Title: Fire and Water (or, They may extinguish each other but the world's supposed to end with their combined force so you'd better take cover if you want to survive)
Characters: (this chapter) McCoy, Spock, Amanda, bit of Kirk
Rating: PG
Word Count: 6280 (this bit)
Warnings: spoilers for Amok Time, Journey to Babel, Galileo Seven
Summary: Five reasons why there's only one person aboard ship who's willing to get in-between Commander Spock and CMO Leonard McCoy, and one reason why even that person will duck and run for cover sometimes instead
A/N: This is a sequel, of sorts, to My Captain, but no reading of My Captain is necessary to understand this story. The format is simply the same, and a few references may be made to characters introduced both in that and in A Celebration in Infinite Combinations (my NaNo novel from 2010).
II.
Lady Amanda Grayson was a highly intelligent woman. One had to be, in order to both understand and love a Vulcan, able to read nuances of dialogue and behavior that most individuals would never see for the expressions of affection which they were. Sarek had, only once, commented to her about how atypical she was for her species; namely, in that most humans simply presumed and assumed that Vulcan principle dictated a complete lack of emotion, and therefore never even attempted to understand the culture.
On the contrary, as she well knew, the Vulcan way was that of control and detachment; a far cry from entire lack of emotion and feeling. Were the latter typical, then every Vulcan would be an acolyte of Gol - and there would be few or no little Vulcans running about, she suspected with a flash of mischievous humor.
No, Vulcans did feel; one merely had to know how to look in order to see it. Unfortunately, even she had never met another human who possessed that unique ability which had drawn a stately Vulcan ambassador to her from the moment they met.
That is, until, for the very first time in twelve years, Spock actually mentioned a human in his correspondence to her.
This was such an anomaly in itself, that it would have been highly attention-getting to her attuned motherly senses. Spock had never voluntarily mentioned the humans with whom he served aboard ship; never mentioned them at all, unless that information was specifically pried out of him by her repeated questioning. But that such a human should be referred to by his first name in this communiqué, a human custom which Spock had eschewed with every fiber of his detached (half)Vulcan katra, made the event tenfold more memorable, and she filed it carefully away for further rumination (and some motherly prying into her son's affairs; one benefit of having a Vulcan son was that he would die before admitting to so human a thing as annoyance at her interest).
Someday, she vowed, as she filed the letter away with a smile, she must find out who this Jim person was.
Months passed, and during that time she learned that the man to whom Spock had been referring was none other than the new and highly controversial Captain James T. Kirk, the young human captain of the overhauled Federation flagship. Kirk was, by all accounts, brash and charismatic, a dynamo of intelligent charm and daring. The youngest captain in Starfleet history, he was suiting his new ship to his reputation; Spock's very first account of the man was a disbelieving report that he had abolished the habit of saluting in the corridors, an appallingly modernistic action which had equal parts horrified and surprised his highly-trained crew.
Jim is a fascinating enigma, Mother, had been Spock's sole comment in that first missive, and she had smiled; for it was the highest of compliments, coming from a Vulcan. She could only hope that this young captain might someday be able to understand that as well as she did by now.
As time passed, Spock's missives home became suspiciously less…cold, was perhaps the word; obviously, some outside influence was softening an exterior hardened into impenetrable armor by years of retreat behind the defense of cultural difference and flawless logic. Only a mother could see it, of course; but see it she did, and was grateful.
The tiny tidbits she read between the lines of Spock's accounts of everyday life aboard the Enterprise were fascinating; accounts which had never before been so detailed or so varied as they were now. Never had Spock, to her knowledge, spent an evening in an activity other than working in his laboratories or reading in his cabin. Now, it seemed her son had actually emerged to hold his own in the social life of a busy starship, and he sounded as if he actually did not even mind the change. A small miracle, one for which she suspected Captain Kirk was responsible.
Call it a mother's instinct, but she secretly harbored the shockingly unVulcan suspicion that her son had actually - horrors! - made a human friend.
Then, one eve when she was in an ambassadorial guest suite aboard a neutral vessel many star systems from Vulcan, she received notification that Spock had gone into a very premature Time, and had nearly committed the unthinkable, an unwitting stau-mesh'es, (1) when rejected by T'Pring.
