it. Spock and he have been making compromises with each other and sharing this space with each other effortlessly, without even having to think about it.
The lab doors open, and McCoy turns to look. It’s Spock. He’s holding an empty box, but stops when he sees McCoy.
“Spock!” McCoy says, and immediately hates how breathless his voice sounds. He tries again. “You’re getting your things? I’ll, uh, get out of your way.” He retreats back to his own side of the counter.
Setting down his cardboard box, Spock begins to carefully put in his glassware, padding the spaces carefully so that nothing can break.
There’s only one way to find out. Jim’s words echo back at him.
“You don’t have to leave, you know,” McCoy says quickly. Spock pauses in his packing, one glass beaker still in his hand. He looks at McCoy, and McCoy can see surprise in his eyes. “You could keep using our instrument. Hardly anyone needs it.” He’s trying to be nonchalant about it, looking down at the electrical tape he’s still holding, and sticking it to the corner of the counter to give himself something to do with his hands.
Spock sets the beaker back down on the lab counter. “It is unreasonable to continue my work in the biomedical lab if there is more room elsewhere. And I have already purchased the proper replacement part,” Spock says.
“Okay, fine. I get it. You don’t want to stay. Forget I said anything.” At this point, McCoy wishes the ground would swallow him up. He’s never taking advice from Jim again.
“But I would like to stay.” Spock says it so quietly, McCoy is almost sure he’s imagined it, except that when he meets Spock’s eyes, they are warm and honest.
“You would?” McCoy asks in disbelief.
Spock nods. “I believe I can sell the spare instrument to the supply store at the station. If you have no objections, I will begin moving my things back.” He pauses, looking down for a brief moment. “I had assumed that you would want me to leave as soon as possible. This is unexpected.”
Spock abandons his box and comes to his side of the lab, leaning against the countertop. McCoy swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Well, I think we work well together. I mean, you fit well here. With the team. I’m sure all of them would miss you. Not just me.”
Spock waits patiently until he is done speaking, and then he clasps McCoy’s face in his hands and tilts it up to kiss him. It is soft and unsure at first, but then McCoy pulls Spock closer and it becomes something more forceful. McCoy hears a roaring in his ears and licks into Spock’s mouth, pleased to feel Spock quiver lightly in his arms.
Spock seems hesitant, his hands moving from McCoy’s face to rest lightly on his waist, like he’s still uncertain if they belong there. But as with everything, he is a quick learner. He gains confidence, doing something with his teeth that has McCoy’s fingers twisting sharply in Spock’s shirt. In response, Spock’s grip on his waist tightens, and then McCoy is being lifted up off the ground and onto the lab counter.
“I’m not sure this is sanitary,” McCoy says softly, even as he spreads his knees and lets Spock press up against him.
“Would you like me to leave?” Spock asks, leaning in. His breath ghosts against the skin of McCoy’s neck. His hands move from McCoy’s waist and he rubs his thumbs into the underside of McCoy’s wrists.
“Don’t you dare,” McCoy says. He tightens his legs around Spock to keep him from escaping.
Spock looks down at McCoy’s legs wrapped around his waist and smiles. “Then I will stay,” he says like a promise, and leans up to kiss McCoy again.