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There was a reason McCoy didn't trust transporters.
First of all, how was anyone supposed to trust a machine that disintegrated you into teeny tiny pieces and then supposedly put you back in the correct order? There was no way all the atoms returned to the exact same spots, no matter what the science said.
Second of all, they were in space. And any time you got too confident about being in space, something decided to fuck you over.
Third of all, it's very hard to tell a cat 'I told you so' but oh, how desperately he wanted to.
"Well, Bones?" Jim asked, arms crossed and brows furrowed as he stared down at the creature currently licking its own paw on top of the biobed.
McCoy cleared his throat.
"I'm no veterinarian, Jim, but the cat seems to be a cat. Telepathic, but still a cat."
"I see."
He probably didn't, and neither did McCoy. The cat seemed content enough where it was, ignoring their scrutiny. Its fur was a shiny, silky black, and its eyes a deep brown. McCoy pointed the tricorder at those eyes, and swallowed down the lump in his throat.
"That is," he said. "A telepathic cat with Spock's eyes. A perfect match."
The eyes did look decidedly un-cat-like in McCoy's opinion. They glanced towards him, as if recognizing the words, and put the paw down neatly in front of itself.
"How in blazes did the transporter manage to turn Spock into a cat," Jim breathed out.
"Don't ask me, but if I were superstitious I'd say it was the 'Doctor, the chance of a transporter malfunction at this time is zero point five-three percent' that got him."
Jim gave him a sour look, and McCoy bit back a grin. It wasn't funny - well, it was a little bit funny. But he didn't have the first clue how to turn Spock back to his usual annoying self, and Spock probably wouldn't be too happy about it when they finally did.
"I need my first officer back, Bones."
"Short of sending him back the way he came from, I'm stumped. He's a cat, Jim. I haven't yet figured out a way to turn animals into people and vice versa, but I'll let you know when I do."
Chastised, Jim dragged a hand over his face, wearing his familiar, problem-solving expression.
"I'll have Scotty go through the sequence until we figure out what happen. Maybe a pattern mix-up... But I don't recall beaming any cats onto the ship lately."
At least he's alive, McCoy thought to himself, watching the cat as it observed its surroundings with detached curiosity. Then it stood, tail raised high with a slight arch at the end, and traipsed over to where McCoy stood with the tricorder held within the cat's reach. It stuck its nose out, sniffing at the device, then rubbed its cheek against McCoy's fingers. He twitched, wondering if Spock was going to bite him and considering the chances of Spock having kept all his memories while in cat form.
Again the Spock-kitty rubbed its cheek against McCoy's fingers, a gentle purr emanating from its throat. Jim raised an eyebrow at him.
"Looks like he recognizes you."
McCoy flushed, jerking his hand away.
"No he doesn't," he grumbled. "I was just close, that's all."
"Even so, I'll leave you to look after him for now. Let's not have him roam the ship if we can help it."
Kitty-Spock meowed. It startled the both of them. They stared down at the cat, then shared a harried look.
"Do you think he understands us?" Jim asked, but McCoy shook his head.
"No more than a regular cat. Well, I don't know how the telepathy plays into it. Never did meet a telepathic cat before."
"First time for everything," Jim said unhappily. "As long as you're sure it's Spock, so I can call off the search planet-side."
"As sure as I can be, Jim," he sighed. "For all I know we beamed up a local cat that ended up with some of Spock's features. And Spock could be..."
He didn't finish the sentence. The small animal before them had to be Spock. Tentatively, he reached out with a hand and petted it on the head, holding still as it happily started pushing into the touch. It had a deep, soothing purr, and McCoy was on the verge of uttering the word fascinating out loud.
"I have to get back to the bridge," Jim said. "Keep an eye on him and let me know if anything changes."
"Yeah, 'course."
The line of Jim's shoulders was tense as he turned and left. McCoy was trying hard to think positively about this. It would be difficult for Spock to maintain his duties while in the form of a cat, and long term that meant trouble. Then there was the question of whether or not they'd be able to turn him back, and how his brain would cope with it.
For now, he'd need to make sure all Spock's cat-needs were met. A paw landed on his arm, a hint of claws digging through the sleeve of his uniform. He got the distinct impression that he was hungry...
