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Breathe in, Breathe out
May. 18th, 2011 09:41 pmAuthor Unknown. Found here
"Wait, you want us to ... Oh no. No." McCoy threw his hands up in front of him and molded his face into something he hoped properly conveyed the horror and disgust he was feeling.
The alien remained passive. "You will." His short, piggy nose wiggled and McCoy wondered if it was a gesture of frustration or conviction. The six or seven other Nardorians in the room wiggled their bluish noses, and McCoy decided it was another emotion entirely.
For science my ass, he thought. He shook his head emphatically.
"I don't damn well think so, buddy. You can poke and prod at my man bits if that's what gets your rocks off, but not that."
"I agree with the Doctor," Spock said from beside him, face revealing a more open expression than McCoy had seen in months. He clearly looked... perturbed. Just slightly, and maybe not to an outsider, but to McCoy it was pretty obvious how unpleasant the Vulcan found the directive the aliens had given them. "What you are asking is akin to sexual assault."
"Yeah, you wanna know about human mating rituals? Get this - we have sex with people we actually want to have sex with. Crazy concept, I know."
"If I may add, I am also not entirely human, and was raised not on Earth but on Vulcan. It is illogical to assume that any intercourse we engage in would be a wholly accurate representation of human on human sexual relations."
McCoy silently cheered Spock on. At least he's putting those damned Vulcan bullshit skills to good use.
The Nardorians just blinked back at them. The one who had spoken earlier stepped forward after a moment, nose working overtime. He pointed a chubby finger at them.
"Then you -" he nodded toward McCoy "- do it the human way, first, and then you-" Spock, this time "- do it the Vulcan way."
Well, no arguing the logic of that one.
McCoy let out a breath. "Look, you moron, our crew is out there looking for us and I guarantee they can blow your godforsaken little outpost to smithereens. And believe me -"
"Silence! You are prisoners, you will do as told!" The alien began pacing, and McCoy spared a glance at Spock, who was rigid as ever and steadfastly not looking at him. "You will do this, or we will do it for you."
Spock tilted his head to the side. McCoy's mouth dropped a little. "Care to repeat that?"
The alien grinned, teeth yellow and sharp, and beckoned one of his comrades. Something was handed to him, and a moment later he held up a syringe. "It is a powerful aphrodisiac. None thus far have been able to resist it."
"Do this often, do you? Sick fucks."
"You will do this. You have minutes before I take matters into my own hands, in which case it will be violent and painful. I will take your genitalia and force it into the other if it comes down to it." He snorted, before adding, “And then, you will die.”
McCoy looked at those meaty, sweaty hands, and felt bile in his throat. He jumped when something touched his arm.
It had been Spock. The Vulcan was looking at him somberly. "Dr. McCoy, perhaps at this point the logical decision would be to engage in this act. If we are left to control our own actions, we can minimize the pain, and the duration of the event. Left to -"
"I know, I know, I don't want Porky putting his hands on me any more than you do." McCoy grimaced. "God dammit, you green blooded bastard, if we do this... No one, I mean no one hears about it. Ever. I know you claim you don't do that whole lying thing, but Jesus Christ if you talk I swear to god I'll make sure you never utter another word again."
Spock's eyebrows rose. "I do not wish for this to become gossip fodder any more than you do, Leonard."
“Cut it with the first name bullshit. Doing this changes nothing.” Spock's eyebrows drew together briefly. He nodded.
They turned back to the Nardorian. It took McCoy a moment to gather the words... and then actually say them. "All right. But we go free after this... as in, perfectly alive and intact. And no one - and I really mean this one, god dammit - no one else gets to jump in, understand?"
The nose twitched rhythmically. "Conditions accepted." There was an excited murmur among the others. "Please begin."
McCoy took a brief look around. They were sitting on a cold stone floor and with the aliens pressing close - they had all crowded in at the acceptance of terms - there was little room for the two men to lie down.
"Let me get this straight: you want us to fuck on some cold concrete with your buddies breathing down our necks? No lubrication, no protection..." McCoy eyed the sea of wiggling noses with revulsion. The alien in charge just nodded seriously.
"You did not stipulate any of these things when we discussed this arrangement."
"Arrangement my ass," McCoy grumbled. He turned to Spock. "I trust that since you're a Vulcan and therefore upstanding and all that shit, you haven't been sleeping around." The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. McCoy knew he was irritated. "No weird alien sex diseases I should know about?"
"I am, as always, perfectly healthy."
"Yeah yeah, me too."
They continued to sit, not looking at each other. Spock stared at some point over McCoy's shoulder, and McCoy glared at the aliens. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it as slow as possible. Maybe the extra time would allow for Jim to find them and make a glorious rescue... preferably while they were still fully clothed.
"You have not engaged in sexual intercourse," one of the Nardorians said dumbly.
"Well no shit, Sherlock." McCoy sighed, and closed his eyes. In his head, he tried to replace the image of Spock with someone else... and failed, miserably. Every pretty girl he could think of eventually fell away, leaving the image of his ex wife spinning uncomfortably through his head. It was a problem he had often – many a dream began pleasantly enough, with some young thing encroaching on his personal space, planting light kisses along his jaw, gentle hands kneading him through his pants. And then their face would morph into a hideous sneer, the hand would fall away, and Jocelyn would yell at him, scream at him, while Joanna stood in the background and cried.
Her or Spock... God, that's tough.
"Doctor... the natives seem impatient for us to commence." Spock had begun undressing, apparently while McCoy was lost in thought. He'd already removed the heavy outer jacket he'd been wearing, and McCoy noticed the slight shiver in Spock's pale arms. It was cold down here even for him, and he could only imagine how uncomfortable it would make a Vulcan.
"Right. How do you want to do this?" He hoped Spock picked up on the implication. It was bad enough having to do it - he didn't actually want to spell it out.
"I will of course be penetrating."
"Jesus Christ, why is that an 'of course?'"
"The Nardorians want a demonstration of common human sexual relations. It is my understanding that in human society the weakest is often the partner who is penetrated, and the stronger the one who performs the penetration." Spock's voice was low and soft, as if he wished to go unheard.
"Gee, thanks. And if you use the word penetration one more time, I'm going to punch you in the face." McCoy was conflicted – on the one hand, he didn't like the idea of alien penis in his ass. On the other, Spock was stubborn... really, really frustratingly stubborn, and McCoy wasn't sure he had the energy to fight with him and the aliens at the same time.
Pick your battles, McCoy. Set your dignity aside. What's left of it, anyway.
McCoy followed Spock's lead, removing his own clothing, and said no more. Spock was now wearing nothing but a pair of regulation briefs. He stared resolutely at the floor, face as stoic as ever, but McCoy could see the tenseness in his posture and in the clenched muscles of his jaw.
As McCoy lifted his own shirt up and over his head, he heard a gurgle - like someone clearing their throat - from somewhere above them. It was the alien leader again.
"I could not help but overhear your conversation."
"Really? Hard to understand why, what with your nose practically shoved up my ass."
The alien's face flushed a deep purple, and McCoy found himself wondering again about the noses. And then he wondered why he was wondering, and promptly pushed all those unpleasant thoughts away.
"We... have a preference," the Nardorian began, "for how this is to be done."
McCoy was about to make a snappy comment, when Spock spoke up from beside him. Both his eyebrows were up near his hairline.
"As I understand it, the purpose of this encounter is to demonstrate common human sexual intercourse. It would seem that dictating how this intercourse is to be achieved defeats that purpose. As a human, Dr. McCoy would hold expertise in the area of human sex. As a Nardorian, you would not."
"Oh yeah, they call me 'the Sex Doctor' back on Earth."
"Additionally," Spock shot McCoy a look that clearly said 'SHUT UP STUPID HUMAN', "I am half human, and have dated humans on previous occasions. I too hold some understanding of human sexual relations, even if minimal. Again, you do not."
The Nardorian frowned, clearly displeased that his prisoners had the gall to make any demands. "We do not ask for major changes in execution. We would simply find it more scientifically pertinent and aesthetically pleasing if it were the full blooded human dominating."
Spock's lip curled in disgust. He caught himself quickly. “I must insist,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
That's right, Spock, don't go down without a fight. If you stall long enough maybe Jim'll get here and we won't even have to do this fucking despicable thing.
But the syringe was out again, glinting in the dim light. “You wish to force the issue?” the Nardorian said smugly, and Spock fell silent. He awkwardly removed his briefs – McCoy followed suit – and remained kneeling on the floor, eyes downcast.
“Please begin.”
There was a moment of very, very awkward silence. Spock continued to kneel, completely naked, all eyes in the room roaming up and down his body. McCoy cleared his throat.
“All right, I guess... on your knees.”
“I will move when I am ready,” Spock snapped.
“Fuck all Spock, I don't want to do this thing any more than you do. Let's just get it over with so we can get the hell out of here.”
Spock was still for a minute more, before begrudgingly shifting his position until he was hands and knees in front of McCoy. His face revealed nothing along the way – it was entirely blank, none of the telltale little signs of emotion that McCoy had just started to get used to.
McCoy swallowed thickly. It was all so intense, so real now, with Spock naked before him. It was like he'd been doused in cold water.
Slowly, he shuffled forward on his knees, bringing himself right up to Spock's bare ass. He wasn't hard yet and wasn't entirely sure he could get hard. There was too much anxiety in him, too many eyes watching, and an unwilling partner to boot. He took his cock in his hand, closed his eyes, and began working himself. McCoy let out a sigh of relief when his penis became heavier and he felt the first signs of arousal work him into thickness.
He focused on Spock. The Vulcan was completely still, waiting for him, legs slightly parted. He put what he thought was a reassuring hand on Spock's back, but drew back when Spock flinched violently.
“Sorry, forgot about the whole telepathy thing.”
“It is of no consequence. Next time I will be prepared.”
McCoy closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was disappointed to find they were still sans clothes, surrounded by horny aliens. “There isn't any way we can talk you out of this?” The Nardorians all shook their heads.
“Please make haste.”
“Oh, really? Listen, asshole, if you want this to happen you can have a little patience. Jesus.”
The Nardorian looked pissed at that. He knelt next to Spock's face, and held the syringe dangerously close.
“This compound... it drives men mad. I have seen them tear each other apart in the throes of passion, quite literally. We would rather watch a natural demonstration, of course, but I am nearing the end of my patience.”
He looked at the alien's face, crazed with lust, and knew then that they were going to do this. He was going to have sex with Spock. Spock, of all people.
McCoy took himself in his hand again. He paused when he neared Spock's waiting body, and closed his eyes.
“Okay, I'm... I'm doing it.”
“I realize that, Doctor,” Spock said, his voice steady.
“God dammit, I'm just trying to be considerate.”
Spock's hands clenched against the floor. “I believe, at this point, we are beyond consideration.”
McCoy pushed forward, then, gasping at the tightness. He felt a slight tremor in the body underneath him and immediately stopped.
“I am fine...”
“Yeah, well, I'm not. There isn't any goddamn lubrication, so unless you want some serious damage, I suggest you let me set the pace. I value my dick you know.”
He pushed forward a little more, lips pressed tightly together, until he felt the muscles relax. Then he pushed further, waited, and then further, until finally he was almost completely inside of Spock. It was impossibly hot inside of the Vulcan, and McCoy felt as if he would burst at any moment. He remained still, letting himself adjust to the feeling.
Breathe in, breathe out...
Suddenly, Spock recoiled, lurching to the side. McCoy was unprepared and shot out his hands to prevent from falling backwards, ending up with one on either hip, holding Spock flush against him.
The Vulcan bucked again and McCoy realized why – the Nardorian with the syringe had moved closer since they'd began and was taking long swipes with his nose toward Spock's face. McCoy could see a round, wet shape glistening against Spock's cheek, where the alien had already made contact once.
“Cease this!” Spock managed to hiss. McCoy attempted to pull out of him, but just as he began to drag himself away the Nardorian planted his nose heavily against Spock and the Vulcan shoved himself backward, effectively burying McCoy even deeper.
And that's when he felt it. It was a tingle at first, at his fingertips, and then something else... fleeting wisps of anger and disgust. McCoy realized that he was picking up all of these things from Spock.
It was disturbing. But more disconcerting than the actual telepathic connection were the things he was feeling through it. He recognized shame and humiliation. He recognized pain.
The Nardorian managed to plant another “kiss” on Spock's cheek and then McCoy felt something else, something besides Spock, through the link. He felt the Nardorian, the sick pleasure at Spock's violation, the lust, and suddenly McCoy realized just why Spock was reacting so violently.
“Get your fucking nose away from him!”
The nose hit home again and Spock's nails scraped against the hard floor in the effort to get away from it. His spine arched underneath McCoy.
“God dammit I said no jumping in!”
The Nardorian stilled, then smiled. It was the creepiest thing McCoy had ever seen. “I assumed the meaning of 'jumping in' to be sexual,” the alien purred.
McCoy let out a bitter laugh. “You think I'm an idiot? I'm a goddamn doctor, versed in all kinds of xenobiology... and even if I weren't, it's damn obvious that your nose isn't just your sniffer.” The alien's face was violet, again, smile gone. “So get it away from him, or this whole deal's off. You can do all the forcing and killing you'd like, but it won't be the same, will it?”
Reluctantly, the Nardorian moved away. He was close now, but not touching, nose still twitching. McCoy tried not to think about what the slime oozing out of it actually was.
The turmoil under his hands seemed to subside a bit.
“I apologize... I had intended to shield you from-”
“Shut up, Spock.” McCoy concentrated hard on several emotions of his own, then – calm being the first and foremost – and hoped they were traveling effectively through the link between their skin. When he felt Spock's tense muscles give way, he drew out of the body, and then in again, and set up a steady rhythm.
In, out, in, out. He took long strokes, as quick as he could without inflicting too much damage, in an effort to speed things up. The heat and the tightness meant he was already close, and as he picked up the speed he couldn't help but lean a little more heavily on the Vulcan, pressing the length of his torso over Spock's back, gripping his hips just a little tighter. He panted as he felt his balls tighten.
“Fuck,” he whispered. He was pretty sure Spock could feel the orgasm in more ways than just the pulse of hot fluid in his body and the erratic humping of the human inside of him. McCoy's fingers were buzzing with something he didn't have the energy to try and decipher.
