He's Dead, Jim
EclipseKlutz

K, PG
Humor/Drama/General

Disclaimer: Ownership of Star Trek on my part would be difficult to accomplish and altogether "illogical". So: me no own, you no sue.

Summary: McCoy decides to test the rumors of Kirk and Spock's relationship via an innocently "confused" statement… he just forgets those questioning his own feelings.

A/N: Well, this is my first dabble in the Trekkie 'verse as far as writing is concerned, so don't be too harsh on me—unless it really sucks. In that case, criticize away. Also, I never said there was logic…

"Spock is handsome," Nurse Chapel sighed, absently winding a strand of her fine blonde hair around a narrow finger, "and intelligent… remarkably so, but I guess that's a given."

Trapped at his desk with a large file of paperwork he had absolutely no mind to do, McCoy groaned. If he had to listen to her star-struck fantasies for the rest of the day he might just jump into the battlefield theaforementioned first officer was currently being forced to attend to. 'Jesus. I'm a doctor not a dating service.' "Why don't you tell him, then?"

Christine looked at him through long lashes before slowly rising from her chair, apparently having noticed the slight hint of aggression lininghis voice. "Well, because he… he and Kirk, they're… well, you know—right?"

McCoy nearly choked on his spit, glancing up from the paperwork long enough to say incredulously, "What?"

"It's what the crew says," she said with a solemn shrug, her voice rather nostalgic. "They've been saying it for a while now. And I get where they're coming from—I do… I mean, have you seen them together? Oh, it hurts a woman's heart to think about."

"Perhaps the crew's been consuming one too many beers," McCoy offered, though his voice sounded slightly more intrigued then his demeanor let on.

"No," she said, a frown creasing across her lips. "I don't think so, anyways… Just wait—think on it next time they're together in front of you, it's almost… obvious?"

McCoy responded with a disgruntled moan, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his temples. Great—now this is going to be bothering me too. "Christine, you're dismissed from duty today. I don't know if my brain can withstand anymore of this."

She offered him a compassionate nod, "I understand. You see, they also said that you and Spock--"

"Get out," McCoy interrupted. "And tell the crew to stop talking."

-:-

The commander and the first officer, along with the chief engineer and a handful of red-shirts, had voyaged down to some desert planet in an attempt to assist the locals in fending off rebel Klingons who, apparently, the Organian Peace Treaty failed to affect.

The paperwork alone had put McCoy in a foul mood, but the addition of the impending doom of a dozen red-shirts hadn't sat too well with him either. Also, he seemed to have acquired a case of Boredom. So, when Kirk frantically dashed in with a rather unconscious Spock in his arms, McCoy was happy for the break—but not happy enough to forget his earlier conversation.

Upon seeing them, McCoy bit back the sarcastic reply. Kirk seemed a little too comfortable cradling the Vulcan as he was, and McCoy was more then ready to diagnose the man as overly concerned. 'No wonder the crew's talking.'

"What happened?" the CMO motioned to the examine table, on which Kirk gingerly set down his first officer.

"Some canister," Kirk offered, albeit feebly. "The Klingons threw it into the base—it only affected him… don't know what it was. Some red smoke."

"You're exceedingly helpful, Captain," McCoy responded dryly before spending a few minutes checking the Vulcan's vitals. Nothing overly wrong—the gas seemed merely to have temporarily cut off the blood-flow to the brain, hence rendering the Vulcan unconscious. The green-blooded annoyance would be back on its feet within an hour. Inwardly, he was relieved, outwardly—"Damn."

Kirk stared at him, eyes wide, "What? What's wrong?"

McCoy offered a dramatic sigh as he set his stethoscope down on a metal tray, turning to Kirk and donning the best forlorn expression he could muster, "There's nothing I can do. He's dead, Jim."

Playing up on the act, McCoy dropped into a chair. In front of him, Kirk seemed at a loss for what to say. Finally, he turned to McCoy and placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder, his expression pitying. "I don't believe it… Oh, McCoy, I'm sorry."

McCoy supplied him with a frown, "Why?"

"Well," Kirk looked a little uncomfortable—shifting his weight from foot to foot, "He—he was an amazing first officer… we're all going to—to regret this… but, but… I can't imagine… for you, it must be—terrible."

"What the hell are you getting at, Jim?" McCoy, needless to say, was befuddled. He did not like being befuddled.

Kirk sighed, apparently annoyed that he had to spell it out, "Well, you two are… were…"

McCoy gawked at him, silently wondering when it was he last cleaned out his ears. Finally, he muttered, "The entire crew is off their rocker…"

The Captain simply stared at him, as though unsure what to make of the CMO, and instead made a noncommittal noise.

"Oh, screw it," McCoy mumbled, "When do you need the overgrown elf back?"

"You're going to… revive him? McCoy, that's insane. You're blinded by love! You're not Dr. Frankenstein, you can't bring back the dead!" Kirk cried.

"'Blinded by love'?" McCoy repeated, seemingly having heard nothing past that point. "Jim, when was your last psychoanalysis?"

Kirk, again, stared at him blankly.

McCoy groaned.

Kirk continued to stare.

"Nuts, the lot of you," McCoy mumbled, rising from his seat. "Wait another fifteen minutes, you'll have your officer back… I need a nice pint of brandy. And hell, I thought you were supposed to be the one after the spirits…"

A/N: As said before, I never said there was logic behind any of this. But I thrive off of reviews, so review anyway, 'k?