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“Woah, woah, woah, take it slow, Bones.”
He grumbled. His head felt like it had taken a blow from the sidewalk. Jim’s voice was never a great thing to wake up to with a hangover. It was worse than the green concoction that his ex wife used to make, if a bit more sobering.
“W’ happened?” he said, sounding a bit like he had swallowed sandpaper.
Jim raised his eyebrows. “You drank the purple thing that they gave you. The one that Spock told you specifically not to touch. Don’t you remember?”
“Nope,” he said. “I don’t remember a thing. Who are you again?”
Jim sighed humorlessly. He did remember the drink. Purple, sparkly and weird smelling, but not altogether unpleasant. It was too bad it knocked him out almost immediately. Still, it wasn’t altogether his fault. They were all supposed to do their best to woo the new species into giving them access to the medical facilities. He was just…being friendly. Or at least he thought that he was. Leonard sighed. There was a reason that he wasn’t supposed to go on diplomacy missions.
“Sorry, Captain. I’m going to have to check him over, if you don’t mind,” Christine said, smiling as she waved him away from the bed.
“Oh! Right. Sorry to be in the way,” Jim said, sending an apologetic glance around the frame of the door.
"How are you feeling?” Nurse Chapel asked, replacing Jim to hover over the bedside.
“Like I drank battery acid. Can’t quite hear you very well. Everything kind of echoes.”
She frowned. The tricorder hummed good naturedly over his cranial area and pinged a little bit when she got to his kidneys, but that wasn’t a huge surprise. The frown on her face told him more than the equipment did.
“What’s wrong with me, doctor?”
“I don’t see anything wrong at all. I’ll give you a pill to rid your internal organs of any invasive material, but you look physically just fine.”
“Oh,” he said. “That’s not…huh. Not even a hangover?”
“No, it doesn’t seem so.” She fetched a glass of water and held a tiny orange pill out.
He took them from her gratefully, head protesting as he tossed the pill back. It’d be fine tomorrow.
As if anything was that simple on the Enterprise. A day later, not only did everything constantly sound like it was underwater, he was also hearing things. He would swear Jim was talking to him even when he could see that his mouth was shut. An ensign would walk by and he would hear something that could absolutely not be directed towards a superior officer. It was disconcerting. He had Christine check for psychological effects, but that too seemed useless.
After his usual shift he emerged from his office (if he was going to be confined to the medical area, he might as well get some work done while he was at it) and collapsed on a cot.
“Any change in symptoms?” she asked for the fifth time that day.
“Not at all,” he said. “You go on, Christine. I can clean up here. I made half of the mess anyway.”
She glared. “Not even you can scare me away, Doctor.”
Leonard grinned. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Bossing me around like I’m a trainee. Don’t let it get to your head.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. The medicine she had given him seemed to cure all the pain in his abdomen as soon as it had touched his lips, leaving only a residual ache in his throat. His head was only a small problem. If they would just let him go, he could get more done. Even examinations would be preferable. Anything. Damn, was he bored.
“Chris, let me go,” he pleaded. “I won’t do anything rash and I’ve been walking around the sickbay just as much as I would on any usual day. I’m not going to drop dead in the middle of the hallway.”
She set a hypospray cartridge on a metal tray next to his bed. It rolled around as he shifted his weight.
“Fine,” she said, hands on her hips. “But if you feel any change—anything at all, you come back here immediately, do you understand? You are not cleared for duty.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said with a blinding smile. Christine just glared and shook her head.
As he turned, she mumbled something.
“What?”
“What what?”
“What did you say just then?” he asked.
She took a step forward. “I didn’t say anything at all, Doctor. Maybe you should sit back down.”
“No, you know what? I think I should get some fresh air.” The look she gave him was enough to send him backpedalling towards the door. “I’ll just go visit Jim and be right back,” he assured her.