Telepathic cat, indeed.
"I wonder if you'll eat kibble," he mused to himself. "I'm not sure how we're going to find vegetarian options for you."
The cat gracefully jumped onto his shoulder. Less graceful, McCoy swore and grabbed the biobed for balance.
"Oh, no you don't," he said, trying to grab Spock by the scruff of his neck to lift him down. "You're way too heavy to sit on my shoulder like that."
Unfortunately, those claws were rather sharp and insistent. Giving up, he left the tricorder on the bed and headed over to his office. It was a good thing Chapel was off-duty, because otherwise he'd never live this down. Though, of course, it was possible she'd find the whole situation too worrisome to make fun of him.
Once inside his office he punched the intercom button with the side of a fist, requesting the quartermaster.
"Lieutenant Raan here," came the chipper answer.
"It's McCoy. Can I get a litter box, a cat bed, and a few bowls and some cat food sent up to Sickbay?"
Silence for a moment.
"Yes, of course. Did you decide to pick up a pet, Doctor?"
"It's temporary."
More silence.
"I'll have it sent up as quickly as I can."
"Thanks, Lieutenant. McCoy out."
He eyed the paws happily digging into his shoulder, wincing.
"I hope you like cat beds," he muttered.
Having nothing better to do than taking a closer look at Spock's scans, he sat down at his desk. To his surprise, Spock hopped off his shoulder and curled up in his lap, tail tucked between his front paws and nose buried in the furry tip. He looked adorable, to be honest. McCoy found himself reaching down to stroke a finger along his head, sucking in a sharp breath when he remembered just whose head he was scratching.
"I sure hope you won't remember this later," he sighed.
Spock's only answer was another round of purring.
☆☆☆
Late that evening, McCoy attempted to leave Spock in his office.
"You'll be perfectly fine in here," he argued with the cat. "You've got a bed, a litter box, and all the privacy you could hope for."
It was hard to argue with someone when they were making loops around your legs, though, brushing fur onto his pants, not to mention meowing rather angrily. McCoy stood in the doorway, gritting his teeth and considering his options. He'd been lucky that there hadn't been any patients to deal with, but he did need to eat, and it was already nearing midnight.
Jim had been by a couple of times, neither of them having any good news to share. At least Spock seemed content with replicated cat food, and had inspected the cat bed before deciding that McCoy's lap truly was the ultimate resting spot. He'd barely been able to sneak out and use the toilet.
"I'm really not supposed to bring you with me around the ship," he added.
Those big brown eyes looked up at him, more accusing than he thought they had any right to be.
"I'm not the one who calculated those odds, so don't give me that look."
Even as a cat, Spock dismissed his words in favor of his own preferences. McCoy winced at claws in his thigh, and decided to give up. With his luck he'd return to a trashed office if he forced Spock to stay behind.
"Mind you, I'll make sure to let you know this was your idea," he informed Spock before leaning down to pick him up.
Spock settled in his arms, strangely complacent. He couldn't imagine the actual Spock ever feeling comfortable in an embrace.
"You make a very strange cat, Mister Spock," he said as he made his way out of Sickbay.
Chapel knew of the situation by now, but it was another nurse on duty that saw him leave with the furry thing in his arms.
"Carry on," McCoy said, acting as if him wandering around the ship with a cat was par for the course.
Bless his staff for knowing better than to pry.
He picked the officer's mess hall to get a bit more privacy. There weren't a lot of people around, but he caught Uhura filling up a mug of tea by one of the replicators.
"Oh!" she said. "What a gorgeous cat."
Spock blinked lazily at her, and graciously allowed her to pet his head gently.
"What a sweetheart."
"Suspiciously well-behaved," McCoy said. "As long as he gets what he wants."
She smiled at Spock, and McCoy realized she had no idea of the cat's identity. Jim had mentioned keeping the information to a select few for the time being.
"Where did you pick him up, Doctor? He has such expressive eyes."
"Oh, you know how cats are," he replied evasively. "It's them that pick you up, rather than the other way around."
"That's true, I suppose." She took a sip of her tea, still eyeing the cat fondly. "He seems quite attached to you, Doctor."
