A/N: Sequel to 'His Last Breath,' with tie-ins to several of my other works and significant events from season three of TOS. If you haven't seen season three, this story does contain major spoilers, and events alluded to will be unclear without that background to draw on. A K&S&M friendship piece.
Special acknowledgment to Barbara Hambly, and her incredible novel 'Ishmael,' which provided the background history on Spock's human ancestors.
And as always, thanks to Anna Amuse for her superb beta skills, and to Verenna and T'Paya, whose comments also brought about changes for the better. I'd never manage to get by without a little help from my friends. ;-)
Learning Curve
Something was just not right.
McCoy couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but something was wrong. On the surface, all seemed okay between the captain and XO – any casual observer wouldn't be able to detect that anything was amiss – the ship was running smoothly, they still engaged in their regularly-scheduled workouts, chess games, and he was meeting them momentarily for dinner in the main mess, but he knew instinctively that all was not well with his two friends.
This was the main thought pressing him as he buzzed the door to the Chief Engineer's office.
"Come."
He drew a fortifying breath and stepped inside.
"Here now, what are ye doin' here, Doctor?" the room's occupant said, glancing up from a desk stacked with unruly piles of journals, padds and various tools. "Is something wrong with one o' my lads? I really can't spare anyone right now – I've got my top people pulling double shifts to make sure we hold together until—" the words stuttered and stumbled rapidly over one another. McCoy held up a hand to stop the onslaught.
"Relax, Scotty. I'm not here to tell you how to run your department, but I do have a question for you."
"Okay…" He eyed the doctor warily, waving him into a chair.
McCoy seated himself and cleared his throat. "Once we get to Starbase Two, will you need Jim and Spock's input, or can you oversee the repairs to the Enterprise yourself?"
"Aye, I can manage it. What's this all about, Doctor?"
"Well…"
***
Step one of his plan was now complete, and frankly that had been the easy part. He hadn't gone into a whole lot of detail, but Scotty mentioned that the two had seemed a little 'off' to him as well, and the engineer had been more than willing to help; the doctor had been pretty sure that would be the case, but the affirmation was reassuring.
Now came step two, and he knew without question this would be the more difficult part. He hardly took notice of the bustle and noise of the crowded corridors as he made his way to the main mess, his thoughts traveling once again to why this was necessary.
It had been a hell of a year, for all of them, and he was deeply concerned for both men: the captain had lost a wife and unborn child, two women he had fallen in love with, had come close to dying in Tholian space, and had his body stolen, almost permanently, by a jilted ex-lover. And Spock had fared no better: left fighting for his sanity after an ill-fated meld with the Medusan Ambassador, driven almost to his breaking point by sadistic so-called disciples of Plato, losing a love on Sarpeidon and then very nearly his life on Uriman V. The doctor had had his own share of difficulties: a bout with xenopolycythemia, a short-lived marriage to a beautiful woman, and then tortured to within an inch of his life by the Vians.
And he knew it had been most difficult for Jim when the captain had been called away in the middle of searching for his friends, leaving him and Spock stranded on Beta Arcida IV for eight days, their fate uncertain. Their CO had done everything in his power to retrieve them before it was too late.
Over the last few weeks McCoy had noticed a definite increase in their stress levels, Kirk becoming irritable and short-tempered, Spock more withdrawn, somber. He had spoken with each man separately, casually voicing his concerns that the other was overworked, overstressed, in need of a rest, and while they had each agreed with him where his friend was concerned, neither was willing to take leave for himself. The doctor had even hinted at the possibility of the two of them taking leave together, but each man had immediately put forth an argument as to why he couldn't possibly be away from the ship at the moment, all the while expressing his support for the CMO to do whatever was necessary to get the other to comply.
And compliance was the paramount issue. They were both stubborn, dedicated to a fault, believing themselves above the needs and foibles of the average man. Each felt it was imperative to be strong, set a shining example for those around him, even at the expense of his own well-being.
He was worried about the mental health of both men, but Spock especially. Ever since his two friends had returned from Uriman V, Spock had seemed ueber-Vulcan, at least as far as McCoy was concerned. After the Tholian incident, he and the First Officer had agreed to put their differences aside and work together in an effort to protect Jim from his sometimes overzealous altruistic tendencies, but to McCoy, Spock seemed unusually distant lately. Perhaps it had to do with the doctor's pointed questions after Spock's nearly-fatal bout with pneumonia and Kirk's as yet unexplained role in keeping the Vulcan alive until help arrived.
