Chapter Text
Edith Keeler didn't die. Jim couldn't let her.
Jim saved Edith Keeler and condemned them all to the past and a changed world. Leonard didn't know that at the time, he was only relieved that Jim had saved the woman who had saved him, and confused by the disapproval and defeat he saw on Spock's face. But Spock explained it to him later. Really, he couldn't blame Jim. Leonard probably would have done the same, or, according to Spock, he definitely would have done the same.
The night that they saved Edith Keeler Jim spent the night with her (after a very emphatic warning from Spock about the exponentially disastrous effects of impregnating a woman who shouldn't even be alive), and Leonard and Spock stayed in the small room where Spock and Jim had been living. Leonard was still a little disoriented at times. The cordrazine was slow to leave the body and quite apart from that he'd just learned that he was stuck in 20th century Earth for, well, probably forever. It was also close to two in the morning by the time Spock explained all that had happened.
"Our only course now," Spock said, "is to find another point at which to alter history back to its original course." He stood in the center of the room, stark and serious against the quaint yellowed furnishings and the dim lamplight.
"I don't know what's more strange," Leonard said, "being in the 20th century or seeing you in Old Earth clothes."
Spock crossed his arms. "That observation is not in the least helpful, doctor."
Leonard leaned back where he sat on the one of two beds which was not cluttered with the bulbs and wires and scorched boards of what Spock had informed him was a computer. He lay back onto the pillow, hands behind his head.
"Very few observations could be at this point, Mr. Spock."
"Illogical as always, doctor. I might observe that the simplest action would be to attempt to dissuade Miss Keeler from her peacekeeping missions."
"Good luck with that," Leonard said and yawned.
Spock nodded in rare agreement. He crossed the room and sat on McCoy's bed, hands on his knees. McCoy had never seen him look so beaten, and he had seen him literally beaten. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the cordrazine, maybe it was the peculiar glow of the incandescent light, but Spock looked suddenly far too human.
"The Captain..." Spock said, "he knew this would happen and yet he saved her in spite of my many warnings."
"He loves her," Leonard said, gently as he could. "He couldn't watch her die anymore than you could stand by while Jim was hit by a truck, even if you knew the fate of the world depended on it."
One eyebrow arched as Spock turned to look at him, "I think, doctor, that you are implying too much about my regard toward the Captain."
"Sure I am," Leonard said, nudging Spock with his leg. "Anyway, you should get some sleep. Even if we have to go hold Oppenheimer's hand we've still got nearly a decade to do it."
"I do not require sleep tonight," Spock said, then leaned over to unlace his boots. "However, I will meditate and in the morning we will confer with the Captain." He stood and removed his shoes, his socks, stripped off his clothes and changed into a pair of flannel pajamas. Leonard watched all of this, wondering how it must have been, just Spock and Jim here together, wondering about the other bed, covered in the device that Spock had built, and considering the narrow bed in which he lay, which might hold two grown men as long they were very, very close.
Spock stood over him.
"Doctor?" he said.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"May I have the extra pillow?"
Leonard gave it to him and watched as he crossed the room, dropped the pillow onto the floor then sat upon it and closed his eyes. Leonard watched him, expecting something more to happen.
"Good night, Spock," he said after a while when nothing did, and turned out the light.
____
"Well then why not just murder the woman and be done with it?" Leonard said, too loud, and Jim tried to quiet him. Someone sitting next to Spock moved away.
It was morning and they sat in the mission, trying to decide what to do now to solve the problem of getting home, as well the additional problem of a World War that would now be lost to the enemy, and the answer, Leonard's own suggestion the night before, unthinkable in the clear-headed light of day.
"Doctor," Spock said calmly, "you are once again being unhelpful."
Leonard clutched his coffee mug so tightly that his hands shook and some of it spilled. "You're telling me there's really no other way to solve this without killing millions of people? That our goal here actually has to be to starting a war?"
"Not starting a war," Jim said, "that's going to happen no matter what. We've only got to make sure the United States starts their nuclear arms program and enters the war on time."
"Destruction, murder, generations wiped out. Kickstarting the Manhattan Project!"
"Doctor," Spock said, "consider also the practical benefits of the nuclear science discovered following this period. Energy, medicine, even space travel. I submit that all forms of energy have their pros and cons."
"It isn't the science I'm concerned about, it's the loss of life, the senseless violence of it, and moreover the fact that you two act as if it's the only way."