For some obscure reason, McCoy found his cheeks heating up.
"I don't know about that," he muttered. "And I'm not sure how I'm supposed to replicate dinner with this diva occupying my arms."
"Oh, I wouldn't mind taking him for a bit," Uhura said eagerly. "Come here, kitty. What's his name?"
"Uh," McCoy said, trying to drop Spock into Uhura's waiting arms.
Spock wouldn't budge, though. He dug his claws into McCoy's sleeve and tucked his face into McCoy's elbow, and a resounding refusal to move seeped into McCoy's mind.
"Oh, for crying out loud," he groaned, and shifted Spock onto his shoulder instead.
"Very attached," Uhura smiled. "I'll help you carry your dinner instead, Doctor."
"Thank you, Miss Uhura. I appreciate that." Twisting his neck he glared up at Spock and hissed, "You'd better have a good explanation for this."
Spock lifted a paw and pressed it to his cheek. It must be his own mind playing tricks on him, because he could swear the cat sent a wave of emotion to him. And not just any emotion - safety and comfort.
Then again, turning into a cat was probably a strange experience. Kitty-Spock was probably just dealing with the situation by latching onto the first person he could.
"What would you like, Doctor?" Uhura asked, and shaking his head slowly he rattled off the first thing he could think of.
Spock immediately curled up in his lap again once he sat down to eat. At least it kept him mostly out of sight. Uhura excused herself, having an early morning shift on the bridge. McCoy had an early shift, too, but he was too wired to think about sleeping.
Absent-mindedly he stroked Spock's soft fur, leaning his head in his free hand. A combination of an ion storm, magnetic rocks, and the crystal samples in Spock's bag... All things that the transporter should be able to handle, but there was, of course, that zero point five-three percent of unknown parameters.
And Spock had insisted that McCoy beam up earlier. Probably for the best. Two cats on board might be a bit too much for Jim to handle.
Maybe Spock had lied about the odds. But why wait, why insist on collecting the last samples? Surely a few pieces of crystal weren't worth turning into a cat for. They had to stick around for longer than planned now, anyway, to try and solve the mystery. The admiralty wouldn't be happy, but when were they ever?
"I should get some sleep," he mumbled to himself, taking a hold of Spock to lift him off his lap. "Yeah yeah, you can sleep again in a bit, don't give me that grumpy face."
He held Spock up in front of himself, raising an eyebrow at the distinctly annoyed narrowing of the cat's eyes. Up close like this, those eyes really were uncannily alike Spock's. He wondered if Spock's quarters would open for him in cat form.
"That reminds me... Just where are you going to sleep?"
Kitty-Spock opened and closed his stretched-out paws, as if kneading an invisible blanket. A fuzzy image made its way into McCoy's head, something like Spock sleeping on top of McCoy. He blanched.
"You wanna share my bed?" he squeaked out, then immediately scanned the room to make sure no one was watching him.
Spock was a cat, but... He shook his head to clear it of embarrassing thoughts. It didn't mean anything. This was a cat, for heaven's sake. All it cared about was access to a source of heat.
There was something unnerving about Spock's steady, unblinking gaze. Pursing his lips, McCoy made his way back to Sickbay. He had a cot for emergencies built into the bulkhead in his office. It would serve tonight, he thought, some kind of neutral ground.
He pushed a button to open the wall and unceremoniously dumped Spock on the bed.
"Don't even think about following me to the bathroom," he said.
Spock gave him the cat-equivalent of a glare, but laid down on the pillow. McCoy hurried about his business, then caught himself. What was he hurrying for? Spock was fine. He splashed water on his face and told the image in the mirror to get a grip.
"I'll sleep in my office tonight," he told a startled med-technician, pretending he didn't notice the confused look he got in return as he escaped into his office.
He sent Jim a quick message, glancing at kitty-Spock before telling himself to stop being ridiculous. Cats didn't care about your state of dress. It just didn't feel right to sleep in just his underwear... He had the silly thought that Spock might turn back to himself during the night, and didn't want to make it worse than it already was.
