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This new Enterprise sounds different from the old one. McCoy isn't quite sure how, he doesn't know the ship as well as those in engineering or on the bridge, but he knows something is different. It's not the same home he had for five years. And that makes sense, it's a new ship. There's a new crew. A bunch of greenhorns, taking the place of officers who have gone on to do bigger and better things. The Enterprise is as much a teaching ship as it is the head of the fleet, a place where young officers can study under the cream of the crop, cutting their teeth on dangerous missions that Jim will undoubtedly throw them into.
Unfamiliar voices chatter in medbay, young nurses and doctors who have never spent time on a starship amazed at the facilities. They don't know what it's like to get assigned to a ground team. To have to piece together frontier medicine in a desperate effort to save a life. They think that serving under newly demoted Captain Jim Kirk will bring adventure to their otherwise boring life.
Yeah. Well, McCoy had had just about enough of adventure.
Sitting down in his new office, a good deal larger than the old and lacking familiarity, McCoy sighed. What was he going to do? Retire? He'd tried that once. And Jim dragged him right back into the life. Right back onto the Enterprise. Besides, he couldn't just leave these fools behind. McCoy was one of the best damn doctors in the galaxy, and that was what the Enterprise needed. Especially if Jim were to continue throwing them ass-first into danger twice a week.
Jim acted like nothing had changed. Like nothing was wrong. They were back on the bridge of the Enterprise, preparing to again travel where no man had gone before. He never talked about the fact it was a different Enterprise. A different Jim. A different Spock. And, indeed, a different McCoy.
To anyone who asked, McCoy would deny it. He was the ship's doctor, with a bunch of young doctors at his ankles, he couldn't show how he really felt. A ship is only as good as the captain who leads her. The captain is only as good as the team that keeps him alive. Any show of weakness would put Jim and the rest of the crew at risk. So he kept his concerns to himself, and tried to ignore the new voice in the back of his head. The one that Spock left behind. Oh, the Vulcans had done a fine job of separating them. Spock was Spock, and McCoy was McCoy. That didn't mean he wasn't affected by getting a mind ripped out of his head. Spock's soul still touched his in a way he hadn't even begun to understand. He doubted he ever would.
There was a shift in the way he looked at the world. That Vulcan push of logic against emotion. He'd seen it before, in the way Spock fought with the two sides of himself, but it was a different animal entirely to feel that conflict within him.
Frankly, he wondered how Spock got out of bed in the morning. This kind of torment digs itself inside you. Grips your heart with insidious claws and twists. McCoy had felt it, felt it burning a deep fear inside him over what might happen if emotions won out over logic. He had to remind himself over and over again that he was human. That this was not his cross to bear. It was Spock's, and he was happy to let it be Spock's. There was part of him, though, that wished he could do something to lift some of that weight.
Clicking on his computer, McCoy tried to distract himself with work. The Enterprise was back in spacedock. She wouldn't be ready for weeks, possibly months, meaning that the crew could get accustomed to their new ship. Giving McCoy plenty of time to rethink his decision to join.
The glow of the blue letters on the screen quickly began to melt together into a blob. A headache built behind McCoy's eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he clicked his computer off, eyes slipping shut. There was no work that was going to get done today. Pushing himself to his feet, McCoy stretched, popping the sore joints of his back. He'd get that slouch back if he didn't watch out.
Even footsteps sounded different on this new Enterprise. There was no carpet in the halls, just boots straight on the metal flooring. Each step was loud, echoing through the quiet hallways. A reminder of how alone McCoy was. He didn't know where his legs were taking him until he came to a stop.
Spock's quarters. He hadn't been in there since… well, since he shared a brain with the Vulcan. At that time, he hadn't been himself. The Spock in his brain had taken over, controlling him, breaking through locked doors just to reclaim a little bit of who he used to be. McCoy hadn't known what was happening. He'd sunk to the back of his mind, watching as Spock piloted their body. Peered out from within as Jim sought to console him.
After that, things had been easier. Once he knew the voice in his head was that of Spock, McCoy could manage to balance them out. Spock giving him advice that no one else would hear. McCoy relaying his messages to the crew. They were a good team. They worked well together.