"It is not the only way," Spock said, "however, it is the way that it did happen. It is the course of events as they were, and every alteration will have its own dire and multiplicative consequences, which will each have their own and so on. We have an obligation to return events to their original course if possible. If you are concerned about casualties, doctor, the generations upon generations of humans who were born and may never now be born as a consequence of their parents or grandparents having been killed when they should have survived quite outweigh the original casualties."
Leonard turned to face Spock. He wished he had a hypo to stick into that green neck. "It's a fair trade, is it?" he asked. "The needs of the many, Mr. Spock?"
"Precisely."
"Bones, look--"
"No, Jim," Leonard interrupted, but quiet and calm at last, "I won't have anything to do with it. You all do what you have to." He stood.
"Where are you going?" Jim asked.
"Logically, we should not split up," Spock said.
Leonard wiped up his spilled coffee and gathered his mug. "I'll be here," he said. "I'll patch you up if you need it, but I won't be party to it. Maybe I can find a hospital or a clinic or some place where they're desperate enough to accept a doctor without any documentation."
"Doctor, I must advise against saving lives which might not have otherwise--"
Spock stopped abruptly, either taking a clue from the murderous look Leonard gave him or Jim's hand on his arm, signalling him to let this one go.
"We'll see you at dinner, Bones?" Jim asked instead.
Leonard sighed. "If I don't find a truck to throw myself in front of or a bottle to fall into." He walked across the room to stack his dishes into a bin, then tugged on the waistline of the ill-fitting pants he'd borrowed from Spock. He walked to the door and, in one last fit of petulance, turned and said rather loudly, "I can at least be grateful we didn't arrive during prohibition!"
____
Leonard did not see them for dinner. He used some of the little money that Jim had given him before his tantrum at breakfast and took the subway to Brooklyn, to the museum there, three hundred years newer than the last time he'd seen it on a school trip as a kid, and yet somehow it was still surprising to find it there waiting for him. Until seeing Jim and Spock the night before, he hadn't been certain that the whole thing wasn't still an hallucination. Even then some doubt had remained, incredible as it all seemed. But he couldn't have hallucinated every person who pushed past him as he stood blocking the sidewalk, every man and woman on the subway, every brick of every building or crack in the pavement.
He returned late that night to find Spock alone, bent over his computer, and without a word he'd gone to bed.
The next morning he woke to the shuffling of feet, to Jim already in the room and speaking quietly with Spock still in pajamas. Leonard stayed quiet at first and watched them, heads bent together, Jim's shoulders slumped, then a word from Spock that Leonard couldn't hear, his hand on Jim's arm and a nod from Jim. He had often felt like an intruder on these two, but never more than at that moment, in the early morning glow of an Old Earth room and the noise of traffic just beginning outside. Through the window a young boy's voice called the headlines.
Leonard cleared his throat. "Well are you going to tell me the news or do I have to wait for it to show up in the papers?"
In an attempt to convince her to abandon her principles, Jim had told Edith everything. She did not believe Jim. Consequently, or perhaps regardless of this, she was also unwilling to abandon her moral code, and in fact Jim's confession had only solidified it.
"I'm sorry she dumped you, Jim," Leonard said later after a wash and a shave, when he returned to the room to find Jim still there. Spock gathered his things and gave Jim a knowing look, likely about meddling doctors, and left to wash up for the day.
Jim smirked, the sort of smile that was really a cover for a more painful expression. "I have to admit, Bones, it smarts to be on the jilted side of things. But I certainly can't blame her. "
"No, I don't guess you could accuse her of being fickle," Leonard said and sat on the bed to pull on his boots. "It's no small thing, a man being from the future and wanting to blow up the world and all."
"Well I didn't quite phrase it that way but I suppose you're right."
"You're not unemployed now too, are you?"
Jim shook his head. "No, she wouldn't do that. But I'm afraid our next step won't be as easy to forgive." He sat next to leonard, the weight of him bringing them close together, although Leonard had noticed that all the recent manual labor had trimmed down their captain some, not to mention darkened his skin beyond space-mission pale.
"I'm going to have to begin lobbying against her, to befriend the right people and say the right--or perhaps the wrong--things. I've got to try it, Bones."
"But she'll…" Leonard began to say but couldn't.
"She'll hate me, I know."
"I'm sorry, Jim."
"You might be even more sorry when I say that this could take years. Spock's working on getting the," he waved his hand in the direction of the contraption across the room, no longer on the second bed where Spock must have actually slept the night before, "computer running again, but there's really nothing for it to show us at this point. But, Bones… it's very likely we're stuck. For good."