He settled in bed, shooing at Spock to reclaim ownership of the pillow. Spock got on his chest, kneading the blanket and turning this way and that before settling down, back turned to McCoy's face, close enough for his fur to tickle McCoy's nose. Fighting the urge to sneeze, McCoy tried to relax and pretend it was like any other night, and that the cat on his chest was just a cat, and certainly not Spock.
Sometime during the night he woke up to Spock spread out over his throat, almost choking him.
"God dammit, Spock," he complained, shoving at the reluctant ball of fur. "I can think of better ways to get choked to death."
Clearly annoyed, Spock stomped around the bed for a while. McCoy turned onto his stomach, determined to avoid a repeat. For some unfathomable reason Spock seemed to take that as an invite to share the pillow, stomach pressed to the top of McCoy's head, front paws resting dangerously close to his eyes.
"Jesus," McCoy sighed, scalp uncomfortably warm already.
By some small miracle he managed to fall back asleep.
☆☆☆
The following two days passed much in the same manner. Spock followed him around, and happily smothered him at night. Jim, on the other hand, grew increasingly testy.
"There has to be a way to reverse it," he said, sinking down into a chair in his ready room.
Scotty grimaced in his own seat, sharing a look with McCoy whose heart sank. What if it was permanent? As cuddly as Spock was, they couldn't keep a cat around indefinitely. And, despite his better judgement, McCoy missed him.
Kitty-Spock wasn't nearly as much of a challenge to argue with, and yesterday he'd cleared McCoy's desk of items, one by one, until McCoy gave in and played with him.
"I still can't find anything I could treat, so personally I still think it has to be a transporter issue," he said.
Spock snuggled into his hand, alternating between licking it and bumping it with his head for McCoy to pet him between the ears. He refused to think about the implications.
"And I cannae find anything wrong with th' transporter," Scotty groused. "Maybe we should try 'n simply send him back down."
"I don't want to risk it," Jim said.
There were dark circles under his eyes. He'd been avoiding Sickbay, more than usual. Avoiding Spock, McCoy thought. Jim had allowed himself to be convinced to wait with the beam-up and probably regretted it badly. Was Spock going to learn anything from it if they managed to turn him back? McCoy doubted it.
He, on the other hand, wasn't going to go anywhere near the transporter for as long as he could get away with it.
"We might have to risk it eventually," McCoy said. "The transporter should still have his pattern. What worries me is what'll happen to his brain. Right now it's all cat."
Jim's mouth thinned into a line.
"Thank you, Bones. Very reassuring."
Shrugging, McCoy looked down at Spock, tugging at a pointy ear. Spock batted at him with a paw, then rolled over to start cleaning his stomach thoroughly.
He hadn't tried to be reassuring. The longer Spock stayed a cat, the less likely they were to get him back. Right now, Spock sent out waves of contentment, not a care in the world for the chances he might have to remain as a cat.
"At least he's not suffering," he said. "He's as happy as a cat can be, I think."
Jim looked at him for a long moment, face unreadable.
"He does seem fairly pleased to use your lap as his personal property," Jim said.
"Hey now," McCoy said, cheeks heating up. "I'm sure he'd do the same to you if you let him."
"Aye," Scotty agreed, lips twitching in amusement. "But I heard he wasn't too fond of Miss Uhura."
"He wasn't?"
"He's just doing it to punish me," McCoy muttered, and snatched his hand back as Spock bit into his finger. "Now what was that for, you green-blooded menace?"
"I'm sure there's a logical explanation," Jim joked, then sobered up again. "Well, let's keep at it. The brass will only let us postpone the next mission for so long."
That night, as McCoy settled into bed in his office, he spent some time petting Spock. The cat purred and arched its back as McCoy rubbed over the soft stomach, and scratched under its neck. The dark fur looked just like Spock's hair. McCoy could feel warmth, contentment, and a sleepy sense of complete and utter safety.
He was glad he could give that to Spock, even if it was only in cat-form. The Vulcan Spock was so often tense, rigid. He had to poke and prod and catch him off guard. He had to be on the brink of death for Spock to be gentle with him...