He felt more exposed than he ever had in his life.
He pulled out slowly, trying to ignore the green smeared in the cleft of Spock's buttocks, and sat down heavily as soon as he was free. Spock moved a moment later, lowering himself on shaky limbs into a sitting position that mirrored his. From all sides, the Nardorians were snuffling and murmuring to each other.
And then, bright light flooded the room.
McCoy brought an arm up to shield his eyes, and there was a terrible commotion beginning all around him – yelling, grunting, the blasting of what he recognized as phasers. Too late he recognized his friend's voice rising above the din.
“Bones! Spock!” Jim clearly sounded pissed.
In a panic, McCoy attempted to search for his discarded clothing. He was largely unsuccessful, however, and when he heard Jim's voice next to his ear, he started violently.
“Bones? Why are you guys naked?”
Fuck my life, he thought.
--
“I will say nothing of what happened.”
Those had been the last words Spock had said to him, six weeks ago, as they sat in opposite biobeds awaiting Nurse Chapel's attention. Spock had weaseled out of that one. Chapel was a sucker for him and his Vulcan platitudes and he'd been gone within minutes of speaking to her, sans scan and sans interrogation.
McCoy hadn't been so lucky. After a thorough lecture on away team protocol ('do not separate except in extreme circumstances' being the first and foremost subject of the talk) he'd put some of his own bullshit skills to good use and made up an easily believable story about pig aliens and their interests in the anatomy of other species. He'd even thrown in some harrowing details – dissection had been awaiting them, had Jim not arrived when he did.
All perfectly believable.
Spock hadn't spoken to him since, and they'd rarely seen each other, either. At first McCoy hadn't minded. The two didn't get along under the best of circumstances, after all, and so the absence of the Vulcan just meant less bickering and more blessed silence. But after the second week, McCoy had found himself inexplicably annoyed with Spock. That emotion had been baffling. When they were together he was certainly annoyed, so why was he also irritated when they were apart?
Some else happened. Lieutenant Uhura, of all people, had taken a sudden interest in bothering him. She'd corner him in the mess, or in his own office while he was working, and want to talk to him. At first it had just been chitchat – what he was working on lately, how he was feeling. It had morphed in the week following into something McCoy suspected was far more insidious. She threw in questions about the divorce, Jocelyn, and his daughter along with the questions about his work and health.
“Look,” he'd said to her one day over lunch, after she'd slyly slipped 'So why did you guys separate?' into the conversation, “I'm not interested.”
“Excuse me?”
“I just thought I'd throw that out there now, before this goes any further – I'm not interested. So you can stop all the prying... it's getting on my damn nerves.”
She'd sat in silence a full minute before laughing lightly.
“Oh, Leonard, I'm sorry... I'm not interested. I just thought you could use a friend, you know.” She shrugged. “Jim spends almost an equal amount of time with Spock now, playing chess and going over tacticals. Or whatever it is that they do.” She'd looked at him – scrutinizing, he'd thought at the time – and pushed some hair behind her ear. “I just thought maybe you needed someone else to talk to.”
“How charitable of you.”
She tapped a long finger against her lips. “You know, I don't see any reason why you three couldn't just get together every once in a while. Go to the rec, grab a drink...”
McCoy had been too weirded out to say anything.
“Spock and I may not have worked out as a couple, but we're still friends, and let me tell you... he's a lot easier to be friends with than you think.”
“Look, I really -”
“He used to tell me all about the little debates you two engaged in – that's what he called them, 'debates', instead of arguments, which I thought was pretty nice considering what I heard was a lot of cussing and raised voices. Anyway, he had nothing but nice things to say about your level of intelligence.” Her eyes had been on him the entire time, steady and unwavering. “You should try to get to know him.”
It had sounded distinctly like an order.
“While I appreciate the advice,” he'd said eventually, after finding the words, “I don't think so.”
“Look, if you'd just talk to him, set aside your misconceptions of him -”
He'd rolled his eyes at that, and her mouth had snapped shut, into a thin line of irritation.
“God, you're just as stubborn as he is. I don't know why I even try.”
She'd stood and left, but the conversation had never left McCoy's head. He sat in his quarters, hunched over an idle PADD, thinking about it. At the time he'd thought that would be the end of things, but by the next day apparently she'd decided that it was worth another try.
He wondered if... No. Spock wouldn't have gone back on his word. Vulcans were all about honor, after all.
A chime interrupted him from his train of thought. Jim strode into the room before he even had the chance to say anything.
“Hey Bones, up for some dinner?”
“Dammit Jim, what if I'd been in the middle of something scandalous?”
“I'm a huge fan of scandal, you know that – so whaddya say?”
McCoy sighed. “Yeah yeah, let me finish up.”
It was crowded when they reached the dining hall. Jim always managed to pick dinner rush to go and get food, and McCoy suspected it was because he liked seeing everyone all at once, to catch up on the gossip and shake a few hands. This time he bypassed everyone, beelining for a freshly vacated table in the corner.
McCoy sat down heavily across from him, scowling as Jim began to shovel copious amounts of spaghetti into his mouth.
“At this rate your eating habits are more likely to kill you than hostile aliens.”
Jim laughed, choking briefly on a piece of sausage, before sucking up the noodles dangling from his mouth.
“So there are these rumors,” he said, in between bites, “about you and Spock.”
McCoy froze mid bite.
“Hey, I'm just the messenger. It's pretty... well, it's something.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Spock thinks they're completely illogical, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I thought his eyebrows were going to fly off when I told him about them – fucking funny.”
“Are you ever actually going to tell me what they are?”
“Oh yeah, right.” Jim laughed to himself, twirling some noodles on his fork. “Okay, so... you know that thing on Nardori...”
“How could I forget the thing on Nardori?” he said, suspicious. He narrowed his eyes.
“And you know how we found you guys naked?”
This wasn't going to end well. He nodded slowly.
“Well, these rumors... I guess they're more like theories, really. About why you were naked.”
“Jim -”
“God, it's weird.”
“Jim...”
“I reprimanded them of course, as Captain, but oh my god some of the things these people come up with.”
“Is the purpose of this to warn me about them or laugh at my expense?”
“Oh come on, Bones.” Jim chuckled quietly as he picked at a piece of something on his plate, but after a moment his smile faded. He didn't quite meet McCoy's gaze when he looked up. “So, why were you guys naked, anyway?”
“Oh for fucking serious -”
“Hey hey, I'm just curious!” Jim looked around, then leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Okay, some people think you guys... you know. And I wouldn't think anything of it, normally, because I'm above all that rumor mill stuff and you're my friend and Spock is kind of my friend now, too. But then you guys stopped speaking, and I thought maybe...” He gestured with his fork. “You know.”
McCoy sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed at them with the heels of his hands. When he opened them again, Jim was staring at him with an expression of horror on his face.
“Oh god... you did, didn't you?” Jim put his fork down. “You. And Spock. Please tell me I'm off base.”
“Look – it's not like we were just sitting there and decided that being kidnapped and surrounded by creeps was a great time to do it.”
“Oh my god.”
“It was -”
“So you were under mind control.”
“Well -”
“Or like,” Jim was viciously jabbing things with his fork, “you were given some kind of...poison. Alien viagra. Or -”
“None of the above, Jim, god dammit . Would you just drop it?”
There was a terrible moment in which the entire room seemed to quiet, but only a second later the chatter picked up again. McCoy let out the breath he had been holding.
“Look, they threatened us. They had weapons, and we had nothing but our uniforms.”
“Not by the time we got there, you didn't,” Jim snorted.
“I fail to see how any of this is funny.”
“Come on, Bones. I can't believe you guys... oh man.” His eyebrows went up a notch. “Sooo...” He looked at McCoy expectantly.
“I know what you're asking, and you are not getting an answer.”
“I'm pretty sure it's universal law to talk to your best friend about these things.”
“And I'm pretty sure the universe hates me, so you can tell it to fuck off.”
“Think of it this way – you got to do what countless admirals and creepy aliens have always wanted to. Hell, I don't even think Uhura got any of tha...” Jim trailed off, and cleared his throat loudly, as if he'd just said something wrong.
McCoy felt like a lead weight had just settled itself into his stomach. “Excuse me?”
Jim shrugged from across the table, and all of a sudden looked guilty as hell. He wasn't smiling anymore. “Okay, too far...”
“No really, Jim. Please don't tell me you're saying what I think you're saying.”
Jim sighed. He put both his hands in the air in a distinctly defensive gesture. “Okay, the way I heard it, sex is pretty sacred to Vulcans, you know? I'm pretty sure that it's kind of an all or nothing deal with them.” He coughed nervously. “Or so I've heard.”
“And where the hell did you hear this little tidbit, exactly?”
Jim looked really guilty now. “Uhura might have mentioned it...”
“You're conspiring with Uhura now?” Realizing his voice was rising, McCoy gritted his teeth and hissed, “What about all that 'best friend' bullcrap you just fed to me?”
“God Bones, it was just dinner! She asked me to come talk to you - she wouldn't tell me why, just that I should try to get you and Spock talking again. She said it would be better for everyone involved and you know, I kind of have to agree with her.” Jim shook his head. “You've been pissier than usual, and Spock... don't even get me started. He mentioned going to New Vulcan the other day, Bones. And I didn't put two and two together until Uhura brought it up, but seriously.” Jim jabbed his fork at McCoy. “You should talk to him. I never thought I'd say it, but you two should at least schedule some time together to bitch and moan. For old time's sake.”
McCoy wasn't hungry any more, nor was he in the mood for continuing the conversation. He stood abruptly, tray in hand, and stalked off toward the receptacles. Jim was behind him in a flash.
“God, I'm sorry. Look – hey, would you slow down?”
McCoy whirled on him. “What you just told me, Jim, while stuffing your face full of carbs, is that one: I probably damn well popped Spock's precious Vulcan cherry down on that godforsaken planet, and two: this obligates me to become his drinking buddy -”
“That's not -”
“ - and to top this heartwarming little story off, the entire fucking ship is talking about it.” McCoy belatedly realized that he was speaking very loudly, that his face felt very warm, and that there were several people at nearby tables watching them. He inhaled, then exhaled, very slowly.
“Hey, I'm sorry, all right?” Jim's voice was almost at a whisper. He too seemed to notice they were being watched, and shot everyone a stern look. To McCoy, he said, “Let's take this to the hall.”
“I'm not really in the mood,” McCoy grumbled, but he followed his friend out anyway. Once they were in relative peace and quiet, Jim put a hand on his arm.
“Bones, you have to talk to him.” Jim held up a hand before McCoy could protest. “I'm telling you this as your friend – it's obvious you're not over what happened. And it's pretty obvious Spock isn't, either. Do yourself a favor and try to work it out with him.”
“Work what out, exactly? He's a damn Vulcan. All he'll do is deny deny deny that he feels anything but 'neutral' about the whole thing. 'It was logical, Doctor. It is illogical to be upset, Doctor.'” McCoy crossed his arms and scowled. “No offense, Jim, but this is my business... Not yours, and not anybody else's.”
Jim looked indignant at that. McCoy also thought he detected a hint of hurt in his friend's eyes, and he felt immediately guilty.
“Fine. You don't want to listen to a little friendly advice? How about this – as Captain, I order you to work this out with Spock.”
“You're ordering me?”
“You two need to be able to work together, in case we have to go planetside again, so yeah... As Captain, I think you two had better shape up.”
McCoy rubbed at his eyes again, and thought about the past few weeks. He'd felt... tense, yeah. Not that he thought that had anything to do with Spock. He looked back at Jim, who was watching him with an open expression on his face.
“It's pretty ironic that you of all people are giving me advice on how to deal with a one night stand.”
For one nervous moment, McCoy thought Jim was going to blow up at him. He was relieved when his friend's posture loosened.
“I know, right? Feels weird.” Jim winked at him. “Just returning the favor.”
The last thing McCoy wanted to find upon returning to his quarters was Uhura waiting in the hall for him. He contemplated turning around right then and fleeing, but she'd already seen him.
“Dr. McCoy!”
“No more 'Leonard', huh?”
She pursed her lips as he opened his door, and followed him into his quarters.
“I don't remember inviting you in.”
Uhura was silent. She watched him as he stripped off his shirt and changed into a looser and more comfortable sweatshirt. He sat on the bed and waited.
“You need to talk to Spock. I know what happened was a big deal, but you really need to buckle down and talk to him.”
So much for 'Vulcans never lie.' Well, McCoy couldn't blame Spock for talking to Uhura – after all, he'd just let it slip to Jim. “Look, I've already gotten it from my fucking friend today, I don't need to hear it twice.”
Uhura looked briefly like the comment had stung, but shrugged it off. “Well too bad, because I'm not leaving until you understand something.”
He sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I appreciate that you're looking out for him, I really do. But we've never talked. We've argued plenty – or debated, whatever – and we've discussed work related issues, but we've never talked. I'm not sure why you want us to start now.”
“It's obviously affecting him,” she said, voice wavering. “And you. Obviously, in some capacity, you guys got something out of those interactions...”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You're assuming an awful lot, there.”
“You're a real asshole, you know that?” She practically spat the words at him.
McCoy flew to his feet, angrier than he'd felt in a long time. Why was he the bad guy in all this? Why was it his responsibility to go and coddle Spock? It had happened to both of them, against their will, and McCoy was pretty sure he'd not enjoyed it just as much as Spock had not enjoyed it.
Okay, so there was the whole virginity thing. How was he supposed to have known, when Spock had conveniently left that out of the conversation? He had to admit – he felt bad about it. But at the same time, Spock was no delicate damsel in distress.
“Well explain it to me, then, because I'm really fucking baffled. As far as I know, what happened on that goddamn planet happened to the both of us. Spock is doing just as much avoiding as I am.”
Her face softened, but she composed herself quickly. “I know he is...Obviously, that's what Vulcans do. Pretend it never happened. It's why I started in on you - I thought, hey, maybe if I can tell him that you're not completely opposed to have a chat, he'll make a move. But all you did was prove him right.” When he didn't answer her, she forged on. “He's leaving Starfleet because of you. He's going to throw all his hard work and his rank and all the respect he's gained right out the fucking window because of you.”
McCoy was shocked at that. “What?”
