Title: Eye of the Hurricane

Author: KarraCaz

Series: TOS: Spock, McCoy, Kirk, plus other startrek and non-series characters.

Disclaimer: Startrek is the property of Paramount/Viacom. I merely play with the characters for my pleasure and not for any profit.

Follows on loosely from Ghost in the Machine

PG13 for the most part but the story does contain m/m sexual references.

Chapter 1:

I have been running from the truth,

I have been running since my youth,

Time to end this running…

o0o

"Spock, you listening to me?"

Jerked abruptly out of his thoughts Spock straightened from his examination of the shuttle's exterior inspection panel. His breath misted in the wintry air as he focused on McCoy. "I beg pardon, Doctor McCoy. You were saying…?"

McCoy's eyes, sharper than one of his own laser scalpels continued to inspect the Vulcan. Muffled up in a hooded, environmental jacket, with a length of cloth wound about his forehead and ears, extra protection against the cold, the First Officer had a vaguely roguish air.

"For the third time, I asked if you'd come up with anything. You've been staring at that tricorder screen for the last five minutes. Are those oversized, jackrabbit ears of yours frostbitten by any chance? Or maybe… you're just in love."

At the remark, the dark brows, already glistening with hoarfrost, twitched slightly beneath the covering headband. Apparently quite aware of the doctor's intention to antagonise him, the First Officer regarded McCoy with almost childlike innocence.

"My ears are within the normal size range for Vulcans, I believe, Doctor McCoy. Moreover, while the cold is debilitating, as far as I am aware, it has not altered the efficiency of my hearing."

"Answer the question, Godammit." McCoy returned brusquely. "Are we marooned here – wherever here is – or not?"

The First Officer never kept score of either his victories or defeats in the constant battle of wits McCoy and he fought. However, in this instance he became conscious of a distinct, if somewhat disturbing, satisfaction at McCoy's evident chagrin. He replied without any attempt to buffer the truth.

"Affirmative, the shuttle is quite inoperative. As you can see, the chassis has suffered considerable damage. It will not fly again without substantial repair work. A task we are ill-equipped to accomplish at this time."

He transferred his attention back to the instrument he held in front of him.

"Your assumption about the flora and fauna also appears correct. The vegetation and animal life on this world is inimical to Humans."

"My analysis is correct, I think you mean."

Spock ceded the point, "Whatever you wish, Doctor. I have neither the inclination nor the time to debate semantics with you at the moment."

He continued with his report as if uninterrupted. "Without dietary augmentation, you will find it difficult to digest enough proteins to sustain life. Moreover, even with the necessary amino acids and peptides, prolonged ingestion will result in grave side effects."

McCoy nodded. He blew on his hands to warm them, already quite aware of Spock's information. He pulled up the collar of the heavy jacket, nestling his chin into the warmth of his own body heat. His penetrating look cooler than the atmosphere he gazed at the First Officer. Their relationship, always on the tempestuous side, had undergone a noticeable decline in recent weeks. There was no longer anything even remotely affable in their verbal fencing. "Inimical to Humans maybe but you'rea Vulcan. According to my reckoning, that makes you immune."

"My metabolism as you well know, while similar to yours, is in effect divergent enough to protect me from the more unpleasant physical symptoms. So yes, I am immune, Doctor McCoy. On the other hand, you may have observed this particular landmass has undergone a climatic shift. It is currently in the grip of a modest ice age." For emphasis, Spock prodded the ground with the heel of his boot. Rock-hard, he made no impression on the earth whatsoever. "There will be few, if any, fruits, cereals, edible nuts or roots that I may eat. I am, therefore, as reliant on the shuttles rations as either you, Mr. Scott, Ensign Chekov or the Captain."

"Well isn't that a damn shame," McCoy retorted tartly. "So, unless the Enterprise finds us within six weeks or maybe eight if we eke out what supplies we have, we're all dead men. Is that what you're saying, Spock? That's a pretty bleak picture you're painting – even for you."

"I am merely presenting you with the facts, Doctor. How you interpret them is your own affair." The First Officer eyed McCoy with a conspicuous lack of expression before adding, "Although, you may wish to bear in mind that the chances of the Enterprise finding us at all are extremely slim. The plasma storm we encountered, forced us far from our designated route."