"I know, Jim."
"And what's more, you and Spock may not be able to stay here. Once I start speaking against her, speaking in favor of war, well… she wouldn't do it out of spite, but for the sake of peace she'll want to discredit me. She might start talking about space travel and aliens and if anyone wanted to look into it…"
Leonard understood. "There's no clearer evidence than a green-blooded, pointy-eared Vulcan."
Jim nodded, "I hate to send him off at all but I certainly wouldn't send him off alone, not in this world." There was no smirk to mask this injury. The idea of sending away his first officer clearly outweighed the loss of Edith Keeler's affection.
"I'll look after him, Jim, if it comes to that."
Jim laughed a little, only just audible over the noise outside, then stood. "Don't let Spock hear you say that."
"Never," Leonard promised, smiling, and stood beside him.
___
"Are you here to plead your captain's case, Mr. McCoy?"
Leonard had returned to the little office where he had convalesced so recently. The cot was now neatly made and Edith stood just as neat and beautiful as she had been that first day, if more apprehensive, which was saying a lot, considering the state he'd been in when they'd first met.
"No ma'am," Leonard said, standing with his hands behind his back. The door was open so he spoke quietly. "I came for myself. I won't mention, well… whatever Jim told you you can be sure it was the truth, but that's not why I'm here." Edith waited, one eyebrow raised in a familiar way. No wonder Jim liked her so much. "Well," he continued, "you may not believe the rest of it but I really am a doctor. I don't have any way to prove that here but you know the city and if you know of a place, a clinic, where I could help, I'd sure appreciate being of some use."
She considered him for a long moment, arms crossed and chin raised just so. There was a noise from the kitchen and Leonard flinched. She smiled and the room actually felt suddenly warmer.
"It's just someone dropping pots and pans," she said, and uncrossed her arms. "You know, I don't know if Jim is mad and he's simply convinced you, or if you're just as mad as he is, but if you've any skill at medicine at all we certainly need you. I'll speak to a few people for you, Mr.--I mean, Dr. McCoy. I may know someone who won't ask too many questions, but I make no promises."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She squinted her eyes and considered him a little more. "In the mean time, perhaps you could see a few people here. There are some supplies in that cabinet though I keep the medicines under lock and key and I'll keep that myself. We mostly get dehydration and exposure cases, and a fair amount of small injuries. When you haven't got any patients you can… well can you cook?"
"Not at all, ma'm."
"No doubt you can peel a potato?"
"I believe that I could."
"Then you'll work in the kitchen. This will be your office when I haven't need of it." She stepped a little closer at last, her words almost apologetic. "I can't pay you much, even if you really are a doctor."
Leonard smiled. He thought of the world as it should be, of how this woman would be dead but for their interference. Such a generous and forgiving force. How could a world without Edith Keeler really be the right one? "I'm grateful, ma'am."
Edith took a deep breath. "I won't pretend that I'm not a little concerned about having the three of you here now, but Jim saved my life, whatever else he might believe." She blinked a few times but there were no tears. "Anyway, I'll be watching you Dr. McCoy." She put out her hand and Leonard took it, cold and small in his, and thanked her again.
____
Leonard did not serve much time in the kitchen. He had sliced only three onions and peeled a dozen potatoes before word quickly got around that there was a doctor at the mission.
"I treated four separate head wounds, Spock!" he said later as he paced their room. "Harassment from police officers wanting them to move on, or someone trying to take their spot in an alley, or even passers-by just plain being cruel."
"It is an unfortunate trait of many humans," Spock said.
In fact he'd treated all that Edith had promised and some she had not, like a man whose hands shook for want of a drink, and a mother and child with simple vitamin deficiency.
"The primitive technology and medicine is bad enough--not even penicillin or sulfa drugs for infection--but it's just that so much of it could be so easily prevented."
"Easy for some, perhaps, but for these people, in this time, basic nutrition and shelter are--" Spock was cut off as something shorted out and smoked.
"Careful!" Leonard grabbed his hand to inspect it. "You should have more light over here anyway, you'll strain your eyes."
"I'm quite alright, doctor." Spock pulled his hand away, his gaze more like an accusation. Of what, Leonard didn't know. He stepped back as Spock returned to his work.
The exchange had shaken Leonard, pulled him out of that little office and into their room at last, where he looked around for the first time that evening. There were new parts, and new little projects. Spock had been busy. Indeed he sat a little straighter, worked a little more fervently. It seemed something had shaken Spock as well, no longer so defeated. If Spock were human Leonard might wonder if it had something to do with Jim and Edith breaking it off. Then again, Spock was half human.