“I told him in the beginning he should take care of it. I told him it was the best for everyone, especially for him, but noooo.”
McCoy blinked several times as his brain attempted to catch up.
“Vulcans don't do that, apparently. And because you're so adamant to stay the hell away from him, he's decided you'd probably rather have nothing to do with the whole thing.”
McCoy sputtered. “Whoa whoa, back up -”
“And so his master plan,” she continued, hands gesturing wildly, “for your benefit, is to throw everything away and move back in with dad.”
He managed to catch her attention by stepping forcefully into her line of sight, and she stilled for a moment, looking at him. “Okay, you need to explain what in Christ's name you're talking about. Right. Now.”
Uhura glared at him, then looked away again. She took a deep breath.
McCoy felt dread creeping up his spine. He already knew the answer.
“He's pregnant.”
“...Pregnant.”
“Yes.”
McCoy nodded in confirmation, but did little else. He felt numb all over, though he was sure that wouldn't last long. Already he could feel tendrils of anger lapping at him, in the form of a raging headache.
“Aren't you going to react at all?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Obviously,” she seethed, “that you're going to go talk him into staying.”
“Who am I to tell him what to do? No one felt like informing me of what the fuck was going on, so what the hell do you want from me?” The anger was definitely out in full force again. “It's not like I got him drunk and fucked him, dammit. If he wants to move to New Vulcan and raise a kid then so be it, but I tried the kid thing once already – with someone I was in love with, by the way – and it was a huge fucking failure.”
Uhura was in his face in a snap, an inch away. He could see the fury in her eyes – his own fury times ten, probably - and knew that he'd be losing this argument.
“He didn't ask for this either, you son of a bitch,” she said firmly but quietly, eyes never leaving his. “I'm not asking you to marry him. I'm asking you to figure this out with him.” She backed off a little, but the effect was no less intense. “You know what kind of life is waiting for him if he goes back to the colony, alone and pregnant with a human's kid?”
McCoy thought he had an idea. He'd heard things.
“Can you imagine? Can you imagine how they'd look at that child?”
McCoy sat heavily down onto his bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A dull pain began throbbing behind his eyes, and he counted silently to himself, down from ten, in an attempt to calm his heavy breathing and tumultuous thoughts.
“Of course I'll go talk to him,” he said, after a minute of silence between them. “I'm not that big of an asshole. But that doesn't mean I'm not pissed as hell, either.”
Uhura nodded and uncrossed her arms, her posture become more friendly. She smoothed down the edges of her uniform as she spoke. “I tried to get him to talk to you. He thought it was illogical to involve you when it was clear you didn't want to have anything to do with him.”
“Yeah, well, there's more involved than just him now.”
She nodded again, in silent agreement, and then cleared her throat. “I'm sorry,” she said, “for all that. And for this. I just... I hope you two can work things out.”
He waved her off. After she left, he ran his hands compulsively through his hair, mind reeling.
Spock would still be on shift for another hour.
McCoy leaned over to the bedside table, throwing open a drawer and shuffling through the contents. When he found what he was looking for he settled himself against the pillows, and clicked the small device on.
Joanna blinked to life, mid skip. She continued to jump rope in his hand, smiling and laughing. When she was done she gave him a little wave, and then the holopic cut off and started over again. He let it play for a full minute before moving his eyes to the ceiling, Joanna skipping in his peripheral vision.
He thought about his last message to her, sitting unfinished in the computer, from three months ago. He hadn't found the words yet and had, in recent days, forgotten it completely. A twinge of guilt and then pain lanced through him.
”Daddy, why'd you go away?” She'd pouted in her last message to him, unshed tears shining in her eyes. ”I miss you...”
He'd been such a coward, running away from Jocelyn and leaving his little girl behind. He missed her more than he could even articulate to her, and yet all evidence pointed to the contrary – his absence, his lack of communication, and his failure to visit even when he was on Earth and living but a few miles away.
And here he was again, about to be a father. Only this time there would be no foundation for raising the kid – he didn't love Spock. They hadn't planned this. To top it all off, Vulcans and humans had completely different methods for raising children, and McCoy was pretty sure he wouldn't approve of Vulcan child rearing. He loved his emotions (most of the time), loved expressing them and loved it when other people expressed them. From birth he'd encouraged Joanna to smile when she was happy, laugh when she felt joy, and cry when she was upset.
His baby, his little girl. He thought of her last birthday, the way her eyes had danced with joy when she'd unwrapped his present to her and cracked open that music box. She'd traced the edges of it with her fingers, memorizing the words of the poem engraved into the cover, and had whispered it to him after the party as they were saying goodbye.
McCoy shifted his eyes back to the holopic and he clicked the device off, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and moving slowly to rise. He returned the holopic to its drawer and then stared mutely after it.
I'm sorry, baby. A huge fucking failure, indeed.
He wrestled with what he would tell Spock. Was he in for the long haul? Would he watch from afar? Did Vulcans even have child support? The ultimate question was, of course, what was best for the kid – one dad and a bunch of lies, or two dads who quasi hated each other.
One thing at a time, McCoy, he thought, shaking his head. For all he knew, Spock would remain adamant about returning to New Vulcan, and in the end the kid was inside of him, not McCoy. And there was the issue of McCoy being human. Spock might want to raise the child to be as logical as himself, and McCoy knew that Spock considered him one of the “least logical humans” he'd ever met.
God dammit, one thing at a time. Jesus Christ.
He was getting ahead of himself. In a spur of the moment decision, he began to change into something a little less 'lie around and sulk' and a little more composed, and then headed out to wait for Spock.
Spock looked briefly surprised when he spotted McCoy waiting in the hall outside the turbolift, which meant Uhura hadn't talked to him yet. The Vulcan nodded in greeting and then strode quickly forward. McCoy got the impression that he was attempting to flee, if Vulcans did that sort of thing.
“Wait.”
Spock came to a stop, but remained facing the hall in front of them.
“I'm taking you to sickbay for an examination,” McCoy said, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. Spock didn't turn.
“I do not require an examination at this time,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I'm taking you for one anyway,” McCoy demanded firmly.
“Doctor, I must assure you, my annual physical left me in excellent condition and I will not require another until approximately four point two months from now. I have not recently fallen ill, I have not come in contact with any volatile or potentially dangerous substances, nor have I been exposed to any contagions.” Spock turned to face him then, one eyebrow slightly elevated. “Therefore, I am not in need of an examination at this time.”
McCoy rolled his eyes, greatly exaggerating the gesture. “This isn't your annual physical, Spock. Now, I need you to come to sickbay with me, or I'm going to have to pull some shenanigans to get you down there. Either way, you're going.”
Spock narrowed his eyes. “I was unaware that you had the authority to force me into sickbay without reason. It is true you are the ship's Chief Medical Officer, however, Starfleet regulation -”
“Starfleet regulation,” McCoy interrupted, lowering his voice, “requires the examination of all pregnant crew members.”
McCoy had never seen this look on Spock before – stunned. The Vulcan tried valiantly to save face, but the widening of the eyes and little 'o' of his mouth had already given him away. He cleared his throat and bowed his head, averting his gaze.
“Doctor, I am unsure -”
“Cut the bullshit, Spock. I know, okay?”
Spock nodded and turned from McCoy, head still bowed. McCoy could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“Lieutenant Uhura has spoken with you?”
“I'd really like to not do this in the hallway, if that's okay with you.” McCoy came up alongside Spock. “Sickbay?”
When they arrived, McCoy dismissed Nurse Chapel and then pulled a privacy curtain around them. He listened briefly for signs that there were people nearby as Spock situated himself onto the biobed.
After making sure they were alone, he motioned for Spock to lift his shirt, and the Vulcan hesitated only briefly before pulling it up and revealing his pale stomach. The only sign that anything was amiss was the slight chub Spock had achieved, easily noticeable in the curve of the dark hair trailing from his belly button downward. He wondered briefly about Vulcan pregnancies, but then another thought occurred to him.
“You do know you're a man, right?”
Spock just looked at him, expression unreadable. “Quite aware, Doctor.”
McCoy pulled a monitor closer to the bed. He unattached the scanner and held it to his mouth, breathing onto it in an attempt to warm the cold instrument.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
Spock let out a small breath as McCoy pressed the scanner against his skin. “I too was unaware of this particular aspect of my biology,” he admitted. “Pregnancy in Vulcan males is extremely rare, though many believe the number of Vulcan males able to bear children is higher than purported, due to the relatively small number of Vulcans in homosexual relationships.”
“In other words, unless a guy gets knocked up, there's no way to count them.”
Spock did the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, head nodding slightly to the side, as McCoy ran the scanner up and down his stomach, then side to side. “You are correct. It is not something that the Vulcan scientific community looks for in newborns, like they would for genetic defects or abnormalities. Many believe it to be an outdated mutation from a time when females were scarce.”
The monitor next to them beeped insistently, then flashed on. An image of Spock's stomach came slowly into focus.
“There it is,” McCoy breathed. The mass of cells that should have still been in the embryonic stage looked more like a developing fetus to McCoy, and it appeared to be healthy despite its strange genetic combination. He was surprised to feel a certain measure of relief at that. The scanner beeped to indicate the fetal heartbeat, steady, strong, and fast.
“He has a Vulcan heartbeat,” Spock said after a moment of silence, startling McCoy.
“He?”
“Vulcans are hyper aware of their own physiology,” he explained. “I am as aware of the fetus as I am aware of my digestive system, brain functions, and internal regulators. He is male, and is quite lively.”
“He's also more developed than a human baby would be at this point.”
Spock looked at the monitor and nodded in agreement. “Vulcan gestation is generally faster than a human's. He has not developed as I had expected, but I attribute that to his mostly human dna.”
McCoy silently watched the image, his chest tight.
“If you're so in tune, how come you didn't know about this?”
“Having been born and lived all of my life this way, all seemed normal until conception actually occurred.”
McCoy abruptly pulled the scanner away and returned it to its attachment on the monitor. He crossed his arms and furrowed his brows. Spock met his gaze evenly, his mouth a a thin, straight line, and said nothing.
“Uhura told me you were planning on resigning,” McCoy said finally.
“That is true.”
“And just when were you planning on telling me?”
Spock did the head tilt again, and McCoy could feel his agitation growing. “Our interactions have never been anything beyond strained, and in the weeks following the … incident, you made your aversion to my presence quite clear. It was logical to assume you would not be pleased by the news of the pregnancy, nor willing to contribute.”
“That's one hell of an assumption,” McCoy growled. “I don't know how Vulcans do things, but on Earth it's not really kosher to run off and birth a kid without telling the father.”
Spock looked at him quizzically. “I had heard the opposite during my time in the Academy,” he said, “that fathers quite frequently abandon both their wives and children, and that females quite frequently keep the identity of the father a secret, especially in the case of one night encounters.”
McCoy knew the unspoken part of that sentence: “...like ours.”
“You, in fact,” Spock continued, “fit into both of these categories, which led me to believe that joining my father on the colony was the best -”
“Wait a fucking minute, you bastard,” McCoy snarled. “Just what the hell do you mean by that?”
“Did you not leave your wife and child behind on Earth?”
McCoy had to physically step away, in an attempt to calm himself. It failed. “Completely. Different.,” he seethed. “I left because my wife and I fought all the time – got into it real nasty – and I thought it would be better for Joanna if she didn't have to watch her mom and dad hold screaming matches for the rest of her life. I didn't abandon them, god dammit.”
Spock watched him as he paced, fists clenched. “I didn't abandon them, Spock, I left so that she'd have some semblance of a normal life.” He was at a loss, feelings of doubt creeping up on him. Is that why he left? Was it that, or cowardice?
“Perhaps I am leaving for the same reason,” Spock said quietly. “At best, we are able to work amicably together to achieve a goal. At worst...”
“And what's it going to be like on the colony? You think he's going to grow up with tons of friends? He's mostly human, Spock, what if he can't suppress his emotions like everybody else? Hell, what if it's too hot for him?”
Spock closed his eyes. “I too have had doubts.”
“I can't -” McCoy's voice hitched. “I can't spend the rest of my life knowing I have a kid out there somewhere. I just can't do it.”
“You should not feel any obligation to this child.” Spock voice was firm, his eyes glistening with intensity in the soft glow of the room. “You did not choose this.”
Uhura's words came to him, and McCoy found himself grasping onto them now. “You didn't either.”
They both fell silent, staring at each other, until Spock averted his gaze. He slid off the biobed in one smooth motion, but McCoy shot his arm out before the Vulcan could leave.
“Spock... I'm not a fool. I have no delusions about our relationship – what it is now, or what it'll be in the future. When I'm around you I feel like screaming, and I'm sure, in some dark corner of that brain of yours, you feel the same. But like you said... we're capable of working amicably together, at the very least. This kid... If we make this our goal...” He sighed heavily, his arm falling away. “I don't know, maybe I did abandon my daughter.” His throat felt dry, and he swallowed thickly. “I'm failing her, that's for sure, and I hate myself for it. I can't do that twice, Spock. I don't want to be that kind of man.”
Unable to look at Spock any longer, McCoy turned from him. He heard footsteps as the Vulcan moved a few feet away, then stopped again.
“I will consider all options presented to me,” Spock said. And then he left.
It took McCoy an entire week before he could sit down and finish his message to Joanna. He hadn't bothered with grand apologies – in the end he'd had no excuse, and he said as much in the recording. When she responded he'd been astonished by her lack of reaction, by the normalcy of the message. She'd chatted about classes and taking up piano lessons and at the end, with a shy wave, said “I love you, Daddy.” No mention of the three month bout of silence, no tears, no anger.
Just forgiveness.
Joanna hadn't been the only one to give him a pass that week. Spock had approached him not three days after, beckoning for him to follow.
“I will remain on the Enterprise,” he'd said, not making eye contact. “I believe it would be beneficial to the child.”
And thus had begun the strangest few months of McCoy's entire life. He and Spock, at Uhura's urging, began spending every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon together, “bonding” as she called it. It obviously held some double meaning, because the lieutenant had winked and then awkwardly cleared her throat the first time she'd said it, and the doctor could have sworn that Spock's cheeks had taken a green flush, if only for a second.
Both McCoy and Spock had been united in resisting the activity, but Uhura had been relentless.
“How are you two going to raise a child when you can't even say three words without fighting?”