He was so, so happy to have Spock back in the material world. Happier than he'd ever say. Yet part of him missed having Spock share his brain. Things were a hell of a lot lonelier when you've got no one except for yourself for company.
Bringing his hand up to ring the bell, McCoy paused. He'd come here without a plan. He didn't have anything to say to Spock that he hadn't already told him. There was no reason for McCoy to be here. No logical reason, anyway. Spock was probably busy. He wouldn't have the time for a wandering doctor. Not one with failings so human. His hand fell to his side.
The door before him opened. At the back of his mind, not a voice but a sensation, beckoning him to enter.
McCoy stepped inside, and the door slid shut. Seated beside a large Vulcan statue, legs crossed, was Spock. His eyes were closed in meditation. Immediately, McCoy felt like he was intruding on something. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. That itch came again at the back of his mind. It pulled him forward, told him to sit beside Spock, mirroring his position. Wordlessly, Spock held out a hand. Open palm turned upwards, two fingers outstretched. To reciprocate felt absurd. The Vulcan that now lived in the back of his mind told him it was nothing to be ashamed of. McCoy reached out, fingers brushing Spock's soft hand as his eyes slipped shut.
Their connection was like easing into a pool. Warm, gentle, familiar. He did not need to ask to understand Spock's intention. Spock wished to repay McCoy's favor. With a simple passing of the minds, Spock could retrieve the part of himself that remained inside McCoy, returning him to who he was before their meld. Leaving McCoy well and truly alone inside his own head.
It was what Spock wanted. Protesting would be pointless, why should McCoy stop him? Spock had left himself inside McCoy without asking. Had invaded his mind, taken over his body, had him scrambling for answers and feeling like a madman until he realized who it was who had possessed him like that. Yet still, McCoy felt himself resisting. Even though Spock had done something which should have been unacceptable, McCoy had been happy to carry the soul of his friend. Knowing that part of Spock was still within him made it feel more real. Made McCoy feel like he had made a difference. For years, it had been Jim who led the crew through danger, and he did so with the grace of command. McCoy had never wanted to lead. All he wanted was to be important to the friends he cared so deeply for. He would always play second fiddle to Jim in Spock's life. This was the one time in which he got to stand at the forefront.
Taking that away would mean that this part of McCoy's life was truly over. He would return to second fiddle. A friend, but by no means a best friend. Little more than a coworker. After Spock's return, McCoy had come to terms with that. He'd thought that part of him he shared with Spock would remain as a fond memory of what he'd been able to have during that brief, shining moment of togetherness. Now he wouldn't even have that.
"You are resistant," Spock's deep baritone voice broke through the silence. Opening his eyes, McCoy scanned him, his expression no different from that usual Vulcan nonchalance.
"Well, you're poking around in my mind." McCoy gave him a half smile, trying to ignore the weight of the sadness growing within his gut. "How do I know you're not going to mess up something of mine with your Vulcan witchcraft?"
The twitch of an eyebrow upwards, and McCoy understood that Spock knew more than he was letting on. "You are well aware that I would do nothing to harm you, Doctor."
Yes. He was. He knew that, no matter what, Spock would do whatever was logically in McCoy's best interest. Whether or not that was what McCoy wanted was another matter. "I know. I know that, Spock." Pulling his hand back, McCoy ran his thumb along the lines of his palm. "And you're welcome to take back whatever it was you left inside my head. I can still feel you, poking around inside there. It's hard enough being alone with my thoughts without having someone else peering at them."
"My recommendation, Doctor, is that you don't try to lie to someone who can indeed peer at your thoughts." McCoy's stomach dropped. "There is as much of you within me as I am within you. Hence why you can feel my thoughts as well as your own."
So Spock knew, then, of that irrational jealousy McCoy bore. That fear of losing his standing in Spock's life. Holding his hand back out to the Vulcan, McCoy now wanted nothing more than to get this over with. It would be easier to just get through with it and address his problems himself without Spock's eyes on him. "Take it back, then. Whatever you've got in me, take it back."
