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Leonard McCoy grabbed a coffee in the day room, grinned broadly when he spotted a friend, and settled at the small table where Spock sat looking off forlornly into space.
“Are you even aware that you are on the Enterprise?” he wanted to know.
Spock stirred himself. “Oh. Doctor. How good to see you.”
Spock didn’t look that thrilled to see him, but then it was Spock being observed. One never knew for certain just what was on his mind or if it could be understood by normal people. But that was one thing that McCoy liked about Spock. The Vulcan wasn’t exactly like anyone McCoy had ever known before, and that was okay with McCoy. He was quite certain that he was unlike anyone whom Spock had ever known before, either. They valued the idiosyncrasies of each other and celebrated them instead of just accepting them.
But now Spock was acting sad and introspective. Sometimes McCoy just let Spock’s mood run its course, but today he decided that Spock should feel as peppy as he did.
McCoy gazed fondly at his morose friend. “What the hell’s your problem, Vulcan? You look like a forlorn Old English sheepdog who’s fallen into a slime-covered frog pond and knows it’s gonna have one helluva time getting into the manor house tonight to sit at its master’s feet in front of the hearth so it can warm its old body by the blazing fire.”
“That is quite a colorful description, Doctor, but it will not help with my problem.”
“Wasn’t meant to be helpful,” McCoy muttered as he tried to sip through the curling steam of his coffee cup. The hot liquid nipped at his tongue, and he decided to blow on it for a few more moments before attempting another sip.
McCoy wondered idly what gosh-awful concoction was in the forgotten cup in front of Spock. Probably some evil brew full of healthy fruit juices. The way that Spock was acting, though, he needed something more stimulating, something like hot chocolate. At least the caffeine in it would give Spock the energy to answer simple questions.
“I was trying to distract you,” McCoy continued since Spock apparently hadn’t figured that much out.
Spock did seem to rally, at least enough to acknowledge what McCoy was trying to do for him. “Thank you. You are a good friend.”
“Damn straight. Now, what’s your problem?” McCoy settled in for the long haul. This could be anything from a lament about what the world of music never had after Beethoven lost his hearing to the idea that all of mankind’s magnificent structures will eventually erode away to time and the weathering of the natural elements. One thing that McCoy never had to worry about was that Spock’s problem would involve anything to do with emotions or feelings. Spock would rather deprive himself of all of the beauty of the Fine Arts from this day forth than disclose anything that would affect him personally.
Spock frowned and gave him a cautious look. “It is rather unique.”
“I figured.”
“For me. Rather unique, for me.”
“Oh?” Now that was news. McCoy frowned, too. Maybe it didn’t involve the Fine Arts, after all. Maybe it might even be something of a personal nature.
“Yes. In fact, my problem is of a personal nature.”
McCoy perked up. It appeared that he was a mind reader now.
“Oh? And what’s that? This, ah, problem of a personal nature?”
“I am romantically interested in someone.”
“Really?!” Wow! It WAS of a personal nature. What a leap!
Spock frowned as he studied his cup of unknown substance before him. (So McCoy was not the only one puzzled by the cup’s contents.) “Yes, I am quite captivated by someone and do not know how to approach the person with my interest.”
McCoy blurted the first thing that came to mind because he was still so flabbergasted by the subject of their discussion. “You just gotta speak up! Be assertive!”
Spock looked up, impressed but dismayed, too. He might have also blanched a lighter shade of green, but it was difficult to tell with Spock’s skin. “Me? Assertive? When it comes to matters of the heart?”
“Well, you do have a point,” McCoy decided on second thought. “Okay. You gotta be more attentive then.” He held his hand up when Spock started to object to that advice, too. “Spend time with the person. Be companionable. Be sociable. Be intimate.”
"Intimate?!”
“I don’t mean ‘intimate’ intimate,” he conceded. “That sounds too familiar. Too sexual, if you will.” He saw Spock’s look of discomfort. “Well, you’re gonna have to put yourself out in SOME way, you know! Or else the other person will never catch on to what’s going on inside your heart.”
Spock definitely looked uncomfortable with that advice.
“Don’t expect the other person to be a mind reader!”
“It would certainly be to my advantage if he was,” Spock said miserably.
So it was a ‘he,’ McCoy noted and felt a stab of jealousy and disappointment. Where in the hell had that come from, he wondered. If Spock had found someone to like in an intimate, personal way, then McCoy should be happy for his friend.
“Look, you’re just gonna have to do this. You’re obviously miserable. Who knows? The other person might be feeling the same way about you and not knowing how to approach you, either.” McCoy tried his coffee. It was at a drinkable temperature. He took a deep sip. Ah! Well worth the wait!
“You sincerely believe that I should do this thing?”
“Sure! Stretch yourself!”
“I do not know--”
“Just declare yourself! Just say, ‘I need to tell you something.’”
“Really?”
“Really. Just try it.”
“Alright.” Spock eagerly leaned toward him as McCoy took another big sip of his coffee. “Doctor, I need to tell you something….”
McCoy snorted coffee across the table and drenched the uniform, but not the spirits, of the guy looking at him so happily.