"I'm surprised Jim isn't here now that he doesn't have Miss Keeler's attentions to keep him busy," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"The captain has taken a second room, a single. We are now bunkmates, doctor."
"Splendid," Leonard said.
"He has also already begun the new mission. No doubt he is busy putting it into effect. He mentioned a meeting with some gentlemen tonight at a public drinking establishment."
"Operation: Befriend the Warmongers, eh Spock?"
Spock sighed in a very human, rather exasperated way. "If you say so, Doctor."
"A night out doesn't sound too bad, really...." Leonard said to Spock's back in his most pleasant voice, leaving it open ended but there was no sign of acknowledgement or interest. He tried a little harder. "A rare opportunity to observe Old Earth culture and customs." Nothing. He spoke a little louder. "You know, we're going to be at this a long time, possibly the rest of our lives. There's no reason you and I couldn't--"
A sudden loud hum interrupted him, a clicking sound and then the tricorder screen lit up. He moved to stand behind Spock to watch over his shoulder. On the screen the years sped by too fast for his human eyes, but Spock watched without blinking. Leonard caught just a few glimpses, of cars, of babies crying, of enemy flags and Edith's face and, once, he thought, even himself, standing in a room with Spock. Then the screen shut off abruptly.
"What happened?" he asked. "Overheated?"
"No. I have overcome that design flaw. I shut the machine down myself so as not to overtax it."
"Did you see anything? Is it all still the same?"
Spock sat with his hands in his lap, staring at the screen as if it might show him anything but his reflection in the dead, grey glass.
"It is as it was when we came through the portal. The war will still be lost and the Enterprise does not exist."
"Oh," Leonard said, and crossed the room to sit in his bed. There was nothing more he could say, and certainly nothing that he could do.
"You know, doctor," Spock said, "the very fact that we are still here, that we have not simply winked out of existence, suggests that there is still a possibility of correcting our error."
He didn't say it like Leonard should have known better, as if the logic of it was obvious, and the dim lamp by his bed made his features seem softer, so that Leonard wasn't sure but he thought perhaps Spock was trying to comfort him.
They sat in silence for another moment before Spock rose and straightened his shirt and stood at the foot of his bed.
"Doctor," he said quietly, "would you help move this onto the floor?"
"Of course," Leonard replied, grateful to be asked for anything at all from Spock, who seemed to find him an irritant at best since they landed in this world, in this time. They moved the machine and Spock undressed and redressed as Leonard climbed into bed.
The room was never entirely dark, not with the city just outside the window, but that night, with all of the lights out but for the light from the street, it seemed especially dark. As dark as the visions he'd had under his cordrazine fever, where every shadow on the wall seemed too sharp, to loom too close, and wherever the light shone through, visions of the past, the future, flickered by too fast.
"Are you awake, doctor?"
"Yes, Spock."
"Perhaps tomorrow," Spock cleared his throat in a peculiar way, "perhaps we could… observe the culture and traditions of the era, as you suggested."
Leonard smiled at the ceiling. "Well I hear there's a new Clark Gabriel picture worth seeing."
There was a shuffle in the dark. "I am unaware of that entity or tradition but if you find it suitable, I will defer to your judgement as an Earth native, assuming that the captain does not have more valuable tasks for us, of course."
"Of course."
Another shuffle in the dark, the creak of springs and Leonard guessed that that was the end of the conversation. He didn't notice that the room seemed a little brighter then, the shadows less ominous. He thought, as he fell asleep, of that brief moment he'd picked out from the rest on the tricorder screen, of himself and Spock standing alone in a room he did not recognize, not in the past, but a future he had both already and not yet lived.
___
Actually, as Leonard would later learn, the gentleman (and Leonard used the word generously) that Jim had been out befriending was a man who could provide falsified documents, even a medical license, if Jim could pay for them. It would take time, but time was one thing they had.
So several weeks later, Leonard began working at a hospital in Brooklyn, thanks to the falsified license and some well placed leverage from Jim's new friend. Jim got himself a job teaching history at a high school, which Leonard found so perfectly hilarious that he began laughing at breakfast and was still laughing by dinner the next day. Spock refused any falsified identities and instead found work repairing radios three blocks from their boarding house.