Leaving the sickbay may not have been his best idea. The bridge was an absolute jumble. He was there every day, he knew every button in the place even if he didn’t know what it did, and every member of the crew was family to him. Technically, they weren’t the ones who were doing anything different. Sounds were whizzing back and forth like missiles and phaser bursts. He felt like if he moved he would lose his footing. Underwater was an understatement. He could hear Chekov’s voice, warped and broken, something about speed and trajectory angle, and Uhura humming a soft tune even though she was muttering to the console. It was dizzying. Every sentence had double, a garbled twin, swimming into his brain from different angles. He squeezed his eyes shut. That was a mistake.
“Doctor,” someone said, grabbing his arm as he teetered, “Are you well?”
The voice was clear. Peace washed over him, blessed silence and clarity. He could feel everything around him, he knew where he was, and it was just as it was supposed to be. Then the hand removed itself and he was dropped back into the lake of sound.
“Perhaps you should return to medical care,” the voice said. It was accompanied by ten other messages. He wasn’t sure which one was real.
Leonard opened his eyes. Jim was staring at him in concern and Spock stood at his elbow, ready to catch him again.
“I think,” he said slowly, resisting the urge to grab Spock by the arm like a damsel in distress, “I think you’re right.”
“Spock, why don’t you go with him?” Jim said, standing.
“That would be most logical. Come, Doctor.” Spock touched him lightly on the back, propelling him forward, but that tiny contact alone was enough to give his brain a breath for a split second.
“How are you doing that?” he asked, swaying.
An eyebrow was raised.
“You know,” he said, motioning with his hands. “Making everything quiet.”
“I am unaware of what it is that you speak. I believe it would be best to continue this conversation under the care of Miss Chapel.”
He must, Leonard thought, be really out of it if he thought Spock was exhibiting actual concern.
“Tell me again what happened?” said Christine, undoubtedly cursing herself for falling for Leonard’s innocent façade.
He frowned. “I told you about the echoing voices, right?”
“Yes. You had me check specifically for psychotic disorders.”
“Okay, good.” How was he supposed to describe this without sounding like an idiot? It was hardly scientific. He had no quantifiable evidence for anything at all, and there wasn’t even any physical manifestation of the…voices. He gritted his teeth
Christine sat on the bed beside him. “How can I help?”
“No, it’s fine. You’re fine.” Damn, she was too much of a psychologist. “I went up to the bridge and it wasn’t too bad in the hallways. I passed one or two ensigns, said good morning to Yeoman Rand, and the second I stepped on the bridge, it got hit its peak.”
“What did?” she asked.
“The blurriness. The sounds. Everybody was speaking at once even though only a few were actually talking, and yet I couldn’t hear anything. Nothing at all. Maybe it was just shock. Being in a usual place but unable to tell what I’m listening to, you know? So I closed my eyes, which turned out to be a bad idea. I probably would have fallen if Spock hadn’t grabbed my arm. That’s the weird thing.”
He waved her next question off. Christine just tilted her head in exasperation. Hey, Leonard never claimed to make an easy patient.
“Spock, I’m going to test a theory. I’m going to touch your arm, is that alright?”
Spock nodded. Leonard scooted to the edge of the bed and Spock proffered his left hand. Leonard set his hand over the fabric command stripes and let the warmth seep into his hand. He gasped at the clarity. It was exactly as it had been before, all of his senses snapped back to normal. Every smell was sharper, the light was less glaring. He could hear the sound of ensigns pushing carts around in the hallway. Nobody spoke and he heard no voices. Leonard reluctantly removed his hand.
“I thought so,” he said.
Spock lowered his arm. “Was your experiment successful?”
“It sure was. See, Christine, all of that goes away when I make physical contact with him. I can hear better, I can see things better, my headache goes away, and I can think again. The second I let go, all of my symptoms return.”
Nurse Chapel nodded. “I see. So, when he touches you, all of your aches and pains are washed away?”
“You just had to put it like that, didn’t you?”