McCoy didn't have the heart to tell her that the afternoons together did exactly that – devolve into heated disagreements. McCoy always left them feeling inexplicably invigorated, however, head buzzing pleasantly with adrenaline. They were never like his fights with Jocelyn. Spock sparred with him using words and a surprising amount of wit, about politics and the difference between human and Vulcan philosophies, and a variety of other topics. Jocelyn had always gone straight to personal attacks - insulting his intelligence, his profession, his body - and sometimes even threw things.
As the pregnancy progressed, however, their discussions became more about the baby and therefore more stressful. A frequent topic of conversation was the name of the baby. McCoy had insisted off the bat that it not be Vulcan.
“You have not even heard the name.”
“Well I don't need to hear it. I think I can guess well enough – Speck? Spork?”
Spock had abandoned the neutral mask he used to favor around McCoy after only three of their “play dates”, and his glares came much more freely. “You are grossly misinformed, as those are not of Vulcan origin. In addition, Vulcan names take a variety of forms. I attended school with a pupil named Talrek and my father's closest friend was Sylen, for example.”
McCoy stared at him incredulously. “Talrek? Really?”
“That is not the name I am considering, no -”
McCoy was quick to interrupt. “I'm thinking along the lines of Max, or Henry.”
Spock's upper lip curled. “Henry?”
“Yeah, Henry. You know, a nice, strong, human name.”
“I fail to see how Henry sounds any more pleasing than Sylen.” One of Spock's eyebrows rose in amusement. “I believe the name Henry is what many human children would deem 'nerdy', Doctor.”
“It's better than Tick Tock or whatever the hell you're cooking up in that computer brain of yours. The kid's going to be mostly human after all, and grow up around humans. It'd be nice if he had one less thing to worry about on the playground.”
Spock actually sighed, something McCoy had never heard him do before. Must be the hormones, he thought.
“If you would just let me -”
“All right, Spock, you want a Vulcan name? It's going in the middle, and that's final. He can be Bob Smock McCoy for all I fucking care, as long as the 'Bob' or what the hell ever is sitting out in front.”
They'd never decided on a name. Not that time, or the next, or the one after. They discussed other things, though. There were plenty of baby conversations – more than Bones had ever had with his ex wife – and he felt like they were enough to fill a lifetime. How to raise the child always made for an exciting afternoon.
“I agree that he should be raised with the human philosophy of emotion.”
“Well fucking great, we both agree on something. Praise Jesus and Vulcan Zeus, or whoever the hell you guys have.” McCoy threw his hands up in mock praise. “And can I assume, since you'll be raising him in this 'human philosophy' just as much as I will, you'll be adopting a little of it yourself?”
Spock narrowed his eyes.
McCoy knew what that meant. “You dont't think it's going to be a little sketchy when he turns, oh, two, and wonders why one daddy smiles and the other looks grumpy all the time?”
Spock nodded finally, in agreement, but the answer he gave wasn't the one McCoy was looking for. “In addition to raising him using human methods I have planned to share with him some of our Surakian teachings, so that he may understand his Vulcan heritage and my own lack of emotional expression.”
“To a goddamn two year old?” McCoy rolled his eyes. “You're overestimating the patience of a toddler juuuust a bit.”
McCoy could tell that he was pushing Spock's buttons. “When he is the appropriate age -”
“That's great, Spock, but in the meantime? Human kids have this thing about goofing off, and if you look pissy all the time he's going to think you hate him.”
“I will explain to him that I do not.”
“Actions speak louder than words.”
“Some part of him is Vulcan, and so I am confident that at an early age he will be capable of understanding this concept.”
McCoy shook his head. “And what if he doesn't, Spock? Are you going to give in and smile once in a while?”
Spock looked mildly horrified. He turned his head and looked at the wall. “We are getting ahead of ourselves,” he said.
“Like hell. I'm not waiting until the last minute to talk about this.”
“He will realize my affection for him by the amount of time I devote to his upbringing.”
“Riiiiight.”
“It is only logical.”
It was frustrating trying to talk to Spock about these things. It made him doubt their ability to buckle down and raise a child, to become a parental unit, and there were days when he seriously reconsidered what he'd gotten himself into. There were others, when Spock allowed him to feel the baby kick or when he could see the baby during an exam, where he was filled with optimism. He latched onto those whenever he felt like tearing his hair out.
Spock's stomach was large and cumbersome at the end of his sixth month. The entire ship knew of the pregnancy now and therefore the truth about what had transpired on Nardori. They'd received their fair share of confused inquiries about marriage, love, and the like, but for the most part there was an air of excitement about the ship.
Despite his aversion to being touched, Spock patiently allowed crew members a brief rub of his belly. Chekov especially seemed fascinated, and his voice trilled with excitement whenever he talked about the baby.
“I vill teach him Russian,” he'd said on more than one occasion. “Vith speaking the Russian, Wulcan, and English he vill be an unstoppable force.” Spock always patiently attempted to pry away from the young crewmember, but once Chekov was intent and focused it was a near impossible task. More than once McCoy had caught Spock in a corner with Chekov tapping at his stomach, “chasing the baby” as he called it. “I can suggest Russian names, if you are interested. Oh oh oh do you feel that? He is kicking at me! Russians do exceptionally vell vith children. If you ewer need a sitter...”
Jim was, of course, also in on the baby craze. He had claimed uncle status early on. “Everyone needs a crazy uncle!”
“You're crazy all right. And not 'endearing' crazy, either,” McCoy had said.
Uhura had dropped more than a few hints about godparenting. “They're important, if you hadn't already thought of it,” she'd said one day, as they ate together in the mess. “Especially with our jobs. Everyone knows going into a mission that some might not make it. It's just the reality. I think it'd be comforting to know that your kid is taken care of, no matter what happens.”
All of their friends and crewmates seemed to have some advice for them. McCoy was used to it, having gone through it once before, but it was obvious the whole thing ate away at Spock's nerves. He began locking himself away in his quarters when he was not on duty and sometimes, on rare occasions, he'd end up in McCoy's quarters, sitting silently on the bed and looking anywhere but at the doctor.
The first time it had happened, McCoy had been too flabbergasted to say anything.
“The child misses your presence,” Spock had said, as way of explanation. “He has become accustomed to your distinctive vocal patterns and I feel his discomfort when you are away.”
McCoy had felt an overwhelming warmth spread through him at that statement. He'd put his hands all over Spock's stomach, talking in soft tones to the baby, telling him about Earth and his older sister, and anything else that popped into his head. The visits from Spock suddenly expanded from Tuesdays and Thursdays to almost every day for at least a few hours. They'd sit, not actually talking to each other but chatting with the baby back and forth, until duty called one or both of them away.
Things got a whole lot messier in Spock's last month of pregnancy. McCoy had thought their disagreements about the baby's upbringing, name, and education had been at times harsh, but these took it to a whole new level.
Spock still hadn't stopped following his captain on away missions. This was their sixth argument on the matter, though it was the only one done during Spock's actual final few weeks of pregnancy (and in the middle of the transporter room). McCoy was furious and terrified that Spock was even considering attending.
“I forbid it, Spock. As the goddamn Chief Medical Officer I am officially banning you from going.”
Spock was insistent, his voice and tone louder than usual. “It is a diplomatic mission, Doctor. Not exploratory, not demanding physically, but diplomatic. As First Officer, my presence is required.”
“Like hell it is. The answer is NO.”
“You do not have the authority to restrict my responsibilities if they pose no risk to my health.”
McCoy felt his face heating up, and knew he was beet red at this point. Hell, he was seeing red. “How about as the fucking father of that goddamn kid, then? Who knows what fucking affect those damned transporters have on unborn babies. You could beam back with a puppy in your stomach for all we fucking know.” From somewhere beside them, Scotty grumbled something indignant, but McCoy was on a roll. “And don't get me started on this ship's diplomatic record -”
“Hey hey now, let's give the illustrious Captain a little credit, huh?” Jim stepped nervously up to them. “We're going down with a security team, Bones, if that's any -”
“It's not. So no go, Jim, Spock. I'm not authorizing this.”
“That is perfectly fine, Doctor, as your authorization is unnecessary.” Spock turned toward the transporter pad.
“Oh hell no you don't. Jim, order him to stay behind.”
Jim took a step back, hands up. “Uh...”
“May I remind you, Captain, that demoting or otherwise altering a pregnant crewmember's tasks when not necessary to their health or the health of the baby is in violation of Starfleet Regulation 546.85?”
Jim looked like he was in physical pain. He let out a huge sigh. “God Bones, look – he'll be fine. You know how in tune Vulcans are. If he were feeling something, he'd say so.” He laughed nervously as McCoy glared at him. “It's not logical to put yourself in danger, right?”
“Entirely illogical,” Spock agreed.
McCoy tried counting in his head, tried thinking about his daughter's pretty curls and the open fields of his home town, but his face remained very, very hot. “Fine. Fine. But you're updating me every hour. No, scratch that, every half hour. And I'm having everyone in medical on standby.”
Jim looked only vaguely relieved. “Right, great! Updates every half hour – Spock, you'll be doing those?” When the Vulcan nodded, Jim joined him on the pad, along with their security team, and said “Don't worry Bones, I'll take good care of him.” And away they went.
Forty five minutes later, and McCoy was calling them.
“Spock goddammit, I told you to update every THIRTY goddamn minutes.”
“I apologize, Dr. McCoy, but the debates are becoming heated. I will update you in another thirty.”
An hour later, and McCoy was again attempting to contact Jim, Spock, and the security personnel, but this time no one at all was answering.
“Their signatures, Scotty?”
“Strong an' steady, Doctor. They may be in a part o' the planet outside communicator range. Tends ta go fuzzy sometimes.” He looked at McCoy sympathetically. “I'm sure they're jus' fine. Mr. Spock an' the Cap'n know how to handle themselves.”
The message they received not fifteen minutes later told a different story.
“Scott! Bea....p! Can y....ear me? Spo....abor.”
McCoy hoped Scotty was properly embarrassed. He also hoped that the broken bits of message they were receiving weren't what he thought they were.
When the team materialized onto the ship, Spock was bent nearly double, breathing heavily and clutching at his stomach. The medical team had been on standby and they rushed forward, helping him to lie on the gurney and then whisking him away. Jim was trying to speak to McCoy, but the doctor barely listened, nearly sprinting along with the gurney down into sickbay.
“Jesus Bones, I'm sorry. Things got really intense and all of a sudden Spock was-”
“How long ago?”
“Uh... like forty minutes maybe? Kind of around that last message...”
Nurse Chapel rushed up to them as they entered sickbay. McCoy helped her and the team roll Spock onto one of the beds. Spock was panting, his stomach rising and falling rapidly with each breath, and his eyes were glittering with pain.
“God dammit, there's no where for the baby to come out of. Vulcan superiority my ass.” McCoy, who was at this point far past etiquette, moved the Vulcan's chin until they were eye to eye. “Unless there's something you aren't telling me... There's been a lot of that going around, hasn't there?”
“Leonard McCoy,” Chapel barked. He was unceremoniously shoved to the side as she moved herself between him and Spock. He sputtered an objection, but she was having none of it.
“Myself and nurses Taylor and Elsa will be performing the c-section. You can watch.”
“Excuse me?”
Chapel motioned for another nurse to bring him a chair. “You can sit right here, up by his head, and whisper soothing things to him as he gives birth to your child. What you cannot do is bark orders at him, cut him open, or anything else angry or doctorly. Got it?”
“As Chief -”
“As CMO you are emotionally compromised in this case which leaves you out and me in.” She looked at him sternly, daring him to object. Instead, he sighed.
“Okay, okay...”
Spock let out a pained grunt and squeezed his eyes shut as another contraction wracked his body. McCoy had done his reading – and knew that Nurse Chapel had as well. Vulcan labors were quick when done naturally, which meant that if he'd been having contractions for forty or more minutes, he was ready to go. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Spock's hands gripping at the sheets.
The medical team went to work quickly, and McCoy tried his best to focus on the sound of the fetal heartbeat mixed with that of Spock's, and not on the scalpel gleaming above Spock's belly. Spock was given a local, and immediately his eyes began to glaze.
“Doctor,” he moaned, “A name. We have not chosen -”
“We can worry about that later, Spock.” When we know the kid's okay...
Spock kept trying. “Vulcans... it is custom to have the name ready, to utter... to utter it as soon as the child enters the world.”
Spock's fingers were still grappling with the sheets, pulling them up from the side of the bed and closer to his body. On impulse, McCoy covered them with his own hand, and squeezed. The Vulcan looked at him sharply.
“All right, I'll bite,” said McCoy, trying to ignore the questioning look in Spock's eyes and the not entirely unpleasant buzzing at his fingertips. “What name do you have in mind?”
Spock's fingers squeezed back. “Noah,” he whispered, and in the same breath, “My mother used to tell of an ancient Earth God, unhappy with his creations. He tried to destroy them but his man – Noah – he built a great ship to save his species and many others.”
“Noah and the ark,” McCoy murmured.
Spock closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. McCoy could see his facade slowly slipping away, perhaps from pain, or perhaps from the drugs. “It is a highly improbable tale,” Spock said, “but I never told her so. It was her favorite story to tell me. She insisted on sitting with me as I fell asleep.”
There was a sick, slipping sound, and McCoy looked up just in time to see Nurse Chapel pull a slimy, green and pink form from Spock's domed stomach. A second later limbs flailed to the side and the thing began screaming and batting at the air.
McCoy untangled his hand from Spock's and held out shaky arms as the nurse settled the crying boy into his arms. The umbilical cord, a brilliant green, lay hotly against his arm, still connected somewhere inside Spock.
He looked down at the little boy, all wet and full of creases and wrinkles, and then kissed the slick black hair and the tips of those little pointed ears. He looked just like Joanna when she was born, a little button nose smooshed and flat in the center of a round face, dark thick hair, a soft chin. He could sense Spock's gaze on them, and he held the baby up between both of them.
All his fears simultaneously brimmed at the surface and then disappeared, replaced by something else entirely. An overwhelming sense of love. He didn't know what would happen, whether he and Spock could ever be anything but two bickering idiots, whether this child would ever understand that. But the kid would know love. His love, Spock's love, and a whole shipful of love.