"Well life just keeps getting better and better."

McCoy switched his glare from Spock to where Jim Kirk and young Chekov were cutting off the bare lower branches of a few squat trees preparatory to making a fire for the evening. Spock followed McCoy's gaze, eyes drawn as if by magnetic attraction across the small clearing.

"So, what happened to there are always possibilities?"

Spock tore his gaze away from Kirk and Chekov, fixed his wandering attention back on McCoy. "On that point I … may have been in error."

"Oh, that's just dandy." McCoy murmured. "Now that we need one, you're suddenly all out of logical solutions."

"I believe a miracle is more in keeping with our present situation. A phenomenon that falls more within your province than mine."

"I'm a doctor not a magician, Spock. Scotty's the one who pulls the proverbial rabbit out of the hat just this side of total destruction."

"Agreed, our salvation may depend on Chief Scott's undoubted acumen in that area. However, in the meantime…" He turned away, communing with his tricorder once more, pointedly signalling the conversation at an end.

McCoy had other ideas. "You want to know something, Spock?"

"You have something further to report, Doctor?" Spock lowered the instrument once more. Prior acquaintance had taught him that he would not be left alone until McCoy made known the true aim of the exchange. "Very well, continue if you must."

The chief surgeon rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip before he plunged on, his voice characteristically gruff. "Although I hate to admit it, you have me confused, Spock."

He studied the Vulcan with a penetrating intensity that fleetingly brought Sarek to Spock's mind.

Head tilted, the First Officer regarded the doctor steadily in return. "Not an entirely novel occurrence I would presume, judging from past experience."

"Oh, that's good. Ho, ho, very funny. Excuse me, while I split my sides laughing." McCoy turned his back to the biting wind. He leaned heavily against the shuttle's side and hunched further into his coat. "You've been avoidin' me lately. I want to know why."

"You are mistaken, Doctor."

"No, I don't think so. You heard that gossip 'bout you and Jim. That's when this cold-shoulder treatment began. Don't deny it, Spock. You figure maybe I had a hand in starting the rumours."

McCoy, like nearly everyone else on board the Enterprise, had taken note of the irreverent chitchat on the ships all-talk channel that linked Jim and Spock together as lovers. He also recognised Spock's acute aversion to any intrusion into what he considered his personal affairs. Pun most definitely intended, he thought caustically. To have his innermost emotions revealed publicly was, McCoy knew, anathema to the Vulcan, particularly since he had always denied any such feelings existed.

Perhaps if the rumours had, indeed, been false, Spock might have weathered the firestorm of gossip and innuendo that swept through the ship. However, while on Sassandran, in a last ditch effort to save Kirk, who had been kidnapped by a semi-immortal life form, Spock had laid bare the profound attachment he felt for his Captain. He had named Kirk his t'hy'la, which, in the Vulkhanir tongue, had several connotations. The word could mean either brother or a life-long friend – or, in the context Spock used it, - a soul mate. The confession had exposed his terrible vulnerability, revealing a chink in the armour he had skilfully built around himself over so many years.

Ship's tittle-tattle had been circulating unbeknownst to the First Officer for weeks but when it finally reached those sharp ears, the Vulcan had countered the gossip by withdrawing into self-imposed isolation. Neither McCoy nor Jim had escaped the big freeze. Spock treated the captain and chief surgeon with the same cool detachment he now accorded everyone.

At least his consistency can't be faulted. McCoy acknowledged with exasperation. It's one for all and good for nothing.

"I have no time for this, Doctor."

"Blessed is he who expects nothing from a Vulcan for he shall not be disappointed," McCoy grumbled, his jaw bunched.

I risk my sanity for the arrogant, green-blooded bastard, let him inside my head, wise to every godamned private thought and feeling I ever had. He knows me better than I know myself – and still he doesn't trust me. "Make time, Spock."

If McCoy's disdain offended the First Officer, it did not show on his face. Without moving a single muscle or varying his tone of voice one iota, Spock communicated acute distaste.

How in hell does he do that?

"Doctor, there is a Vulcan proverb that you might find edifying. It is very ancient but, in your case, still holds true."