Leonard still helped in the mission's little clinic on weekends, and Spock helped around the place when he was not busy tinkering. He didn't seem as eager now to see the future, but he'd started designing primitive communicators. Leonard told him that it wasn't necessary, that's what telephones were for, but he persisted.
Jim no longer came to the mission. He got news from Spock on what Edith was up to, but Leonard tried to stay out of that. He was a doctor, not a spy.
___
It was a good thing to be reminded of: being a doctor. Sometimes that was almost easy to forget when they were traipsing around undiscovered planets, befriending or fighting off aliens, or even just adrift in space for weeks on end with nothing but chess and brandy and the occasional electrical burn from engineering to keep him company. On a starship, with a tissue regenerator and a hypospray, a doctor could start to feel more like a mechanic.
In the hospital, however, especially where and when he found himself then, it was impossible to forget. Medicine in the 20th century was messy, literally and figuratively, and although he'd read about and seen many of the devices and procedures in history texts or museums, it wasn't the same as hands-on experience.
So when he started work at the hospital he explained to his new colleagues that he'd begun his practice in a little town in Mississippi where the technology hadn't quite caught up. There was a nurse among them named Waters who reminded him of Christine, only younger. She told him later that he wasn't the only doctor there who was a little behind the times, and then together they'd set and cast the broken arm of an eight year old boy. It had reminded Leonard very much of patching up the Horta.
He was horrified by the lack of caution they used around their radiation equipment and said so, and everyone just laughed at the funny old country doctor.
___
In December, Spock caught a cold.
Leonard had been treating fevers and pneumonia at the hospital all week, so it shouldn't have been a surprise, but he had never actually seen Spock ill. He'd seen him injured and wracked with pain, even possessed by alien entities, but never brought low by a plain old virus. He had assumed from past evidence that Spock's Vulcan physiology was impervious to any sort of bug that could infect humans.
"I guess this is your human half showing through."
Leonard had returned to their shared room to find Spock meditating on the floor, shaking with chills even in his coat, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Every text Leonard had ever read had told him that Vulcans didn't sweat.
"Do all humans receive insult as medical treatment?" Spock said in the voice of someone who couldn't breathe through their nose. It would have been funny if Leonard hadn't been uncertain of what that meant for a Vulcan. He tugged on Spock's arm and, to his surprise, Spock gave in and stood.
"Only when the patient is so easy to rile."
"You practice peculiar medicine, doctor."
"Well you're a sweaty Vulcan so who's peculiar now?" Leonard pulled off Spock's coat, helped him into bed and piled all of the extra blankets onto him.
"I assure you, Leonard, I am capable of self-healing if you would desist your interference."
"Well you won't do it on the cold floor!" Leonard said, but Spock was right. He didn't actually know what to do for a sick Vulcan, none of the texts dealt with it, just enough anatomy for damage control, probably because Vulcans didn't like outworlders to know their weaknesses.
He sat on the bed, tucking the blankets around Spock like a child. "I might suggest a cool bath but you'd just be miserable and anyway we haven't got one. I can't give you an aspirin because I don't know what sort of effect an antiplatelet will have on your blood."
"Is there a treatment in which you cease discussing which treatments you will not prescribe?" The catty remark lacked punch with Spock's eyes closed. He was beginning to shake less already. Leonard felt for his pulse. It raced like a thoroughbred. Leonard was pretty sure that was normal.
"I prescribe rest, Mr. Spock."
"And perhaps quiet, doctor."
"I guess I can save my vaudeville rehearsal for another time."
In the morning, Leonard woke to find Spock already dressed and looking the green-blooded version of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He smirked at Leonard and Leonard just congratulated him on a speedy recovery and went off to shave.
Two days later, Leonard came down with a more human version of the illness.
"Don't look so smug," he said to Spock, voice nasally and hoarse. He was bundled up in bed where Spock had left him that morning. "I probably got it from the hospital or the mission, not from you."
Spock had just returned from work and hung up his hat but not his coat. The winter was especially hard for him, especially in their drafty old room.
"I would take no such satisfaction. I am relieved you have not succumbed to your disease."
"It's a cold, Spock, not the plague."
"Really, doctor? I would not have surmised it to be such a minor illness by the level of your complaint."
Leonard blew his nose loudly into a handkerchief. "Surmise that!" he said, and Spock, the villain, actually smiled.
"I stopped by the mission to speak to Miss Keeler. She sent this soup for you, which she promises to be most efficacious."
"If that's chicken soup, I think I could kiss you."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "And risk passing the illness once again?"