“Noah it is,” he said, voice cracking. “Noah David.”
"Wait, you want us to ... Oh no. No." McCoy threw his hands up in front of him and molded his face into something he hoped properly conveyed the horror and disgust he was feeling.
The alien remained passive. "You will." His short, piggy nose wiggled and McCoy wondered if it was a gesture of frustration or conviction. The six or seven other Nardorians in the room wiggled their bluish noses, and McCoy decided it was another emotion entirely.
For science my ass, he thought. He shook his head emphatically.
"I don't damn well think so, buddy. You can poke and prod at my man bits if that's what gets your rocks off, but not that."
"I agree with the Doctor," Spock said from beside him, face revealing a more open expression than McCoy had seen in months. He clearly looked... perturbed. Just slightly, and maybe not to an outsider, but to McCoy it was pretty obvious how unpleasant the Vulcan found the directive the aliens had given them. "What you are asking is akin to sexual assault."
"Yeah, you wanna know about human mating rituals? Get this - we have sex with people we actually want to have sex with. Crazy concept, I know."
"If I may add, I am also not entirely human, and was raised not on Earth but on Vulcan. It is illogical to assume that any intercourse we engage in would be a wholly accurate representation of human on human sexual relations."
McCoy silently cheered Spock on. At least he's putting those damned Vulcan bullshit skills to good use.
The Nardorians just blinked back at them. The one who had spoken earlier stepped forward after a moment, nose working overtime. He pointed a chubby finger at them.
"Then you -" he nodded toward McCoy "- do it the human way, first, and then you-" Spock, this time "- do it the Vulcan way."
Well, no arguing the logic of that one.
McCoy let out a breath. "Look, you moron, our crew is out there looking for us and I guarantee they can blow your godforsaken little outpost to smithereens. And believe me -"
"Silence! You are prisoners, you will do as told!" The alien began pacing, and McCoy spared a glance at Spock, who was rigid as ever and steadfastly not looking at him. "You will do this, or we will do it for you."
Spock tilted his head to the side. McCoy's mouth dropped a little. "Care to repeat that?"
The alien grinned, teeth yellow and sharp, and beckoned one of his comrades. Something was handed to him, and a moment later he held up a syringe. "It is a powerful aphrodisiac. None thus far have been able to resist it."
"Do this often, do you? Sick fucks."
"You will do this. You have minutes before I take matters into my own hands, in which case it will be violent and painful. I will take your genitalia and force it into the other if it comes down to it." He snorted, before adding, “And then, you will die.”
McCoy looked at those meaty, sweaty hands, and felt bile in his throat. He jumped when something touched his arm.
It had been Spock. The Vulcan was looking at him somberly. "Dr. McCoy, perhaps at this point the logical decision would be to engage in this act. If we are left to control our own actions, we can minimize the pain, and the duration of the event. Left to -"
"I know, I know, I don't want Porky putting his hands on me any more than you do." McCoy grimaced. "God dammit, you green blooded bastard, if we do this... No one, I mean no one hears about it. Ever. I know you claim you don't do that whole lying thing, but Jesus Christ if you talk I swear to god I'll make sure you never utter another word again."
Spock's eyebrows rose. "I do not wish for this to become gossip fodder any more than you do, Leonard."
“Cut it with the first name bullshit. Doing this changes nothing.” Spock's eyebrows drew together briefly. He nodded.
They turned back to the Nardorian. It took McCoy a moment to gather the words... and then actually say them. "All right. But we go free after this... as in, perfectly alive and intact. And no one - and I really mean this one, god dammit - no one else gets to jump in, understand?"
The nose twitched rhythmically. "Conditions accepted." There was an excited murmur among the others. "Please begin."
McCoy took a brief look around. They were sitting on a cold stone floor and with the aliens pressing close - they had all crowded in at the acceptance of terms - there was little room for the two men to lie down.
"Let me get this straight: you want us to fuck on some cold concrete with your buddies breathing down our necks? No lubrication, no protection..." McCoy eyed the sea of wiggling noses with revulsion. The alien in charge just nodded seriously.
"You did not stipulate any of these things when we discussed this arrangement."
"Arrangement my ass," McCoy grumbled. He turned to Spock. "I trust that since you're a Vulcan and therefore upstanding and all that shit, you haven't been sleeping around." The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. McCoy knew he was irritated. "No weird alien sex diseases I should know about?"
"I am, as always, perfectly healthy."
"Yeah yeah, me too."
They continued to sit, not looking at each other. Spock stared at some point over McCoy's shoulder, and McCoy glared at the aliens. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it as slow as possible. Maybe the extra time would allow for Jim to find them and make a glorious rescue... preferably while they were still fully clothed.
"You have not engaged in sexual intercourse," one of the Nardorians said dumbly.
"Well no shit, Sherlock." McCoy sighed, and closed his eyes. In his head, he tried to replace the image of Spock with someone else... and failed, miserably. Every pretty girl he could think of eventually fell away, leaving the image of his ex wife spinning uncomfortably through his head. It was a problem he had often – many a dream began pleasantly enough, with some young thing encroaching on his personal space, planting light kisses along his jaw, gentle hands kneading him through his pants. And then their face would morph into a hideous sneer, the hand would fall away, and Jocelyn would yell at him, scream at him, while Joanna stood in the background and cried.
Her or Spock... God, that's tough.
"Doctor... the natives seem impatient for us to commence." Spock had begun undressing, apparently while McCoy was lost in thought. He'd already removed the heavy outer jacket he'd been wearing, and McCoy noticed the slight shiver in Spock's pale arms. It was cold down here even for him, and he could only imagine how uncomfortable it would make a Vulcan.
"Right. How do you want to do this?" He hoped Spock picked up on the implication. It was bad enough having to do it - he didn't actually want to spell it out.
"I will of course be penetrating."
"Jesus Christ, why is that an 'of course?'"
"The Nardorians want a demonstration of common human sexual relations. It is my understanding that in human society the weakest is often the partner who is penetrated, and the stronger the one who performs the penetration." Spock's voice was low and soft, as if he wished to go unheard.
"Gee, thanks. And if you use the word penetration one more time, I'm going to punch you in the face." McCoy was conflicted – on the one hand, he didn't like the idea of alien penis in his ass. On the other, Spock was stubborn... really, really frustratingly stubborn, and McCoy wasn't sure he had the energy to fight with him and the aliens at the same time.
Pick your battles, McCoy. Set your dignity aside. What's left of it, anyway.
McCoy followed Spock's lead, removing his own clothing, and said no more. Spock was now wearing nothing but a pair of regulation briefs. He stared resolutely at the floor, face as stoic as ever, but McCoy could see the tenseness in his posture and in the clenched muscles of his jaw.
As McCoy lifted his own shirt up and over his head, he heard a gurgle - like someone clearing their throat - from somewhere above them. It was the alien leader again.
"I could not help but overhear your conversation."
"Really? Hard to understand why, what with your nose practically shoved up my ass."
The alien's face flushed a deep purple, and McCoy found himself wondering again about the noses. And then he wondered why he was wondering, and promptly pushed all those unpleasant thoughts away.
"We... have a preference," the Nardorian began, "for how this is to be done."
McCoy was about to make a snappy comment, when Spock spoke up from beside him. Both his eyebrows were up near his hairline.
"As I understand it, the purpose of this encounter is to demonstrate common human sexual intercourse. It would seem that dictating how this intercourse is to be achieved defeats that purpose. As a human, Dr. McCoy would hold expertise in the area of human sex. As a Nardorian, you would not."
"Oh yeah, they call me 'the Sex Doctor' back on Earth."
"Additionally," Spock shot McCoy a look that clearly said 'SHUT UP STUPID HUMAN', "I am half human, and have dated humans on previous occasions. I too hold some understanding of human sexual relations, even if minimal. Again, you do not."
The Nardorian frowned, clearly displeased that his prisoners had the gall to make any demands. "We do not ask for major changes in execution. We would simply find it more scientifically pertinent and aesthetically pleasing if it were the full blooded human dominating."
Spock's lip curled in disgust. He caught himself quickly. “I must insist,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
That's right, Spock, don't go down without a fight. If you stall long enough maybe Jim'll get here and we won't even have to do this fucking despicable thing.
But the syringe was out again, glinting in the dim light. “You wish to force the issue?” the Nardorian said smugly, and Spock fell silent. He awkwardly removed his briefs – McCoy followed suit – and remained kneeling on the floor, eyes downcast.
“Please begin.”
There was a moment of very, very awkward silence. Spock continued to kneel, completely naked, all eyes in the room roaming up and down his body. McCoy cleared his throat.
“All right, I guess... on your knees.”
“I will move when I am ready,” Spock snapped.
“Fuck all Spock, I don't want to do this thing any more than you do. Let's just get it over with so we can get the hell out of here.”
Spock was still for a minute more, before begrudgingly shifting his position until he was hands and knees in front of McCoy. His face revealed nothing along the way – it was entirely blank, none of the telltale little signs of emotion that McCoy had just started to get used to.
McCoy swallowed thickly. It was all so intense, so real now, with Spock naked before him. It was like he'd been doused in cold water.
Slowly, he shuffled forward on his knees, bringing himself right up to Spock's bare ass. He wasn't hard yet and wasn't entirely sure he could get hard. There was too much anxiety in him, too many eyes watching, and an unwilling partner to boot. He took his cock in his hand, closed his eyes, and began working himself. McCoy let out a sigh of relief when his penis became heavier and he felt the first signs of arousal work him into thickness.
He focused on Spock. The Vulcan was completely still, waiting for him, legs slightly parted. He put what he thought was a reassuring hand on Spock's back, but drew back when Spock flinched violently.
“Sorry, forgot about the whole telepathy thing.”
“It is of no consequence. Next time I will be prepared.”
McCoy closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was disappointed to find they were still sans clothes, surrounded by horny aliens. “There isn't any way we can talk you out of this?” The Nardorians all shook their heads.
“Please make haste.”
“Oh, really? Listen, asshole, if you want this to happen you can have a little patience. Jesus.”
The Nardorian looked pissed at that. He knelt next to Spock's face, and held the syringe dangerously close.
“This compound... it drives men mad. I have seen them tear each other apart in the throes of passion, quite literally. We would rather watch a natural demonstration, of course, but I am nearing the end of my patience.”
He looked at the alien's face, crazed with lust, and knew then that they were going to do this. He was going to have sex with Spock. Spock, of all people.
McCoy took himself in his hand again. He paused when he neared Spock's waiting body, and closed his eyes.
“Okay, I'm... I'm doing it.”
“I realize that, Doctor,” Spock said, his voice steady.
“God dammit, I'm just trying to be considerate.”
Spock's hands clenched against the floor. “I believe, at this point, we are beyond consideration.”
McCoy pushed forward, then, gasping at the tightness. He felt a slight tremor in the body underneath him and immediately stopped.
“I am fine...”
“Yeah, well, I'm not. There isn't any goddamn lubrication, so unless you want some serious damage, I suggest you let me set the pace. I value my dick you know.”
He pushed forward a little more, lips pressed tightly together, until he felt the muscles relax. Then he pushed further, waited, and then further, until finally he was almost completely inside of Spock. It was impossibly hot inside of the Vulcan, and McCoy felt as if he would burst at any moment. He remained still, letting himself adjust to the feeling.
Breathe in, breathe out...
Suddenly, Spock recoiled, lurching to the side. McCoy was unprepared and shot out his hands to prevent from falling backwards, ending up with one on either hip, holding Spock flush against him.
The Vulcan bucked again and McCoy realized why – the Nardorian with the syringe had moved closer since they'd began and was taking long swipes with his nose toward Spock's face. McCoy could see a round, wet shape glistening against Spock's cheek, where the alien had already made contact once.
“Cease this!” Spock managed to hiss. McCoy attempted to pull out of him, but just as he began to drag himself away the Nardorian planted his nose heavily against Spock and the Vulcan shoved himself backward, effectively burying McCoy even deeper.
And that's when he felt it. It was a tingle at first, at his fingertips, and then something else... fleeting wisps of anger and disgust. McCoy realized that he was picking up all of these things from Spock.
It was disturbing. But more disconcerting than the actual telepathic connection were the things he was feeling through it. He recognized shame and humiliation. He recognized pain.
The Nardorian managed to plant another “kiss” on Spock's cheek and then McCoy felt something else, something besides Spock, through the link. He felt the Nardorian, the sick pleasure at Spock's violation, the lust, and suddenly McCoy realized just why Spock was reacting so violently.
“Get your fucking nose away from him!”
The nose hit home again and Spock's nails scraped against the hard floor in the effort to get away from it. His spine arched underneath McCoy.
“God dammit I said no jumping in!”
The Nardorian stilled, then smiled. It was the creepiest thing McCoy had ever seen. “I assumed the meaning of 'jumping in' to be sexual,” the alien purred.
McCoy let out a bitter laugh. “You think I'm an idiot? I'm a goddamn doctor, versed in all kinds of xenobiology... and even if I weren't, it's damn obvious that your nose isn't just your sniffer.” The alien's face was violet, again, smile gone. “So get it away from him, or this whole deal's off. You can do all the forcing and killing you'd like, but it won't be the same, will it?”
Reluctantly, the Nardorian moved away. He was close now, but not touching, nose still twitching. McCoy tried not to think about what the slime oozing out of it actually was.
The turmoil under his hands seemed to subside a bit.
“I apologize... I had intended to shield you from-”
“Shut up, Spock.” McCoy concentrated hard on several emotions of his own, then – calm being the first and foremost – and hoped they were traveling effectively through the link between their skin. When he felt Spock's tense muscles give way, he drew out of the body, and then in again, and set up a steady rhythm.
In, out, in, out. He took long strokes, as quick as he could without inflicting too much damage, in an effort to speed things up. The heat and the tightness meant he was already close, and as he picked up the speed he couldn't help but lean a little more heavily on the Vulcan, pressing the length of his torso over Spock's back, gripping his hips just a little tighter. He panted as he felt his balls tighten.
“Fuck,” he whispered. He was pretty sure Spock could feel the orgasm in more ways than just the pulse of hot fluid in his body and the erratic humping of the human inside of him. McCoy's fingers were buzzing with something he didn't have the energy to try and decipher.
He felt more exposed than he ever had in his life.