The doctor knew both men were hurting, each in their own way, their individual pain more alike than either fully realized, but their recent punishing schedule had left no time to thoroughly discuss any of these events with either man. Unsure either one would open up to him completely, McCoy felt certain that if he could get them in the right environment, under the right circumstances, he could get them to talk to each other.
Not to mention, they all needed a respite, some time to unwind, needed it desperately, even Spock, although the stoic Vulcan would never admit it. A few days without schedules and orders from Command, without responsibility, without duty – just time to be. Something had to give; something had to be done, and soon, and McCoy took it upon himself to do it.
The objects of his thoughts were currently enjoying a late supper, Jim and Spock just having completed their daily workout in the ship's gym. As he made his way to the synthesizer he could see the two were engaged in a relaxed, albeit spirited conversation. Depositing his tray on the table, he seated himself next to Kirk. The captain and first officer were in the midst of discussing ship's business.
"We can't arrive at Starbase Two fast enough for my tastes, Spock. Scotty says the Enterprise is in rough shape. The active antimatter variance regulator is being held together by 'spit and a prayer' according to my Chief Engineer, and the warp core is long overdue for scheduled maintenance and refurbishment. I don't know of another engineer in the fleet that could have kept her going for this long, and at close to peak levels no less," he remarked appreciatively, "but if we don't get her in for repairs soon, I think our resident Scotsman is likely to implode."
"Agreed. The ship requires essential repairs, and performance levels for a preponderance of the crew have fallen below ninety-two percent, sub par for our personnel, indicating an urgent need for mandatory R&R. It has been a most difficult several months for them."
"Why Spock, I didn't know you cared." A sly grin creased McCoy's features. "How very human of you to notice."
"You are forgetting, Doctor," Spock began, turning blandly to the CMO, "it is my duty as First Officer to ensure the smooth operation of the ship and her crew. Since the vast majority of her personnel are human, and since humans do require a certain amount of 'down time,' it is only logical for me to bring this to the Captain's attention." He cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest – challenging McCoy to a verbal duel almost as if he'd slapped the man with a white glove.
McCoy saw his opening and pounced like the proverbial tiger. "Good point, Spock. I myself have noticed certain crew members who are in serious need of some 'down time' and have therefore put in a request for medical leave on Triani Prime. It's on the way to Starbase Two. The crewmen could be dropped off en route and collected after the repairs are complete. How long will that take, Spock?" he asked, raising a mouthful of Pasta Carbonara to his lips.
"According to Mr. Scott's estimates, repairs can be effected in seven point two solar days."
"Perfect. Eight hour's travel each way, that would make the stay on Triani about ten days, given its shorter rotational period," McCoy muttered to himself. "Just so happens, I booked accommodations on the planet for the crewmen in question for ten days." He looked quite pleased with himself.
"So who're the mystery patients, Bones?" Kirk asked around a bite of his Cajun chicken breast, his gaze intent upon the doctor.
"You, Spock and I will be relaxing on the beach in sixteen hours," McCoy replied smugly.
"Huh?" Kirk paused in mid-chew, locking eyes with the surgeon, who looked as if he had just invented birth control for Tribbles. "Now wait a minute Doctor—" said in his best command tone.
Spock was speaking at the same time, uncharacteristically talking over his CO, a forkful of salad poised midway between his bowl and his mouth. "I can assure you, Doctor, I am not in need of—"
McCoy waved a hand, effectively silencing them both. "Sorry gentlemen, Doctor's orders. We've all been through the ringer of late, and if we – this means you, too Spock," he said, stopping the Vulcan with an icy glare before he could start to belabor the point – "are to be operating at peak efficiency, we need this break – all of us."
"Agreed, but the timing couldn't be worse." This from Kirk. "Spock and I need to be at Starbase Two to oversee the repairs to the Enterprise."
"Indeed," Spock chimed in.
"Funny, because I just finished talking to Scotty—"
"I thought you were working on quarterly reports?" Kirk interrupted, eyeing the doctor warily.
