Title: Distance and Time
Ship: McCoy/Uhura
Author: Team McHura – the bestest team in the universe
Rating: PG
Warnings: Bad singing…self reflection…internal musings
Disclaimer: No eardrums were destroyed during the writing of this fic.

Secret…

That was the one condition she levied when this thing between the two began. Always the private person, McCoy had been completely on board. Unless too many bottles of Beam or Jack were thrown in the mix and then discretion and the filter he'd been blessed with went out the window. He could count on one hand, two fingers to be exact, who had seen him act in a manner unbecoming of a Southern raised gentleman. James T. Kirk was one and the other…Nyota.

Now as McCoy watched Nyota stand on that transporter pad prepared to beam down to Starbase 11, a mission that could separate them for days or months he needed everyone to know that her smile was the sun to his sky. An inconspicuous wave and soft smile were the only shows of affection he received during their professional and very public goodbye. It was difficult to quell the desire to cup her face and lose time in her kiss. No instead he watched as she disappeared particle by particle…and took a piece of his heart with her.

That night McCoy opted to waste the hours with paperwork instead of being driven to insanity in the solitude of his quarters. There would be no vision of Nyota in his Ole Miss t-shirt with her bottom barely covered and hair that flowed like waves down her back. She wouldn't slip into his lap as she replaced the pile of ancient and dusty books he held there. The room would be void of the scent of jasmine that lingered long after Nyota had stretched for the final time, returned her hair to the regulation ponytail, and drudged her way to the corridor where she was housed. He would only find emptiness that threatened to rip the scab from his wounded heart.

McCoy woke to the bothersome desktop alert. His fingertips did their best to remove the crook that had taken residence in his neck. Two clicks and an image of Nyota appeared on the screen. She smiled but the light failed to reach her eyes. Nyota's hair was gathered over one shoulder and as her body leaned closer to the screen he could make out the worn lettering of the same shirt that had plagued his thoughts hours before.

"I wanted to say goodnight."

Nyota looked around nervously as she tortured her bottom lip with her teeth. Suddenly the action ceased. The full beautiful alto of her voice resonated. "Len…" He understood completely. Words only got in the way when feelings ran this deep. The transmission continued for a few seconds – the screen snowed – then went black. He played the loop four more times and then just stopped counting before he poured a drink and lost himself in her.

***

McCoy twisted the glass between his fingers. Half of him wanted another fix, but the other reminded him that one more drink would tip his mood into that dark place. He set down his glass with a sigh and shoved the bottle back into the left drawer (his "medicine cabinet," Jim called it). He rarely if ever drank alone anymore, but the world was too much with him these days. Nyota was too much with him. He missed her like hell…and he realized…just today…in the past hour…how much he…well, he'd say it: Loved her.

Dammit.

If he found Cupid he'd beat that diapered bastard to death with his own arrow.

***

A timeless melody – one he used to sing in his heavier drinking days – weaved through his brain like a siren's call and he hummed it under his breath. His warbled baritone echoed in his office but he didn't care. He hated himself for his juvenile behavior in response to Ny's absence, but he found little solace or comfort in anything else.

Beyond the walls of his office a voice softly harmonized with McCoy.

The song died on his lips and the notes caught in his throat.

Hallucinations due to inebriation or depression…

Did they knock? "Come in," he murmured.

Certifiably insane.

"Hey."

McCoy blinked twice as Nyota came over and planted herself in his lap. Instinctively his arms circled her waist.

Soft fingers raked through his hair and caused his eyes to shut in quiet enjoyment. It had to be a dream.

"I love you." The words escaped without permission.

Slowly her smile faded replaced by a look of apprehension. "That's the bourbon talking."

"No it's not." Not the time to argue. "Aren't you still on assignment?"

Nyota shrugged and he read the truth in her eyes, "Yes but we get time off, same as everyone else." She snorted and looked away. "Two weeks, we were together two weeks before this, that's it. Crazy. I shouldn't feel…"

"Feel what Ny? Alive?" His lips quirked, "Crazy's right on the money, we weren't lookin' for it, but it happened."

She swallowed, "Are you happy?"

Fear, what did she have to be afraid of, any man would be blessed to have her.

He held her gaze and confronted both their fears, "I'd be a fool to say otherwise. I'm lovesick and if that's not reason enough to be happy I don't know what is."

"Me too." Her voice cracked and he moved his gaze to a speck on the wall. He'd lose it if he connected with the emotion in her eyes. Dammit. Why were her orders so long? A week, two weeks, or a month that he could handle but not all this. Not when they just started. "I missed you and everybody knew it."

McCoy's eyes lowered and she kissed the small pout his lips formed.

Tension subsided and he smiled.

"How long before you leave?" McCoy asked against her lips.

"Two weeks."

"Let's make the most of the time we have." McCoy allowed her to lead him out of his office mausoleum. Time was time, and he knew he'd miss her again; maybe not as badly, but the ache would eat at him. They would weather this storm - together.