He pulled out slowly, trying to ignore the green smeared in the cleft of Spock's buttocks, and sat down heavily as soon as he was free. Spock moved a moment later, lowering himself on shaky limbs into a sitting position that mirrored his. From all sides, the Nardorians were snuffling and murmuring to each other.
And then, bright light flooded the room.
McCoy brought an arm up to shield his eyes, and there was a terrible commotion beginning all around him – yelling, grunting, the blasting of what he recognized as phasers. Too late he recognized his friend's voice rising above the din.
“Bones! Spock!” Jim clearly sounded pissed.
In a panic, McCoy attempted to search for his discarded clothing. He was largely unsuccessful, however, and when he heard Jim's voice next to his ear, he started violently.
“Bones? Why are you guys naked?”
Fuck my life, he thought.
--
“I will say nothing of what happened.”
Those had been the last words Spock had said to him, six weeks ago, as they sat in opposite biobeds awaiting Nurse Chapel's attention. Spock had weaseled out of that one. Chapel was a sucker for him and his Vulcan platitudes and he'd been gone within minutes of speaking to her, sans scan and sans interrogation.
McCoy hadn't been so lucky. After a thorough lecture on away team protocol ('do not separate except in extreme circumstances' being the first and foremost subject of the talk) he'd put some of his own bullshit skills to good use and made up an easily believable story about pig aliens and their interests in the anatomy of other species. He'd even thrown in some harrowing details – dissection had been awaiting them, had Jim not arrived when he did.
All perfectly believable.
Spock hadn't spoken to him since, and they'd rarely seen each other, either. At first McCoy hadn't minded. The two didn't get along under the best of circumstances, after all, and so the absence of the Vulcan just meant less bickering and more blessed silence. But after the second week, McCoy had found himself inexplicably annoyed with Spock. That emotion had been baffling. When they were together he was certainly annoyed, so why was he also irritated when they were apart?
Some else happened. Lieutenant Uhura, of all people, had taken a sudden interest in bothering him. She'd corner him in the mess, or in his own office while he was working, and want to talk to him. At first it had just been chitchat – what he was working on lately, how he was feeling. It had morphed in the week following into something McCoy suspected was far more insidious. She threw in questions about the divorce, Jocelyn, and his daughter along with the questions about his work and health.
“Look,” he'd said to her one day over lunch, after she'd slyly slipped 'So why did you guys separate?' into the conversation, “I'm not interested.”
“Excuse me?”
“I just thought I'd throw that out there now, before this goes any further – I'm not interested. So you can stop all the prying... it's getting on my damn nerves.”
She'd sat in silence a full minute before laughing lightly.
“Oh, Leonard, I'm sorry... I'm not interested. I just thought you could use a friend, you know.” She shrugged. “Jim spends almost an equal amount of time with Spock now, playing chess and going over tacticals. Or whatever it is that they do.” She'd looked at him – scrutinizing, he'd thought at the time – and pushed some hair behind her ear. “I just thought maybe you needed someone else to talk to.”
“How charitable of you.”
She tapped a long finger against her lips. “You know, I don't see any reason why you three couldn't just get together every once in a while. Go to the rec, grab a drink...”
McCoy had been too weirded out to say anything.
“Spock and I may not have worked out as a couple, but we're still friends, and let me tell you... he's a lot easier to be friends with than you think.”
“Look, I really -”
“He used to tell me all about the little debates you two engaged in – that's what he called them, 'debates', instead of arguments, which I thought was pretty nice considering what I heard was a lot of cussing and raised voices. Anyway, he had nothing but nice things to say about your level of intelligence.” Her eyes had been on him the entire time, steady and unwavering. “You should try to get to know him.”
It had sounded distinctly like an order.
“While I appreciate the advice,” he'd said eventually, after finding the words, “I don't think so.”
“Look, if you'd just talk to him, set aside your misconceptions of him -”
He'd rolled his eyes at that, and her mouth had snapped shut, into a thin line of irritation.
“God, you're just as stubborn as he is. I don't know why I even try.”
She'd stood and left, but the conversation had never left McCoy's head. He sat in his quarters, hunched over an idle PADD, thinking about it. At the time he'd thought that would be the end of things, but by the next day apparently she'd decided that it was worth another try.
He wondered if... No. Spock wouldn't have gone back on his word. Vulcans were all about honor, after all.
A chime interrupted him from his train of thought. Jim strode into the room before he even had the chance to say anything.
“Hey Bones, up for some dinner?”
“Dammit Jim, what if I'd been in the middle of something scandalous?”
“I'm a huge fan of scandal, you know that – so whaddya say?”
McCoy sighed. “Yeah yeah, let me finish up.”
It was crowded when they reached the dining hall. Jim always managed to pick dinner rush to go and get food, and McCoy suspected it was because he liked seeing everyone all at once, to catch up on the gossip and shake a few hands. This time he bypassed everyone, beelining for a freshly vacated table in the corner.
McCoy sat down heavily across from him, scowling as Jim began to shovel copious amounts of spaghetti into his mouth.
“At this rate your eating habits are more likely to kill you than hostile aliens.”
Jim laughed, choking briefly on a piece of sausage, before sucking up the noodles dangling from his mouth.
“So there are these rumors,” he said, in between bites, “about you and Spock.”
McCoy froze mid bite.
“Hey, I'm just the messenger. It's pretty... well, it's something.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Spock thinks they're completely illogical, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I thought his eyebrows were going to fly off when I told him about them – fucking funny.”
“Are you ever actually going to tell me what they are?”
“Oh yeah, right.” Jim laughed to himself, twirling some noodles on his fork. “Okay, so... you know that thing on Nardori...”
“How could I forget the thing on Nardori?” he said, suspicious. He narrowed his eyes.
“And you know how we found you guys naked?”
This wasn't going to end well. He nodded slowly.
“Well, these rumors... I guess they're more like theories, really. About why you were naked.”
“Jim -”
“God, it's weird.”
“Jim...”
“I reprimanded them of course, as Captain, but oh my god some of the things these people come up with.”
“Is the purpose of this to warn me about them or laugh at my expense?”
“Oh come on, Bones.” Jim chuckled quietly as he picked at a piece of something on his plate, but after a moment his smile faded. He didn't quite meet McCoy's gaze when he looked up. “So, why were you guys naked, anyway?”
“Oh for fucking serious -”
“Hey hey, I'm just curious!” Jim looked around, then leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Okay, some people think you guys... you know. And I wouldn't think anything of it, normally, because I'm above all that rumor mill stuff and you're my friend and Spock is kind of my friend now, too. But then you guys stopped speaking, and I thought maybe...” He gestured with his fork. “You know.”
McCoy sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed at them with the heels of his hands. When he opened them again, Jim was staring at him with an expression of horror on his face.
“Oh god... you did, didn't you?” Jim put his fork down. “You. And Spock. Please tell me I'm off base.”
“Look – it's not like we were just sitting there and decided that being kidnapped and surrounded by creeps was a great time to do it.”
“Oh my god.”
“It was -”
“So you were under mind control.”
“Well -”
“Or like,” Jim was viciously jabbing things with his fork, “you were given some kind of...poison. Alien viagra. Or -”
“None of the above, Jim, god dammit . Would you just drop it?”
There was a terrible moment in which the entire room seemed to quiet, but only a second later the chatter picked up again. McCoy let out the breath he had been holding.
“Look, they threatened us. They had weapons, and we had nothing but our uniforms.”
“Not by the time we got there, you didn't,” Jim snorted.
“I fail to see how any of this is funny.”
“Come on, Bones. I can't believe you guys... oh man.” His eyebrows went up a notch. “Sooo...” He looked at McCoy expectantly.
“I know what you're asking, and you are not getting an answer.”
“I'm pretty sure it's universal law to talk to your best friend about these things.”
“And I'm pretty sure the universe hates me, so you can tell it to fuck off.”
“Think of it this way – you got to do what countless admirals and creepy aliens have always wanted to. Hell, I don't even think Uhura got any of tha...” Jim trailed off, and cleared his throat loudly, as if he'd just said something wrong.
McCoy felt like a lead weight had just settled itself into his stomach. “Excuse me?”
Jim shrugged from across the table, and all of a sudden looked guilty as hell. He wasn't smiling anymore. “Okay, too far...”
“No really, Jim. Please don't tell me you're saying what I think you're saying.”
Jim sighed. He put both his hands in the air in a distinctly defensive gesture. “Okay, the way I heard it, sex is pretty sacred to Vulcans, you know? I'm pretty sure that it's kind of an all or nothing deal with them.” He coughed nervously. “Or so I've heard.”
“And where the hell did you hear this little tidbit, exactly?”
Jim looked really guilty now. “Uhura might have mentioned it...”
“You're conspiring with Uhura now?” Realizing his voice was rising, McCoy gritted his teeth and hissed, “What about all that 'best friend' bullcrap you just fed to me?”
“God Bones, it was just dinner! She asked me to come talk to you - she wouldn't tell me why, just that I should try to get you and Spock talking again. She said it would be better for everyone involved and you know, I kind of have to agree with her.” Jim shook his head. “You've been pissier than usual, and Spock... don't even get me started. He mentioned going to New Vulcan the other day, Bones. And I didn't put two and two together until Uhura brought it up, but seriously.” Jim jabbed his fork at McCoy. “You should talk to him. I never thought I'd say it, but you two should at least schedule some time together to bitch and moan. For old time's sake.”
McCoy wasn't hungry any more, nor was he in the mood for continuing the conversation. He stood abruptly, tray in hand, and stalked off toward the receptacles. Jim was behind him in a flash.
“God, I'm sorry. Look – hey, would you slow down?”
McCoy whirled on him. “What you just told me, Jim, while stuffing your face full of carbs, is that one: I probably damn well popped Spock's precious Vulcan cherry down on that godforsaken planet, and two: this obligates me to become his drinking buddy -”
“That's not -”
“ - and to top this heartwarming little story off, the entire fucking ship is talking about it.” McCoy belatedly realized that he was speaking very loudly, that his face felt very warm, and that there were several people at nearby tables watching them. He inhaled, then exhaled, very slowly.
“Hey, I'm sorry, all right?” Jim's voice was almost at a whisper. He too seemed to notice they were being watched, and shot everyone a stern look. To McCoy, he said, “Let's take this to the hall.”
“I'm not really in the mood,” McCoy grumbled, but he followed his friend out anyway. Once they were in relative peace and quiet, Jim put a hand on his arm.
“Bones, you have to talk to him.” Jim held up a hand before McCoy could protest. “I'm telling you this as your friend – it's obvious you're not over what happened. And it's pretty obvious Spock isn't, either. Do yourself a favor and try to work it out with him.”
“Work what out, exactly? He's a damn Vulcan. All he'll do is deny deny deny that he feels anything but 'neutral' about the whole thing. 'It was logical, Doctor. It is illogical to be upset, Doctor.'” McCoy crossed his arms and scowled. “No offense, Jim, but this is my business... Not yours, and not anybody else's.”
Jim looked indignant at that. McCoy also thought he detected a hint of hurt in his friend's eyes, and he felt immediately guilty.
“Fine. You don't want to listen to a little friendly advice? How about this – as Captain, I order you to work this out with Spock.”
“You're ordering me?”
“You two need to be able to work together, in case we have to go planetside again, so yeah... As Captain, I think you two had better shape up.”
McCoy rubbed at his eyes again, and thought about the past few weeks. He'd felt... tense, yeah. Not that he thought that had anything to do with Spock. He looked back at Jim, who was watching him with an open expression on his face.
“It's pretty ironic that you of all people are giving me advice on how to deal with a one night stand.”
For one nervous moment, McCoy thought Jim was going to blow up at him. He was relieved when his friend's posture loosened.
“I know, right? Feels weird.” Jim winked at him. “Just returning the favor.”
The last thing McCoy wanted to find upon returning to his quarters was Uhura waiting in the hall for him. He contemplated turning around right then and fleeing, but she'd already seen him.
“Dr. McCoy!”
“No more 'Leonard', huh?”
She pursed her lips as he opened his door, and followed him into his quarters.
“I don't remember inviting you in.”
Uhura was silent. She watched him as he stripped off his shirt and changed into a looser and more comfortable sweatshirt. He sat on the bed and waited.
“You need to talk to Spock. I know what happened was a big deal, but you really need to buckle down and talk to him.”
So much for 'Vulcans never lie.' Well, McCoy couldn't blame Spock for talking to Uhura – after all, he'd just let it slip to Jim. “Look, I've already gotten it from my fucking friend today, I don't need to hear it twice.”
Uhura looked briefly like the comment had stung, but shrugged it off. “Well too bad, because I'm not leaving until you understand something.”
He sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I appreciate that you're looking out for him, I really do. But we've never talked. We've argued plenty – or debated, whatever – and we've discussed work related issues, but we've never talked. I'm not sure why you want us to start now.”
“It's obviously affecting him,” she said, voice wavering. “And you. Obviously, in some capacity, you guys got something out of those interactions...”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You're assuming an awful lot, there.”
“You're a real asshole, you know that?” She practically spat the words at him.
McCoy flew to his feet, angrier than he'd felt in a long time. Why was he the bad guy in all this? Why was it his responsibility to go and coddle Spock? It had happened to both of them, against their will, and McCoy was pretty sure he'd not enjoyed it just as much as Spock had not enjoyed it.
Okay, so there was the whole virginity thing. How was he supposed to have known, when Spock had conveniently left that out of the conversation? He had to admit – he felt bad about it. But at the same time, Spock was no delicate damsel in distress.
“Well explain it to me, then, because I'm really fucking baffled. As far as I know, what happened on that goddamn planet happened to the both of us. Spock is doing just as much avoiding as I am.”
Her face softened, but she composed herself quickly. “I know he is...Obviously, that's what Vulcans do. Pretend it never happened. It's why I started in on you - I thought, hey, maybe if I can tell him that you're not completely opposed to have a chat, he'll make a move. But all you did was prove him right.” When he didn't answer her, she forged on. “He's leaving Starfleet because of you. He's going to throw all his hard work and his rank and all the respect he's gained right out the fucking window because of you.”
McCoy was shocked at that. “What?”
“I told him in the beginning he should take care of it. I told him it was the best for everyone, especially for him, but noooo.”