Spock's long, gentle fingers brushed against his, just enough to dip into a connection but not strong enough to latch their minds together. Getting a feel for McCoy's emotions while presenting his own. Those emotions that Spock always claimed not to have. Well, here they were. A lot of them. Lit up like magma below a planet's surface, blazing with the heat of the sun. Spock felt guilty for having used McCoy for his own gain, even if it was to save his own life. McCoy was someone he cared deeply for. Abusing their friendship was the last thing he wanted. It was the only way he could stay alive.
By virtue of not being a Vulcan, McCoy wasn't quite sure of how to control their connection. He did his best to shield his true feelings, to not let Spock know about what their bond meant to him. It worked well until he felt Spock beginning to slip from his mind. Then his mind felt like it had tripped down the stairs, grasping for support as he fell. He didn't realize his eyes had shut until they flew open, locking on Spock's own.
"If I am to take it back, you must let me go." The regret behind Spock's voice sputtered across their connection. His mental barriers were far stronger than McCoy's own, but the remnant of McCoy left in his mind carried hints of how Spock truly felt. Everything that Spock would never be able to say. "Allow me to live with the consequences of my actions."
"You don't always have to play the damn martyr. The only consequence I care about is the fact we got you back. Going crazy for a few weeks was well worth it." Wrapping his hand around Spock's, McCoy squeezed it tightly. He didn't know what that meant in Vulcan society, but he could see the way it lit off fireworks in Spock's mind, pops of emotion he was failing to control. "I'll give you back, but only on the condition that you stop pretending like you forced me to do anything. You're my friend, Spock. You're… goddamn it, you're important to me. I would have borne you to the edge of the known universe if it meant we'd get you back."
Gaze flitting to their joined hands, Spock was quiet for a moment. He was testing the waters, feeling McCoy's mind against his own. "There would be no reason for you to carry me to the edge of the universe. Vulcan is the only place where the ritual to rejoin a katra can be performed."
"It's a metaphor, you old goofball." Spock clearly knew that. It wasn't going to stop McCoy from ribbing him. "Have you ever considered that maybe I just like knowing you're there?"
"The thought had occurred to me. But I can see the conflict my presence in your mind has caused. A human is not meant to hold the katra of a Vulcan in the long-term. Not even that of a half Vulcan."
"That conflict isn't mine, it's yours. I have no problem letting my emotions win out over logic when the need calls for it." He wasn't going to let his emotions win out this time. It was logic that the Vulcan responded to, especially since coming back from the dead, and it was logic that McCoy would win him over with.
McCoy was stopped in his tracks. What exactly was he trying to win here? This conversation, this argument, it was a circle to nowhere. Spock could see that McCoy didn't want to give him up, but had not stopped trying out of some misguided assumption that McCoy would be better off without him. It wasn't that Spock didn't want to have a piece of McCoy inside himself. Through their bond, McCoy could see it. The way Spock cradled that spark of McCoy inside his mind. He treated McCoy's touch of humanity like a beautiful gift. A memento of what it was to be more than just in conflict with himself.
Behind the barriers Spock had constructed, McCoy could see that Spock didn't want to be alone either. He needed McCoy as more than just a vessel for his katra. Without McCoy's influence, he may not have been able to embrace who he was before. Driven by those emotions, so rejected by Vulcans, celebrated by humanity.
"Spock," McCoy's voice cracked. He'd have been embarrassed if he knew Spock would care. "I don't want to let you go."
A nod of the head, almost imperceptible. The fire of emotion ignited through McCoy's nerves. A wave of jealousy, of admiration, of love passed between him and the Vulcan. It was impossible to tell from whom they originated. "Then don't," Spock's voice was quiet, nearly drowned out by the passing of thoughts from their bond. "Though you may never be the same."
"As if we could ever go back to the way things were before. The galaxy has changed, and you and I, for better or for worse, have changed with it." Taking Spock's face in his hands, McCoy could feel Spock's desperate bid for connection. "I watched you die. No matter what, I'm not going to lose you again."
Unlike his other touches, kissing Spock did not send up a burst of fireworks. Instead, it felt like being wrapped in a blanket, a simple, warm embrace. The culmination of everything between them had led to this. Kissing Spock, it felt logical. It made sense. It was what needed to happen. The closure that McCoy had been searching for throughout all this. Spock was part of him, and he part of Spock. Nothing was ever going to change that.