McCoy flashed him a dark look, the blue eyes glittering. Surprisingly, Kirk closed his lips over his next words. The doctor began again. "As I was saying, I just finished talking to Scotty, and he assured me he could manage just fine without you two mother hens hovering over him. In fact, he positively beamed when I told him. Said something about being able to look after his 'bairns' just fine all by himself." McCoy shot each of them a self-satisfied smirk in turn. Meeting Kirk's obstinate look head on, his expression turned serious. "I'm not kidding Jim. I wouldn't want to have to file a report with Starfleet Medical certifying either of you unfit for duty, but I will if I have to – don't force my hand." He tried for a gentler approach. "Besides, we'll be staying near the Essirian Marine Mammal Preserve on Marena Island. We can go sailing, swimming, and there's even a whole mess of animal species Spock can catalogue and analyze, since work seems to be Spock's idea of rest," he added, back to cajoling once again.
Kirk opened his mouth to protest, to argue, to interject a counterpoint, but McCoy would have none of it. "Forget it, Jim. It's all settled. I suggest you two start packing. See you at 12:00 in the transporter room." McCoy stood and turned to leave, the Captain and First Officer sharing a commiserating look, resigned to their fate, as the mess doors closed on the retreating blue back.
***
The three of them arrived on Triani at 18:00 local time – a full day spanning only twenty-one hours. They rented a flitter at the spaceport, and with their destination pre-programmed in, Kirk and McCoy settled back to enjoy the hour-long trip to their temporary home, Spock opting to monitor the air car's course. McCoy had reserved a beachfront house on Marena Island, which was located two-thirds of the way down a hundred kilometer archipelago of islands off the east coast of Rinba, the planet's largest continent. Some were inhabited, some set aside just for tourists, some showcasing the planet's unique wildlife and historical sites, others completely barren. The sun had set several hours ago, greatly inhibiting their ability to see the beautiful landscape below given the weak illumination cast by the crescent moon.
Upon reaching their destination they quickly unpacked, briefly exploring their bungalow before enjoying a light meal. It had three separate bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. There was also a small, fully equipped kitchen complete with both a stove and a food synthesizer and a large porch overlooking the beach with a rugged staircase descending to the sand below.
Their late supper finished, Kirk rose from the table, irresistibly drawn to the ocean vista visible just beyond the massive glass wall leading to the balcony. It was equipped with a variable tinting feature; at the touch of a button the sunlight pouring in could be toned down degree by degree, or completely blocked out. Thumbing a switch, the nearly invisible door swung open, granting him access to the outside. The captain stepped onto the plasticine polymer decking, followed closely by the other two. McCoy pressed a glass into Kirk's hand.
"You know Bones, at first I was a little ticked off, but this is really nice," the captain commented, inhaling deeply. Sipping at his brandy, he placed one hand on the railing, leaning forward slightly, gazing out at the beach bathed in the muted glow of the planet's small satellite. Even in the dim light he could detect the eight-meter-wide path running between the large, grass-covered dunes to either side, which led to the water, some thirty meters distant, the red glow from the moon slashing a narrow, shimmering trail across the surface of the inky water. The muffled rumble of waves crashing against the shore was pleasantly soothing, and the stiff, fragrant sea breeze ruffled his hair, causing the unruly lock to fall across his brow.
"See, someday you'll learn to heed the advice of your friendly, country doctor," McCoy countered amiably, settling himself comfortably in one of the high-backed rocking chairs scattered across the porch, taking a healthy swallow from his own glass. The doctor looked around for Spock, who had remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, strangely refraining from comment.
The doctor couldn't resist the opportunity to tease the Vulcan. "What's the matter, Spock? Cat got your tongue?"
"My tongue remains firmly attached to my hyoid bone, and has not been purloined by a small, domesticated feline," Spock responded, not missing a beat.
"Now that's more like it," McCoy replied cryptically. Kirk had turned to observe this exchange, and couldn't suppress a delighted laugh when Spock's eyebrow arched into his hairline. "Well, c'mon over and sit a spell then, both of you. I did shower this morning, you know." His attempt at humor fell flat, still not eliciting a barbed rejoinder from the Vulcan.