McCoy blinked several times as his brain attempted to catch up.
“Vulcans don't do that, apparently. And because you're so adamant to stay the hell away from him, he's decided you'd probably rather have nothing to do with the whole thing.”
McCoy sputtered. “Whoa whoa, back up -”
“And so his master plan,” she continued, hands gesturing wildly, “for your benefit, is to throw everything away and move back in with dad.”
He managed to catch her attention by stepping forcefully into her line of sight, and she stilled for a moment, looking at him. “Okay, you need to explain what in Christ's name you're talking about. Right. Now.”
Uhura glared at him, then looked away again. She took a deep breath.
McCoy felt dread creeping up his spine. He already knew the answer.
“He's pregnant.”
“...Pregnant.”
“Yes.”
McCoy nodded in confirmation, but did little else. He felt numb all over, though he was sure that wouldn't last long. Already he could feel tendrils of anger lapping at him, in the form of a raging headache.
“Aren't you going to react at all?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Obviously,” she seethed, “that you're going to go talk him into staying.”
“Who am I to tell him what to do? No one felt like informing me of what the fuck was going on, so what the hell do you want from me?” The anger was definitely out in full force again. “It's not like I got him drunk and fucked him, dammit. If he wants to move to New Vulcan and raise a kid then so be it, but I tried the kid thing once already – with someone I was in love with, by the way – and it was a huge fucking failure.”
Uhura was in his face in a snap, an inch away. He could see the fury in her eyes – his own fury times ten, probably - and knew that he'd be losing this argument.
“He didn't ask for this either, you son of a bitch,” she said firmly but quietly, eyes never leaving his. “I'm not asking you to marry him. I'm asking you to figure this out with him.” She backed off a little, but the effect was no less intense. “You know what kind of life is waiting for him if he goes back to the colony, alone and pregnant with a human's kid?”
McCoy thought he had an idea. He'd heard things.
“Can you imagine? Can you imagine how they'd look at that child?”
McCoy sat heavily down onto his bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A dull pain began throbbing behind his eyes, and he counted silently to himself, down from ten, in an attempt to calm his heavy breathing and tumultuous thoughts.
“Of course I'll go talk to him,” he said, after a minute of silence between them. “I'm not that big of an asshole. But that doesn't mean I'm not pissed as hell, either.”
Uhura nodded and uncrossed her arms, her posture become more friendly. She smoothed down the edges of her uniform as she spoke. “I tried to get him to talk to you. He thought it was illogical to involve you when it was clear you didn't want to have anything to do with him.”
“Yeah, well, there's more involved than just him now.”
She nodded again, in silent agreement, and then cleared her throat. “I'm sorry,” she said, “for all that. And for this. I just... I hope you two can work things out.”
He waved her off. After she left, he ran his hands compulsively through his hair, mind reeling.
Spock would still be on shift for another hour.
McCoy leaned over to the bedside table, throwing open a drawer and shuffling through the contents. When he found what he was looking for he settled himself against the pillows, and clicked the small device on.
Joanna blinked to life, mid skip. She continued to jump rope in his hand, smiling and laughing. When she was done she gave him a little wave, and then the holopic cut off and started over again. He let it play for a full minute before moving his eyes to the ceiling, Joanna skipping in his peripheral vision.
He thought about his last message to her, sitting unfinished in the computer, from three months ago. He hadn't found the words yet and had, in recent days, forgotten it completely. A twinge of guilt and then pain lanced through him.
”Daddy, why'd you go away?” She'd pouted in her last message to him, unshed tears shining in her eyes. ”I miss you...”
He'd been such a coward, running away from Jocelyn and leaving his little girl behind. He missed her more than he could even articulate to her, and yet all evidence pointed to the contrary – his absence, his lack of communication, and his failure to visit even when he was on Earth and living but a few miles away.
And here he was again, about to be a father. Only this time there would be no foundation for raising the kid – he didn't love Spock. They hadn't planned this. To top it all off, Vulcans and humans had completely different methods for raising children, and McCoy was pretty sure he wouldn't approve of Vulcan child rearing. He loved his emotions (most of the time), loved expressing them and loved it when other people expressed them. From birth he'd encouraged Joanna to smile when she was happy, laugh when she felt joy, and cry when she was upset.
His baby, his little girl. He thought of her last birthday, the way her eyes had danced with joy when she'd unwrapped his present to her and cracked open that music box. She'd traced the edges of it with her fingers, memorizing the words of the poem engraved into the cover, and had whispered it to him after the party as they were saying goodbye.
McCoy shifted his eyes back to the holopic and he clicked the device off, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and moving slowly to rise. He returned the holopic to its drawer and then stared mutely after it.
I'm sorry, baby. A huge fucking failure, indeed.
He wrestled with what he would tell Spock. Was he in for the long haul? Would he watch from afar? Did Vulcans even have child support? The ultimate question was, of course, what was best for the kid – one dad and a bunch of lies, or two dads who quasi hated each other.
One thing at a time, McCoy, he thought, shaking his head. For all he knew, Spock would remain adamant about returning to New Vulcan, and in the end the kid was inside of him, not McCoy. And there was the issue of McCoy being human. Spock might want to raise the child to be as logical as himself, and McCoy knew that Spock considered him one of the “least logical humans” he'd ever met.
God dammit, one thing at a time. Jesus Christ.
He was getting ahead of himself. In a spur of the moment decision, he began to change into something a little less 'lie around and sulk' and a little more composed, and then headed out to wait for Spock.
Spock looked briefly surprised when he spotted McCoy waiting in the hall outside the turbolift, which meant Uhura hadn't talked to him yet. The Vulcan nodded in greeting and then strode quickly forward. McCoy got the impression that he was attempting to flee, if Vulcans did that sort of thing.
“Wait.”
Spock came to a stop, but remained facing the hall in front of them.
“I'm taking you to sickbay for an examination,” McCoy said, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. Spock didn't turn.
“I do not require an examination at this time,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I'm taking you for one anyway,” McCoy demanded firmly.
“Doctor, I must assure you, my annual physical left me in excellent condition and I will not require another until approximately four point two months from now. I have not recently fallen ill, I have not come in contact with any volatile or potentially dangerous substances, nor have I been exposed to any contagions.” Spock turned to face him then, one eyebrow slightly elevated. “Therefore, I am not in need of an examination at this time.”
McCoy rolled his eyes, greatly exaggerating the gesture. “This isn't your annual physical, Spock. Now, I need you to come to sickbay with me, or I'm going to have to pull some shenanigans to get you down there. Either way, you're going.”
Spock narrowed his eyes. “I was unaware that you had the authority to force me into sickbay without reason. It is true you are the ship's Chief Medical Officer, however, Starfleet regulation -”
“Starfleet regulation,” McCoy interrupted, lowering his voice, “requires the examination of all pregnant crew members.”
McCoy had never seen this look on Spock before – stunned. The Vulcan tried valiantly to save face, but the widening of the eyes and little 'o' of his mouth had already given him away. He cleared his throat and bowed his head, averting his gaze.
“Doctor, I am unsure -”
“Cut the bullshit, Spock. I know, okay?”
Spock nodded and turned from McCoy, head still bowed. McCoy could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“Lieutenant Uhura has spoken with you?”
“I'd really like to not do this in the hallway, if that's okay with you.” McCoy came up alongside Spock. “Sickbay?”
When they arrived, McCoy dismissed Nurse Chapel and then pulled a privacy curtain around them. He listened briefly for signs that there were people nearby as Spock situated himself onto the biobed.
After making sure they were alone, he motioned for Spock to lift his shirt, and the Vulcan hesitated only briefly before pulling it up and revealing his pale stomach. The only sign that anything was amiss was the slight chub Spock had achieved, easily noticeable in the curve of the dark hair trailing from his belly button downward. He wondered briefly about Vulcan pregnancies, but then another thought occurred to him.
“You do know you're a man, right?”
Spock just looked at him, expression unreadable. “Quite aware, Doctor.”
McCoy pulled a monitor closer to the bed. He unattached the scanner and held it to his mouth, breathing onto it in an attempt to warm the cold instrument.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
Spock let out a small breath as McCoy pressed the scanner against his skin. “I too was unaware of this particular aspect of my biology,” he admitted. “Pregnancy in Vulcan males is extremely rare, though many believe the number of Vulcan males able to bear children is higher than purported, due to the relatively small number of Vulcans in homosexual relationships.”
“In other words, unless a guy gets knocked up, there's no way to count them.”
Spock did the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, head nodding slightly to the side, as McCoy ran the scanner up and down his stomach, then side to side. “You are correct. It is not something that the Vulcan scientific community looks for in newborns, like they would for genetic defects or abnormalities. Many believe it to be an outdated mutation from a time when females were scarce.”
The monitor next to them beeped insistently, then flashed on. An image of Spock's stomach came slowly into focus.
“There it is,” McCoy breathed. The mass of cells that should have still been in the embryonic stage looked more like a developing fetus to McCoy, and it appeared to be healthy despite its strange genetic combination. He was surprised to feel a certain measure of relief at that. The scanner beeped to indicate the fetal heartbeat, steady, strong, and fast.
“He has a Vulcan heartbeat,” Spock said after a moment of silence, startling McCoy.
“He?”
“Vulcans are hyper aware of their own physiology,” he explained. “I am as aware of the fetus as I am aware of my digestive system, brain functions, and internal regulators. He is male, and is quite lively.”
“He's also more developed than a human baby would be at this point.”
Spock looked at the monitor and nodded in agreement. “Vulcan gestation is generally faster than a human's. He has not developed as I had expected, but I attribute that to his mostly human dna.”
McCoy silently watched the image, his chest tight.
“If you're so in tune, how come you didn't know about this?”
“Having been born and lived all of my life this way, all seemed normal until conception actually occurred.”
McCoy abruptly pulled the scanner away and returned it to its attachment on the monitor. He crossed his arms and furrowed his brows. Spock met his gaze evenly, his mouth a a thin, straight line, and said nothing.
“Uhura told me you were planning on resigning,” McCoy said finally.
“That is true.”
“And just when were you planning on telling me?”
Spock did the head tilt again, and McCoy could feel his agitation growing. “Our interactions have never been anything beyond strained, and in the weeks following the … incident, you made your aversion to my presence quite clear. It was logical to assume you would not be pleased by the news of the pregnancy, nor willing to contribute.”
“That's one hell of an assumption,” McCoy growled. “I don't know how Vulcans do things, but on Earth it's not really kosher to run off and birth a kid without telling the father.”
Spock looked at him quizzically. “I had heard the opposite during my time in the Academy,” he said, “that fathers quite frequently abandon both their wives and children, and that females quite frequently keep the identity of the father a secret, especially in the case of one night encounters.”
McCoy knew the unspoken part of that sentence: “...like ours.”
“You, in fact,” Spock continued, “fit into both of these categories, which led me to believe that joining my father on the colony was the best -”
“Wait a fucking minute, you bastard,” McCoy snarled. “Just what the hell do you mean by that?”
“Did you not leave your wife and child behind on Earth?”
McCoy had to physically step away, in an attempt to calm himself. It failed. “Completely. Different.,” he seethed. “I left because my wife and I fought all the time – got into it real nasty – and I thought it would be better for Joanna if she didn't have to watch her mom and dad hold screaming matches for the rest of her life. I didn't abandon them, god dammit.”
Spock watched him as he paced, fists clenched. “I didn't abandon them, Spock, I left so that she'd have some semblance of a normal life.” He was at a loss, feelings of doubt creeping up on him. Is that why he left? Was it that, or cowardice?
“Perhaps I am leaving for the same reason,” Spock said quietly. “At best, we are able to work amicably together to achieve a goal. At worst...”
“And what's it going to be like on the colony? You think he's going to grow up with tons of friends? He's mostly human, Spock, what if he can't suppress his emotions like everybody else? Hell, what if it's too hot for him?”
Spock closed his eyes. “I too have had doubts.”
“I can't -” McCoy's voice hitched. “I can't spend the rest of my life knowing I have a kid out there somewhere. I just can't do it.”
“You should not feel any obligation to this child.” Spock voice was firm, his eyes glistening with intensity in the soft glow of the room. “You did not choose this.”
Uhura's words came to him, and McCoy found himself grasping onto them now. “You didn't either.”
They both fell silent, staring at each other, until Spock averted his gaze. He slid off the biobed in one smooth motion, but McCoy shot his arm out before the Vulcan could leave.
“Spock... I'm not a fool. I have no delusions about our relationship – what it is now, or what it'll be in the future. When I'm around you I feel like screaming, and I'm sure, in some dark corner of that brain of yours, you feel the same. But like you said... we're capable of working amicably together, at the very least. This kid... If we make this our goal...” He sighed heavily, his arm falling away. “I don't know, maybe I did abandon my daughter.” His throat felt dry, and he swallowed thickly. “I'm failing her, that's for sure, and I hate myself for it. I can't do that twice, Spock. I don't want to be that kind of man.”
Unable to look at Spock any longer, McCoy turned from him. He heard footsteps as the Vulcan moved a few feet away, then stopped again.
“I will consider all options presented to me,” Spock said. And then he left.
It took McCoy an entire week before he could sit down and finish his message to Joanna. He hadn't bothered with grand apologies – in the end he'd had no excuse, and he said as much in the recording. When she responded he'd been astonished by her lack of reaction, by the normalcy of the message. She'd chatted about classes and taking up piano lessons and at the end, with a shy wave, said “I love you, Daddy.” No mention of the three month bout of silence, no tears, no anger.
Just forgiveness.
Joanna hadn't been the only one to give him a pass that week. Spock had approached him not three days after, beckoning for him to follow.
“I will remain on the Enterprise,” he'd said, not making eye contact. “I believe it would be beneficial to the child.”
And thus had begun the strangest few months of McCoy's entire life. He and Spock, at Uhura's urging, began spending every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon together, “bonding” as she called it. It obviously held some double meaning, because the lieutenant had winked and then awkwardly cleared her throat the first time she'd said it, and the doctor could have sworn that Spock's cheeks had taken a green flush, if only for a second.
Both McCoy and Spock had been united in resisting the activity, but Uhura had been relentless.
“How are you two going to raise a child when you can't even say three words without fighting?”