Grimacing, he ordered the lights off and laid back to sleep. He didn't particularly want Spock to be gentle with him, anyway. It would be weird. They'd have to talk to each other, which was possibly the worst thing he could imagine after using the transporter, and possibly one step below the dress uniform, too.
Spock clutched at his hand, curling up around it. He couldn't imagine Spock ever holding his hand, except he'd done it a few times before. It was the kind of thing he was better off not thinking about.
Kitty-Spock was a lot less complicated. Unfortunately, he kind of liked complicated.
"You'd better get back to normal soon," he told the dark room, wondering if Spock could understand him via telepathy, or if such a concept was beyond the understanding of a cat.
He felt claws prick the skin of his thumb, and sighed.
☆☆☆
In the end, they had to risk the transporter.
Scotty had copied the conditions as close as he possibly could, but without Spock's genius brain they couldn't do much more than trust that it had to be enough.
Kitty-Spock was unusually complacent as McCoy stood on the platform, swallowing down his nerves as Scotty fiddled with the controls and double-checked things. McCoy had known, of course, how much they all relied on Spock. Like this it was made obvious.
"This better work," he mumbled under his breath, holding Spock a little tighter against his chest.
"Bones," Jim said, tight-lipped and tense at Scotty's side. "Are you sure..."
"Stop asking me that," McCoy snapped back before he could finish the sentence.
No, he wasn't sure, but he'd be damned if he let kitty-Spock beam down all alone onto a strange planet. What if he didn't change back? He might run off and they'd never find him again.
Jim didn't look happy, but he didn't argue. Scotty had found a small glitch in the transporter caused by the crystals Spock had brought with him, and the theory was that the glitch could be reversed. It wasn't that Spock's pattern had been mixed with some cat's - it was that Vulcans were descended from felines much like humans were descended from monkeys, and the glitch had gotten the transporter confused somehow.
McCoy hadn't listened too closely to the details. He'd rather not think about the odds that he'd end up as a monkey.
"Ready to go, Captain," Scotty said.
Jim met McCoy's eyes for a long moment, then nodded once McCoy had set Spock down on one of the transporter pads.
"Energize."
Surrounded by the familiar, tingling sensation of his molecules being ripped apart, McCoy had time to think that Spock owed him big time if it worked.
And it did.
By his side stood Spock, in his Vulcan-human form, frowning in confusion.
"Doctor," he said, "I distinctly remember asking you to beam up before me."
Unable to tamp down a grin, McCoy flipped open his communicator and hailed the ship.
"McCoy to Enterpise," he said. "Spock's back to his usual, frowny self."
"Good," Jim sighed on the other end. "Now let's see if you both manage to stay in one piece on the way back, too."
Spock opened his mouth, but before he could say a word the transporter caught them again. The look of relief on Jim's face was palpable.
"Welcome back, Mister Spock," he greeted them with.
Spock did his usual raised eyebrow and tilted head, which was the most he permitted himself to show confusion openly.
"I was not aware I had been gone long enough to warrant such a welcome," he said.
"You don't remember anything?" McCoy asked, hopping off the transporter pad and rubbing his arms and legs to make sure he was still in one piece.
Spock's dark eyes searched his, that logical mind working to puzzle out meaning from their reactions.
"I remember collecting the samples, and ordering you to return to the ship," he said slowly, looking around the room. "And yet I have the distinct feeling that additional time has passed."
"It has," Jim said. "Though I think I'll leave the explaining to Bones. I'll let the admiralty know we're good to go, and join you in Sickbay as soon as I can. Bones?"
McCoy had directed a medical scanner at Spock, and nodded in confirmation.
"Everything seems in order, Jim, but I'll know for sure once I've put him through a more thorough scan."
"Make it quick, Bones. We're on overtime as it is."
Spock followed Jim's retreating form with a questioning expression, though McCoy knew that if asked, he'd insist that Vulcans did not experience such states of emotion.
"Come on, Spock," he said, still grinning a bit. "I'll explain on the way."
Spock obediently followed him into the corridor, and for a second McCoy thought of his cat-version, trotting around the ship by his ankles. It made him chuckle, which he could tell annoyed Spock.