Her lips twitched in a smile. Then her voice said six different things at once. Leonard sighed and planted his head on his palms.
The door slid open with a hiss and Jim sauntered in along with several strange, echoing voices asking how Leonard felt. He didn’t respond. There was probably a tacit conversation going on above his head between the three of them, but he was too disoriented to care. He wished he had paid more attention at the debriefing before they beamed down to the planet. It was Spock who had pointed out that the drink may have negative side effects so he probably would have done it anyway, but still. Spock rested a hand on his shoulder and the world immediately rushed back into focus.
“Thank you,” he said.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked.
“I’m hearing things,” Leonard said, “And Spock is my only cure.”
Jim looked taken aback. “Is he, now?”
“Doctor McCoy’s symptoms are alleviated when he comes into physical contact with Mr. Spock,” Christine explained. “We don’t yet know why.”
“If I may make a suggestion,” Spock said.
“I’ve you’ve got something to say then spit it out, Spock,” he said. The more crowded the sickbay got, the worse the feeling was.
“I believe you may be having a telepathic reaction,” he said.
Jim frowned. “How can a liquid create a telepathic reaction? Bones is pure human. He’s psi null.”
Spock nodded. “Therein lies the question. It is possible that an unknown reactant affected him in a way that has not yet been explored by science. It would also not be unheard of a substance to result in temporary telepathic pathways, although the effect is very infrequently positive. Of course, it may simply be that…”
“That somebody fucked the milkman and lied about it?”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “In essence, yes.”
“Sorry,” Leonard said, figuring he had to intervene. “We did DNA analysis in med school. Pure human.”
Jim tapped his fingers against his thigh, frowning. Leonard admired his attempt at medical problem solving even though it was far from his field of study. He always provided a different perspective and sometimes that was what they needed. Most of the time it was not.
“Is it possible that you and Bones have a similar…mental organization method?” Jim proposed, “Unlike us chaotic humans, that is.”
Spock tilted his head. “…It is possible.”
Leonard snickered. “How much did it hurt you to say that?”
“I did not—”
“Woah, now is not the best time to start an argument.” Jim glanced cautiously between the two of them.
There was a moment of silence. Leonard rubbed his fingers into his temples and sighed. Spock had taken his hand from his shoulder in the conversation and it felt like he was drowning. Christine was suddenly there with a hypospray and a tricorder. She smoothed down his hair in a motherly fashion before handing him another glass of water.
“Thanks, Chris.”
Jim walked around the side of the bed and placed a hand on his arm.
“It doesn’t have the same effect with me, does it?”
He shook his head.
Jim’s hand was replaced by another one on the back of his neck and he sighed blissfully, leaning into it. God help him if he was aching for physical contact from Spock of all people.
“I believe that he may be experiencing a residual effect of my mental shields,” Spock said.
Jim sighed. “That doesn’t give us much to go on, does it?”
“On the contrary, it provides an option that I had not previously considered, although it is one that I doubt the Doctor would find preferable.”
“What the hell are you waiting for, then?” Leonard mumbled. “Just get to it!”
“Vulgarity is not likely to increase the speed of my response.”
He was treated to a very special glare.
“I believe a mind meld would offer invaluable information about your condition.
Leonard hesitated. On one hand, it would give Spock access to his innermost thoughts. On the other, if he were to be honest, he didn’t think Spock would look. He was certainly not a fan of telepathy, but he was willing to try just about anything to help cure him of his sixth sense. Him, telepathic. It couldn’t get more ironic. Still, if everyone’s thought were like this, he couldn’t imagine what Spock felt like every day.
“Bones, let him. I’ll be right here, nothing will happen to you.”
Leonard huffed. “Jim, I’m not that melodramatic. As much as I hate the thought of someone mucking up my brain, well. If it’s Spock, then I can manage.”
“I am honored to have your approval, Doctor,” Spock said, a tiny smile defeating his stoicism. He sat down next to Leonard. “Are you ready?”