McCoy didn't have the heart to tell her that the afternoons together did exactly that – devolve into heated disagreements. McCoy always left them feeling inexplicably invigorated, however, head buzzing pleasantly with adrenaline. They were never like his fights with Jocelyn. Spock sparred with him using words and a surprising amount of wit, about politics and the difference between human and Vulcan philosophies, and a variety of other topics. Jocelyn had always gone straight to personal attacks - insulting his intelligence, his profession, his body - and sometimes even threw things.
As the pregnancy progressed, however, their discussions became more about the baby and therefore more stressful. A frequent topic of conversation was the name of the baby. McCoy had insisted off the bat that it not be Vulcan.
“You have not even heard the name.”
“Well I don't need to hear it. I think I can guess well enough – Speck? Spork?”
Spock had abandoned the neutral mask he used to favor around McCoy after only three of their “play dates”, and his glares came much more freely. “You are grossly misinformed, as those are not of Vulcan origin. In addition, Vulcan names take a variety of forms. I attended school with a pupil named Talrek and my father's closest friend was Sylen, for example.”
McCoy stared at him incredulously. “Talrek? Really?”
“That is not the name I am considering, no -”
McCoy was quick to interrupt. “I'm thinking along the lines of Max, or Henry.”
Spock's upper lip curled. “Henry?”
“Yeah, Henry. You know, a nice, strong, human name.”
“I fail to see how Henry sounds any more pleasing than Sylen.” One of Spock's eyebrows rose in amusement. “I believe the name Henry is what many human children would deem 'nerdy', Doctor.”
“It's better than Tick Tock or whatever the hell you're cooking up in that computer brain of yours. The kid's going to be mostly human after all, and grow up around humans. It'd be nice if he had one less thing to worry about on the playground.”
Spock actually sighed, something McCoy had never heard him do before. Must be the hormones, he thought.
“If you would just let me -”
“All right, Spock, you want a Vulcan name? It's going in the middle, and that's final. He can be Bob Smock McCoy for all I fucking care, as long as the 'Bob' or what the hell ever is sitting out in front.”
They'd never decided on a name. Not that time, or the next, or the one after. They discussed other things, though. There were plenty of baby conversations – more than Bones had ever had with his ex wife – and he felt like they were enough to fill a lifetime. How to raise the child always made for an exciting afternoon.
“I agree that he should be raised with the human philosophy of emotion.”
“Well fucking great, we both agree on something. Praise Jesus and Vulcan Zeus, or whoever the hell you guys have.” McCoy threw his hands up in mock praise. “And can I assume, since you'll be raising him in this 'human philosophy' just as much as I will, you'll be adopting a little of it yourself?”
Spock narrowed his eyes.
McCoy knew what that meant. “You dont't think it's going to be a little sketchy when he turns, oh, two, and wonders why one daddy smiles and the other looks grumpy all the time?”
Spock nodded finally, in agreement, but the answer he gave wasn't the one McCoy was looking for. “In addition to raising him using human methods I have planned to share with him some of our Surakian teachings, so that he may understand his Vulcan heritage and my own lack of emotional expression.”
“To a goddamn two year old?” McCoy rolled his eyes. “You're overestimating the patience of a toddler juuuust a bit.”
McCoy could tell that he was pushing Spock's buttons. “When he is the appropriate age -”
“That's great, Spock, but in the meantime? Human kids have this thing about goofing off, and if you look pissy all the time he's going to think you hate him.”
“I will explain to him that I do not.”
“Actions speak louder than words.”
“Some part of him is Vulcan, and so I am confident that at an early age he will be capable of understanding this concept.”
McCoy shook his head. “And what if he doesn't, Spock? Are you going to give in and smile once in a while?”
Spock looked mildly horrified. He turned his head and looked at the wall. “We are getting ahead of ourselves,” he said.
“Like hell. I'm not waiting until the last minute to talk about this.”
“He will realize my affection for him by the amount of time I devote to his upbringing.”
“Riiiiight.”
“It is only logical.”
It was frustrating trying to talk to Spock about these things. It made him doubt their ability to buckle down and raise a child, to become a parental unit, and there were days when he seriously reconsidered what he'd gotten himself into. There were others, when Spock allowed him to feel the baby kick or when he could see the baby during an exam, where he was filled with optimism. He latched onto those whenever he felt like tearing his hair out.
Spock's stomach was large and cumbersome at the end of his sixth month. The entire ship knew of the pregnancy now and therefore the truth about what had transpired on Nardori. They'd received their fair share of confused inquiries about marriage, love, and the like, but for the most part there was an air of excitement about the ship.
Despite his aversion to being touched, Spock patiently allowed crew members a brief rub of his belly. Chekov especially seemed fascinated, and his voice trilled with excitement whenever he talked about the baby.
“I vill teach him Russian,” he'd said on more than one occasion. “Vith speaking the Russian, Wulcan, and English he vill be an unstoppable force.” Spock always patiently attempted to pry away from the young crewmember, but once Chekov was intent and focused it was a near impossible task. More than once McCoy had caught Spock in a corner with Chekov tapping at his stomach, “chasing the baby” as he called it. “I can suggest Russian names, if you are interested. Oh oh oh do you feel that? He is kicking at me! Russians do exceptionally vell vith children. If you ewer need a sitter...”
Jim was, of course, also in on the baby craze. He had claimed uncle status early on. “Everyone needs a crazy uncle!”
“You're crazy all right. And not 'endearing' crazy, either,” McCoy had said.
Uhura had dropped more than a few hints about godparenting. “They're important, if you hadn't already thought of it,” she'd said one day, as they ate together in the mess. “Especially with our jobs. Everyone knows going into a mission that some might not make it. It's just the reality. I think it'd be comforting to know that your kid is taken care of, no matter what happens.”
All of their friends and crewmates seemed to have some advice for them. McCoy was used to it, having gone through it once before, but it was obvious the whole thing ate away at Spock's nerves. He began locking himself away in his quarters when he was not on duty and sometimes, on rare occasions, he'd end up in McCoy's quarters, sitting silently on the bed and looking anywhere but at the doctor.
The first time it had happened, McCoy had been too flabbergasted to say anything.
“The child misses your presence,” Spock had said, as way of explanation. “He has become accustomed to your distinctive vocal patterns and I feel his discomfort when you are away.”
McCoy had felt an overwhelming warmth spread through him at that statement. He'd put his hands all over Spock's stomach, talking in soft tones to the baby, telling him about Earth and his older sister, and anything else that popped into his head. The visits from Spock suddenly expanded from Tuesdays and Thursdays to almost every day for at least a few hours. They'd sit, not actually talking to each other but chatting with the baby back and forth, until duty called one or both of them away.
Things got a whole lot messier in Spock's last month of pregnancy. McCoy had thought their disagreements about the baby's upbringing, name, and education had been at times harsh, but these took it to a whole new level.
Spock still hadn't stopped following his captain on away missions. This was their sixth argument on the matter, though it was the only one done during Spock's actual final few weeks of pregnancy (and in the middle of the transporter room). McCoy was furious and terrified that Spock was even considering attending.
“I forbid it, Spock. As the goddamn Chief Medical Officer I am officially banning you from going.”
Spock was insistent, his voice and tone louder than usual. “It is a diplomatic mission, Doctor. Not exploratory, not demanding physically, but diplomatic. As First Officer, my presence is required.”
“Like hell it is. The answer is NO.”
“You do not have the authority to restrict my responsibilities if they pose no risk to my health.”
McCoy felt his face heating up, and knew he was beet red at this point. Hell, he was seeing red. “How about as the fucking father of that goddamn kid, then? Who knows what fucking affect those damned transporters have on unborn babies. You could beam back with a puppy in your stomach for all we fucking know.” From somewhere beside them, Scotty grumbled something indignant, but McCoy was on a roll. “And don't get me started on this ship's diplomatic record -”
“Hey hey now, let's give the illustrious Captain a little credit, huh?” Jim stepped nervously up to them. “We're going down with a security team, Bones, if that's any -”
“It's not. So no go, Jim, Spock. I'm not authorizing this.”
“That is perfectly fine, Doctor, as your authorization is unnecessary.” Spock turned toward the transporter pad.
“Oh hell no you don't. Jim, order him to stay behind.”
Jim took a step back, hands up. “Uh...”
“May I remind you, Captain, that demoting or otherwise altering a pregnant crewmember's tasks when not necessary to their health or the health of the baby is in violation of Starfleet Regulation 546.85?”
Jim looked like he was in physical pain. He let out a huge sigh. “God Bones, look – he'll be fine. You know how in tune Vulcans are. If he were feeling something, he'd say so.” He laughed nervously as McCoy glared at him. “It's not logical to put yourself in danger, right?”
“Entirely illogical,” Spock agreed.
McCoy tried counting in his head, tried thinking about his daughter's pretty curls and the open fields of his home town, but his face remained very, very hot. “Fine. Fine. But you're updating me every hour. No, scratch that, every half hour. And I'm having everyone in medical on standby.”
Jim looked only vaguely relieved. “Right, great! Updates every half hour – Spock, you'll be doing those?” When the Vulcan nodded, Jim joined him on the pad, along with their security team, and said “Don't worry Bones, I'll take good care of him.” And away they went.
Forty five minutes later, and McCoy was calling them.
“Spock goddammit, I told you to update every THIRTY goddamn minutes.”
“I apologize, Dr. McCoy, but the debates are becoming heated. I will update you in another thirty.”
An hour later, and McCoy was again attempting to contact Jim, Spock, and the security personnel, but this time no one at all was answering.
“Their signatures, Scotty?”
“Strong an' steady, Doctor. They may be in a part o' the planet outside communicator range. Tends ta go fuzzy sometimes.” He looked at McCoy sympathetically. “I'm sure they're jus' fine. Mr. Spock an' the Cap'n know how to handle themselves.”
The message they received not fifteen minutes later told a different story.
“Scott! Bea....p! Can y....ear me? Spo....abor.”
McCoy hoped Scotty was properly embarrassed. He also hoped that the broken bits of message they were receiving weren't what he thought they were.
When the team materialized onto the ship, Spock was bent nearly double, breathing heavily and clutching at his stomach. The medical team had been on standby and they rushed forward, helping him to lie on the gurney and then whisking him away. Jim was trying to speak to McCoy, but the doctor barely listened, nearly sprinting along with the gurney down into sickbay.
“Jesus Bones, I'm sorry. Things got really intense and all of a sudden Spock was-”
“How long ago?”
“Uh... like forty minutes maybe? Kind of around that last message...”
Nurse Chapel rushed up to them as they entered sickbay. McCoy helped her and the team roll Spock onto one of the beds. Spock was panting, his stomach rising and falling rapidly with each breath, and his eyes were glittering with pain.
“God dammit, there's no where for the baby to come out of. Vulcan superiority my ass.” McCoy, who was at this point far past etiquette, moved the Vulcan's chin until they were eye to eye. “Unless there's something you aren't telling me... There's been a lot of that going around, hasn't there?”
“Leonard McCoy,” Chapel barked. He was unceremoniously shoved to the side as she moved herself between him and Spock. He sputtered an objection, but she was having none of it.
“Myself and nurses Taylor and Elsa will be performing the c-section. You can watch.”
“Excuse me?”
Chapel motioned for another nurse to bring him a chair. “You can sit right here, up by his head, and whisper soothing things to him as he gives birth to your child. What you cannot do is bark orders at him, cut him open, or anything else angry or doctorly. Got it?”
“As Chief -”
“As CMO you are emotionally compromised in this case which leaves you out and me in.” She looked at him sternly, daring him to object. Instead, he sighed.
“Okay, okay...”
Spock let out a pained grunt and squeezed his eyes shut as another contraction wracked his body. McCoy had done his reading – and knew that Nurse Chapel had as well. Vulcan labors were quick when done naturally, which meant that if he'd been having contractions for forty or more minutes, he was ready to go. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Spock's hands gripping at the sheets.
The medical team went to work quickly, and McCoy tried his best to focus on the sound of the fetal heartbeat mixed with that of Spock's, and not on the scalpel gleaming above Spock's belly. Spock was given a local, and immediately his eyes began to glaze.
“Doctor,” he moaned, “A name. We have not chosen -”
“We can worry about that later, Spock.” When we know the kid's okay...
Spock kept trying. “Vulcans... it is custom to have the name ready, to utter... to utter it as soon as the child enters the world.”
Spock's fingers were still grappling with the sheets, pulling them up from the side of the bed and closer to his body. On impulse, McCoy covered them with his own hand, and squeezed. The Vulcan looked at him sharply.
“All right, I'll bite,” said McCoy, trying to ignore the questioning look in Spock's eyes and the not entirely unpleasant buzzing at his fingertips. “What name do you have in mind?”
Spock's fingers squeezed back. “Noah,” he whispered, and in the same breath, “My mother used to tell of an ancient Earth God, unhappy with his creations. He tried to destroy them but his man – Noah – he built a great ship to save his species and many others.”
“Noah and the ark,” McCoy murmured.
Spock closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. McCoy could see his facade slowly slipping away, perhaps from pain, or perhaps from the drugs. “It is a highly improbable tale,” Spock said, “but I never told her so. It was her favorite story to tell me. She insisted on sitting with me as I fell asleep.”
There was a sick, slipping sound, and McCoy looked up just in time to see Nurse Chapel pull a slimy, green and pink form from Spock's domed stomach. A second later limbs flailed to the side and the thing began screaming and batting at the air.
McCoy untangled his hand from Spock's and held out shaky arms as the nurse settled the crying boy into his arms. The umbilical cord, a brilliant green, lay hotly against his arm, still connected somewhere inside Spock.
He looked down at the little boy, all wet and full of creases and wrinkles, and then kissed the slick black hair and the tips of those little pointed ears. He looked just like Joanna when she was born, a little button nose smooshed and flat in the center of a round face, dark thick hair, a soft chin. He could sense Spock's gaze on them, and he held the baby up between both of them.
All his fears simultaneously brimmed at the surface and then disappeared, replaced by something else entirely. An overwhelming sense of love. He didn't know what would happen, whether he and Spock could ever be anything but two bickering idiots, whether this child would ever understand that. But the kid would know love. His love, Spock's love, and a whole shipful of love.
“Noah it is,” he said, voice cracking. “Noah David.”