Sarek was mildly shocked at his well-bred wife's vocabulary in reference to their no-longer-promised bond-daughter, but after years of marriage to an illogical human he had clearly learned wisdom regarding which battles to fight and which to retreat from. Amanda was furious with T'Pring, not just for her rejection of Spock, but more for her waiting until the kal-if-fee to do so, with the clear intention of forcing Spock into a fight to the death while in the most weakened condition a Vulcan could possibly be. Spock had not returned to Vulcan in over a decade, and that in itself was grounds to dissolve the bond between him and his promised by legal means, much less the other considerations of his off-planet career and half-human status; T'Pring had waited merely because having her name on record as attached to one of the wealthiest clans on Vulcan had done wonders for her social standing and career on the planet and she was using it for all she could.
No, Amanda would never forgive that little…she would never forgive T'Pring, for forcing Spock to nearly kill the only human Amanda knew for fact he had ever even slightly cared for. Had it not been for the quick action and foresight of the ship's Chief Medical Officer, Kirk would have been killed, and Spock would never have recovered. Even Sarek had been 'deeply displeased,' which was the Vulcan equivalent of furious in her experience, by T'Pring's dishonorable actions, and she took a bit of evil pleasure in knowing that the young woman's life would soon be as miserable as the aging Vulcan was capable of making it - that, being extremely so, as a reigning patriarch and T'Pring clearly with another outside the bounds of an official bonding.
Even Amanda, however, was shocked that her son would have dared bring two humans to the planet and the sacred ceremony; this, more than anything else, betrayed his feelings more clearly than words would have. The fact that, reading between the lines of Spock's very sparse account, she realized he had in effect shamed the house of Sarek by his plea for Kirk's life, showed all too clearly just how remarkable this young human was.
She prayed to the Vulcan gods as well as her own that night, that their relationship would not suffer unduly for this near-tragedy.
But it was upon a second re-reading (her first had been under much emotional stress and shock, and she had hardly been thinking clearly), that she noticed another very odd occurrence.
Spock referred to another human by name. Not first name, no; but still, the event was remarkable for its occurrence alone.
If Spock thought enough of this Doctor McCoy to defy tradition and ask the human to stand with him at his most private Time…surely the man was more than just the ship's Chief Medical Officer. Not to mention, it was due to the healer's daring and ingenuity that Captain Kirk was alive, and Spock not undergoing Starfleet trial for mutiny and murder by his own volition (she knew her honorable son would have confessed to the same, despite the circumstances being dismissible by Vulcan law).
I now owe Dr. McCoy a life-debt, Mother, Spock had said at the close of the letter. A fact of which he no doubt will take great pleasure in reminding me at every opportunity.
Well, well, she thought, taking a deep breath to control and then release the last of her motherly indignation. A friendly acquaintance and sarcasm, all in the same paragraph. My son, you are becoming positively human.
-0-
She did have the chance to meet this mysterious McCoy, during the voyage aboard the Enterprise, en route to the Babel conference. Granted, she would have preferred their acquaintance not primarily revolve around Sarek's deteriorating health, but it was the Vulcan way to accept with equanimity that which could not be changed; and this could not. Other than a brief introduction, she did not see the physician until late the next day, at the welcoming party hosted by the Enterprise crew for the Babel delegates.
As wife of the most sought-after conversant, she was afforded the rare opportunity to stand silently back and watch the crew of her son's ship at work. While a primarily human complement, there were a few non-Terrans in the crew, who were as far as she could see cheerful and content in their work. Spock himself, she observed with amusement, had firmly affixed himself to the side of his captain, subtly steering the human clear of the more garrulous of delegates who wished to monopolize Kirk's attention. Watching the two as they made the circuit of the room, she saw at once why they had become something of a legend in their Starfleet; they worked in perfect synchronicity, even walked that way, as if they were one being split into two physical bodies. It was so effortless that one would never even think about it unless one were looking for it, as she was through a mother's fond eyes. Spock was comfortable here, she could see that immediately; a far cry from the uneasiness she had always seen in a social setting. This was his family, she realized sadly, for they treated him with far more respect than his own blood did.
She hid a laugh in a glass of fruit juice, more sober thoughts forgotten, as the captain was snagged by one arm by an over-eager young female delegate from Arthos II. Eyeing the flirtatious glances of the delegate's aide with Vulcan reserve, Spock evidently decided this was no longer his arena of politics, and wisely retreated to a safer sphere of socialization. McCoy met him at the refreshment table, and Amanda decided this was as good a time as any to see what precisely her son saw in this unusual human.