"Just bring it over, you…" but the soup smelled so good when Spock brought it over, complete with a spoon and a fresh handkerchief, he couldn't think of anything terrible that he wanted to call him. It was still quite warm, even though he could hear the cold wind outside the window. Spock must have held it close on the walk from the mission.
"Thanks," Leonard said softly, and Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement, then went to pull his own dinner from one of the sacks he'd carried in. "You know," Leonard said, "I think it's about time we got out of this rat trap. The heating is terrible and what we really need is a kitchen."
"A private bath would also be preferable."
"It would indeed, Mr. Spock."
___
They spent Christmas Eve at Jim's new place. It wasn't large or flashy and it was situated in a somewhat questionable neighborhood, but it was more suitable for the kind of image and entertaining their new mission required.
"This army captain, Briggs, thinks he might know somebody who can get me in teaching at West Point," Jim said, drinking what Leonard was sorry wasn't Saurian brandy as they all sat in Jim's pre-furnished sitting room, crowded around the radiator. "It would help me make a name for myself, put me in contact with a lot of important people."
"That intergalactic charm just might carry you all the way to Roosevelt, Jim," Leonard said, raising his glass and Jim smiled.
"If I could be of any service, captain," Spock said, so eager to be first officer again.
"No, Spock, you're doing precisely what you should now.” He pointed to the radio cabinet across the room, the only gift which had been exchanged that night. "Bringing us into the twenty-third century. " He gave a placating smile that made even Leonard itch.
The radio was actually one of two communicators Spock had built, the other was in their room at the boarding house, made from salvaged pieces of damaged sets around the shop where Spock worked. In fact it could still pick up radio signals as well, which made for a suitable disguise.
Jim's comment didn't seem to satisfy Spock. "Captain--"
"Please, Spock, just Jim."
"Jim, I am aware that my presence here complicates the mission, the goal of which requires you to appear to be someone who is in no way affiliated with an entity such as myself--"
"Spock--"
"--an entity which cannot be neatly explained, and connects you to a time and place which should not, and indeed now, does not exist. This is a fact, Jim, and I do not require you to be polite about it to spare my feelings, as I have none on the matter."
Jim looked chastised and nodded. "Of course, you're right. I've already told Bones there may be a time when the two of you have to go a little farther afield. But I think we're safe for a while yet."
"Meanwhile, we've been looking for a new place in town," Leonard said, grasping at the chance to change the subject even a little. "Some place with a kitchen and a great big bath. I'd love a garden but I'm not getting my hopes up."
Jim laughed but it wasn't easy. "Who'd have ever thought, the two of you setting up house."
Spock only shook his head and never once touched his drink.
They didn't stay late, they still had to take the subway back across town, and as they left Jim shook both their hands as warmly and sincerely as Leonard had ever seen, lingering in the doorway, and made them promise to meet him for a meal once a week from then on. It occurred to Leonard on their ride home that this was a very lonely mission for Jim; the weight of the world literally on his shoulders and unable to rely on his closest friends or any of his crew for help. Leonard's disapproval of the whole thing had made him blind to it, not to mention that he'd started to resent Jim just a little for pushing Spock away, even if, back in their own time and place, he had been jealous of their closeness now and then.
The other half of that pair walked beside him in the cold that night, wrapped in two coats with a scarf so high up on his face and his hat so far down that all Leonard could see was his eyes when they passed under the street lamps.
"You know," Leonard said, "Jim would have you right there beside him on this if he could."
Spock's hat raised with his brow. Leonard knew that expression. The one that said 'tell me something I don't know'.
"I am quite aware of that, doctor."
"Well he cares is all I mean!"
"He is the captain; it is in his interest to care about his crew."
"Oh, stow it, Spock, I know it's not easy being away from him and stuck with me. It's hard on him, too. I don't think he's sleeping. I half wanted to examine him but it's not as if my primitive ministrations make much of a dent these days."
Spock stopped walking and turned to him, "I won't argue that last point, however, I feel that your other observations are not only overly subjective but entirely non-constructive. The captain--Jim has a job to do and I have mine. Mine happens to be remaining undiscovered as an extraterrestrial entity. Your job… well I have yet to discern your job, doctor, though it seems to currently include blocking my way."
Leonard turned to look behind him. The doorway to the boarding house was there. They'd been standing outside of their building. He turned back to Spock and gave his best glare, then stepped out of the way.
"Merry Christmas to you, too!" he said to Spock's back, and stood out on the sidewalk for a little longer, just to spite him.