"Thank you, no. I am as yet unaccustomed to the briskness of the night air, and due to the shorter days here, I would prefer to retire now in order to acclimate myself to the local time," Spock answered.
"Killjoy," McCoy whispered under his breath. He turned to Kirk, visibly brightening. "How 'bout you, Jim? Now this is the life. Reminds me of the trips we took to the Georgia shore when I was little. Pristine beach, warm water, and there's nothing like the smell of the ocean at night…" he trailed off, filling his lungs, a faraway grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I think I'll pass tonight, Bones. I am pretty tired, and we do have ten days here. Maybe tomorrow night," he added apologetically.
McCoy let out a sigh of frustration as the two disappeared inside. Just what the hell did I expect? That the minute we landed they would be blubbering uncontrollably about everything that was bothering them? Get real, McCoy – this is gonna take some time. Relax. Give it a few days already, before you start to panic. He sipped his drink, the warmth spreading slowly through him doing little to calm his racing thoughts – a swirling jumble of conflicting emotions.
***
Kirk lay in bed, sweating, the nightmare that woke him still extremely vivid and absolutely terrifying. He had barely managed to stop the scream threatening to escape from the back of his throat. Gingerly he stretched out a five-fingered appendage before his face in the hazy darkness, examining it closely, and was relieved to see strong, stubby digits instead of slight, delicately-boned ones. Dragging what he now knew to be his own hand across his face, he pushed himself to a seated position.
He had heard McCoy come in about an hour ago, soft snores currently emanating sporadically from the adjacent room. Swinging his legs to the floor he lurched to the fresher, splashing his face with cold water, pausing a moment to lean on his arms on the counter, head hung low, struggling to get his irregular breathing under control. After a few minutes he stepped back into the bedroom, eyeing the bed warily. Knowing he couldn't bring himself to lay back down just yet, he shrugged on shorts and a sweatshirt, tiptoeing softly out of his room. He knew the doctor was a fairly sound sleeper, but Spock had the ears of an Arcturian Sand Bat, both literally and figuratively, and he didn't want to disturb his First.
Padding to the glass door, he opened it silently and slipped out onto the porch once again. Crossing to the stairs, he descended to the beach, traveling several meters from the foot of the staircase, reveling in the feel of the cool sand on his bare feet. The insignificant light emanating from the waxing crescent moon wasn't enough to completely block out the stars and after a moment of gazing upward, Kirk stretched out on his back, head pillowed in his hands, staring at the night sky.
Viewing the stars had always had a calming effect on him, and he needed it desperately tonight. In the throes of his recurring nightmare he had found himself a prisoner in an alien body, the proportions all wrong, his center of gravity much lower. The time he had spent trapped in Janice Lester's body had been horrific, only Spock's resolve and unflappable belief in him keeping the switch from being permanent. This event had shaken him more than he'd admitted to either one of his friends, and that, coupled with almost losing Spock on Uriman V a few weeks later, had almost been too much to bear.
After half an hour his breathing had slowed to normal, the blood that had pounded in his ears now reduced to a quiet thrum, his roiling gut considerably calmer. Getting to his feet, he brushed the sand from his back, returning to the beach house and hopefully, to a dreamless sleep.
***
Spock had heard agitated muttering and harsh, labored breathing from his captain's room, followed several minutes later by the door being opened, the sound of Kirk's muffled footsteps across the hardwood floor echoing hollowly in his head. His captain had opened the see-through door, retreating to the porch. Spock had often heard similar sounds coming from his captain's quarters aboard the ship during the early hours of the morning for the last few weeks. It was no easier to endure now than it had been then. After waiting a discretionary amount of time he had gone to investigate. His captain was outside, standing in the sand several meters beyond the bottom of the stairs, face upturned to the Trianian night sky. He watched as Kirk shrugged, seemingly gathering himself, and then lay down in the sand. Jim was distressed; that much he knew from the link, which had pulled him from the deeper levels of meditation in spite of his recent efforts to severely limit the mental contact between them. He wanted to go to his captain, offer whatever consolation and support Jim needed from him, but Kirk's body language, as well as his refusal to mention these incidents to Spock, cried out for privacy, and the Vulcan was reluctant to violate that tacit wish. Watching Kirk for an indiscriminate amount of time through the glass, torn by indecision, he finally withdrew to the solitude of his room.