“The sooner we get this figured out, the better.”
“Very well.”
He let his hand remain where it was and moved the fingers of his other to the meld points on Leonard’s face.
Christine, who had been busying herself with small chores, glanced awkwardly at the two of them. “Do you want me to leave the room?” she asked.
“What? No. why?”
She raised an eyebrow.
He choked. “Christine!”
“Just asking.”
Jim snickered.
“Get on with it, Spock,” Leonard said.
“My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”
The points of contact on his face and neck seared with a quick burst of heat before he felt like he was in an antigravity chamber. The same kind of peaceful stillness that fell over him when they made contact drew away to be replaced by a forest of sounds and colors. He had pictured Spock’s mind to be a dusty file cabinet crammed with obsolete facts and dissertations. Instead it was an entire universe of thoughts, a vast expanse of memories and knowledge. Tendrils of curiosity like branches of lighting filled what might have been a void of black. He felt emotions, too, a deep strain of passion like veins coursing through the mental landscape. Indignation. Apprehension. Concern. Fondness and warmth. How had he ever thought this man to be loveless?
“Doctor,” Spock said in a wash of images and symbols, “I am going to search for the cause of your symptoms. Please do not…interact with anything.”
“Gee thanks, Spock, your mind is about as welcoming as you let on,” he responded.
He could feel the other man’s amusement, a gust of pure sensation. It set his nerve endings on fire.
“Telepathic contact could have a variety of consequences,” he said. “Do you wish to be permanently bonded to me?”
“What? No! What are you talking about?” He was sure that his mind was screaming high degrees of curiosity. He was also sure that Spock was laughing at him.
“Then I suggest you do as I say. Do not block me out, Doctor. It will make my job much more difficult.” His voice was echoing in Leonard’s mind even though he was quite sure that neither of them were speaking through their vocal chords.
So he floated there in the tumble of thoughts and sensations. He could mentally reach into the stream and pick one out like a child would a colorful pebble. Spock told him not to touch anything, but as he had been left there, he was sure it wouldn’t cause anything to go disastrously wrong. It might be a little bit of a violation of privacy, though. If Spock was rummaging through his head, he had the same right, he decided. A particularly bright memory floated by in immaculate detail. He focused on it and saw individual veins in a sharp, foreign leaf. Another was a classroom at Starfleet. A younger Spock’s face in a mirror with a delicate cut above his lip. He wondered if he would see the scar today if he looked close enough.
He could feel Spock in his mind. It was incredibly intimate, like someone softly tracing their fingers along the contours of his memories. More delicate than skin, more personal than words. He could lose himself there, awash in the light of Spock’s being.
“I found it,” Spock said, beginning to withdraw.
Leaving the mind meld was an unfortunate experience. His thoughts transferred from the existential bliss to his person and the weight that accompanied it. He couldn’t resist leaning into Spock’s palm as it slid from his face. Like a goddamn cat, he thought.
Jim was watching them with a huge smirk.
“So,” he said, “What’s the diagnosis?”
“It was indeed caused by a compound native to Xerife. It is not likely to cause harm to your neurology, but it will take some time for the effects to fade entirely. We should begin working on a way to block telepathic connections,” Spock said, folding his hands neatly behind his back
Jim hummed. “Until we get that figured out, you’re just going to have to…do whatever it is you’ve been doing.”
“We get to do that again?” Leonard said, sounding far more partial than he had meant to.
Spock raised both eyebrows. “Why, Doctor, I had thought you were opposed to my ‘Vulcan Voodoo’. Do you mean to say that you have a different opinion of it now?”
“As if you weren’t just in my damn mind, you green blooded—”
“I would not,” Spock interrupted, “be opposed repeating the…treatment.”
The implication of “as long as it is with you” hung in the air.
Leonard swallowed. “Well. Neither would I.”
In fact, he was rather looking forward to it.