They took a short turbolift ride and soon entered Sickbay. There were a few nurses around, Chapel giving a loud sigh of relief as she spotted them. McCoy ushered Spock onto a biobed, ignoring his contrite look at the prospect of being subjected to McCoy's mercy.
"Is this necessary, Doctor?" he asked. "I assure you I am in adequate health."
"I'll be the judge of that," McCoy said, adjusting the measurements to Vulcan-human standards.
Well, Spock-standards, to be precise.
He was certain that if it hadn't been an implied order from Jim, Spock would have found a way to weasel out of it.
"Y'know," McCoy said conversationally, "you were a lot easier to handle as a cat."
Spock scowled at him, in that particular way he did when he thought McCoy was being unnecessarily irritating.
"I do not recall inhabiting the body of a feline, Doctor."
"No," McCoy grunted, waving at Spock to lie down. "And be grateful you don't."
They spent the short time waiting for the scan in silence, and then McCoy rang Jim to confirm that Spock was back to normal.
"If it is not too much effort, Doctor," Spock asked with a sour tone, "would you perhaps mind explaining your recent actions?"
McCoy sat down on the bed next to Spock's knees. He folded his hands in his lap, and pursed his lips in thought. If Spock didn't remember anything, maybe some parts were best left out... Then again, someone might let something slip to him, and then he'd pester McCoy for details and probably misunderstand everything.
"Right," he sighed, feeling strangely bereft of kitty-Spock for a moment.
He'd kind of gotten used to the cat's weight and warmth, and had already caught himself glancing around for the animal's presence.
"The short of it is that the transporter glitched and beamed you aboard as a cat. Took us about five days to figure out how to get you back."
Spock took the news in stride, of course.
"I see," he said. "That explains why my internal clock and my memories do not match."
"You really don't remember anything?"
Spock narrowed his eyes, shifting uncomfortably which was as much of a tell for the normally stoic Vulcan as if alarms had started blaring out loud.
"You do!" McCoy exclaimed, slapping Spock's thigh.
He forgot himself for a moment, letting his hand linger before snatching it back as if burned.
Spock was silent for a few seconds, then cleared his throat delicately.
"There are some vague impressions."
"Such as?"
"Surely you do not require details, Doctor."
He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
"Just wondering what parts I don't need to explain," he said.
"Perhaps explanations are superfluous, after all."
Spock pulled his legs up and swung them over the side that McCoy didn't occupy, standing up. With his back to McCoy he appeared tense, fingers flexing by his sides as if remembering the feel of claws and paws.
"I guess you weren't too much trouble," McCoy said, scrutinizing the line of Spock's shoulders. "For a telepathic cat."
Spock straightened up, tugging down his uniform shirt before turning to face him. His expression was closed off, but there was something a little wild around his eyes.
McCoy wasn't going to push it. Not today. But someday, maybe.
He stood as well, the biobed acting as a barrier between them. Whatever Spock had remembered seemed to embarrass him, enough so that his jaw clenched as he folded his hands slowly behind his back.
"I apologize for any discomfort I caused you."
The words were stilted, his gaze stuck somewhere above McCoy's right shoulder.
"Hm," McCoy said, considering the position he'd woken up in that morning.
Spock had slept with his paws pressed against the underside of McCoy's jaw, body stretched out along his left arm. He'd seemed perfectly comfortable.
"I guess cats will be cats, no matter the species."
Spock twitched slightly.
"Indeed."
The impasse lasted until Jim burst through the door.
"Good to have you back, Mister Spock," he said when he reached them, clasping Spock briefly on the shoulder. "I'd say we missed you, but Bones saw quite a lot more of you than usual."
McCoy grimaced, crossing his arms while Jim smiled at the two of them, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Any chance you'll continue getting along?"
Huffing, McCoy rolled his eyes.
"About zero point five-three percent, I'd say."
"I hesitate to agree with Doctor McCoy," Spock said, sounding more like his usual self, "but I suspect the chances are quite low."
"Quite low," Jim sighed. "I should have enjoyed it while it lasted."
McCoy chanced a glance at Spock, regretting it instantly when he met Spock's gaze. It was far too fond in the instant before he schooled his expression back into something more Vulcan-like.
Ugh, McCoy thought. I hope we both repress this until the day we die.