"Go ahead, I'm all ears." McCoy pulled at his right lobe, eyes on the First Officer's impromptu cover-up. "Or should that be your line?"

"The original maxim is in Old Vulcan." Spock continued smoothly, treating McCoy's remark with the contempt he obviously thought it deserved. "The saying goes: Mrait orual r'ofehr mneh'tsrev ikahr. Ur sa'askun hunaa I'khayr koh inshiah…"

"Which means what? Even my senceiver can't translate that mouthful of Vulcan gobble-de-gook."

Spock's eyes shuttered briefly, before he continued without a trace of humour or inner warmth. "I quote: It is by no means shameful in having nothing of worth to say – unless, Doctor McCoy, one continually insists on saying it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a report to complete."

McCoy was loath to take the hint, broad though it was. With the devil still sitting on his shoulder, he set about rattling the bars of Spock's cage in a way he had discovered worked remarkably well. As the First Officer scrutinized his tricorder apparently uninterested in the doctors continued hard feelings, McCoy fished out the remote sensor from his medikit and played it over the Vulcan's torso.

Spock tautened immediately at the swift beep, beep of the tiny instrument. He regarded the chief surgeon with impassive coldness, mounting antipathy cloaked behind an impenetrable mask. "Why are you examining me, Doctor McCoy? You are aware I did not suffer any injury in the crash. Nor am I unwell."

"Oh you're sick all right, you just aren't admitting to it."

"I assure you I am quite healthy."

McCoy glanced over at Jim and Chekov again as the boy laughed, enjoying the Captain's company. Spock did not react at all.

Lowering his voice so only the First Officer could hear him, McCoy asked shortly, "Then why, for God's sake, are you still nursing that wounded Vulcan pride of yours? You're acting as if you have a phaser pistol rammed sideways up your ass, and on full stun, instead of a heart complaint that's been common among Humans since time immemorial. Spock, loving someone is neither shameful nor life threatening. Like pi, it's natural, incredibly irrational maybe, but very important. Neither Jim nor I started the gossip you've heard. Only the Good Lord knows why but the crew are concerned about you. Godammit, we all get talked about if we're eccentric, peculiar, or fascinating enough; and you certainly fit the first two, if not all three. At least, you're the strangest damn fish on the Enterprise I've yet to come across …"

Spock inclined his head in courteous obeisance. "Your hypothesis is an interesting one, Doctor."

"You really think so," McCoy's blue eyes widened in suspicious disbelief.

"Indeed." The First Officer appeared to consider for a moment before he continued aloofly, "It is quite fatuous, however. As you are constantly pointing out, I am not Human. Therefore, the premise does not apply in my case. Nor am I 'in love', as you so quaintly phrase the matter - with the Captain or anyone else. As a Vulcan I cannot… respond… in that way."

"That's bullshit and you know it." McCoy's lips pursed sceptically, "God willing, it'll be the first and last time, but if you recall, not only have you been on the inside of my brain but I had the full tour of yours. I know how you feel about Jim."

Spock froze into immobility. His dark eyes focused directly on McCoy. They pulled the doctor in, surrounded him, and held him in thrall, a mesmerized baby leveret just before the cobra's fatal strike.

Spock deliberately held eye contact, his resemblance to Earth's legendary Fallen Angel suddenly quite distinct, "This is not a topic for discussion, Doctor."

Caught by the First Officer's abruptly hypnotic stare, unable to look away, McCoy felt his heart congeal. For an interminable time, an eternity, he remained transfixed, rooted to the ground, powerless to move. He stayed that way until Spock's sallow lids dropped over eyes abnormally merciless. Promptly released, McCoy found he could breathe again. The feinburger dropped from his nerveless fingers. He stumbled back against the shuttle's fuselage in shock, unsure of what had just happened.

Spock bent deftly, picked up the remote sensor, and held it out as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, "Doctor, I have always held the conviction that Humans are at liberty to act illogically if they so wish. However, you are abusing the privilege. I suggest that if you are without employment you offer your services to Engineer Scott. I understand he has gone down to the river. I certainly do not require assistance and I would regard it a particular kindness if you returned to whatever occupation physicians engage in when they have no use for their leeches, rattles and beads…"

6