She was delighted to find that the genteel physician was possessed of both perfect Southern manners and a streak of wicked mischief which she knew must positively give Spock fits, and so she was only too happy to respond in kind with an anecdote from Spock's childhood. Rather than embarrassing him, as she had feared, Spock merely regarded her with mildly fond indulgence and returned McCoy's good-natured teasing with a few barbs of his own. Their exchanges might, to an outsider, have sounded harsh and even xenophobic; but to her more attuned perception, it was obvious that this was an old and venerated routine rather than anything resembling genuine animosity. There no doubt was that, at times; she suspected McCoy's personality grated too harshly on a Vulcan to be otherwise - but not so, now.
The captain wandered up to them mid-story, and she did not miss his eager hanging on her every word. Obviously, Spock was no more forthcoming with private information now than he ever had been, for both humans' eyes were dancing with glee at this little tidbit of Vulcan personal history.
This alone would have been enough to set her motherly mind at rest that these humans were trustworthy friends for her son, but if she had any lingering doubts they were dispelled by the chaos which soon upended their lives aboard with frightening drama. The Tellarite delegate's murder, followed closely by Sarek's collapse and imminent danger drove all else from her mind for the next few days as she performed her duties as a wife. Her concern for Sarek's life turned the hours into little more than a blur of emotional upheaval, until one afternoon in the ship's bustling Sickbay.
She was sitting by Sarek's bedside, reading while he meditated, only to be startled by a nurse's shriek and a sudden commotion in the outer ward. Sarek never blinked, obviously deep in his meditative trance, and she moved to the door just in time to see her son stagger his way to a waiting gurney and gently set his captain upon it. Kirk's head was lolling limply, his breathing ragged, lips a chilly blue tinge that told of lack of oxygen. She saw Spock's sleeve slick and wet with blood when he drew his arms back, soon bumped unceremoniously away by a flurry of controlled panic in the person of one white-faced Leonard McCoy, armed with an oxygen mask and hollering at the top of his voice for Chapel to prep an operating theater.
Spock looked lost for a moment, an island of bewildered helplessness in the midst of medical chaos as Kirk was stripped of his shirt and wheeled into the operation room. She would have gone to him, wished to do so, but there was no need; the crusty human healer had suddenly turned, and jabbed a stern finger at her son's chest.
"You," McCoy growled, glaring up at the tensely expressionless features, "get outta my Sickbay. You know he's gonna fight sedation tooth and nail unless I can tell him you're on the Bridge taking care of his ship."
"Doctor…"
McCoy's blue eyes softened, and she was surprised to see that he reached up and squeezed her son's thin shoulder for a moment. More surprisingly, Spock permitted such a liberty - an unheard-of occurrence, and one which was immensely telling.
"Y'did good, Spock," the human said quietly. "Now get outta my hair so I can help him."
Spock nodded, a lightning-quick jerk of the head, and backed away as the physician snatched a pair of sterile gloves from the nearest unit and charged after his newest patient.
"And don't go killing that Andorian who stabbed him, either - y'know how Jim hates doing paperwork!" McCoy hollered over his shoulder, just before the door slid quietly shut behind him.
Spock's eyebrow inched upward, but the (probably half-serious) quip had done its intended work; he visibly relaxed, and after a moment of contemplation left silently as a ghost.
Just as silently, Amanda returned to her husband's bedside. They all had their places, and hers was here. She was pleased, despite her concern for the captain's welfare, that Spock had apparently managed to find his as well, sandwiched somewhere between these two remarkable humans.
-0-
The remainder of their voyage was uneventful, save for the one rather exciting occasion two nights after Captain Kirk's injury and Sarek's successful surgery. Spock was nearly himself again, though still recovering from the effects of the transfusion and the blood-producing accelerant upon his hybrid physiology. Amanda had apologized to Spock for her treatment of him during the last few days, and had been immediately dismissed and forgiven with that same gentle tolerance her actions had always been by her half-human son. She had anticipated a peaceful night with all the drama behind them, and in fact had settled into a pleasantly soft bed beside her husband (she refused to return to their cabin, an action which Sarek called illogically emotional but which she knew ridiculously pleased him) for the first restful night's sleep she had had since coming aboard. McCoy had told her he was doing paperwork and then would probably sleep on the couch in his office for tonight, and the gamma shift nursing staff were quiet as they went about their duties, letting dim lights and hushed voices lull the Sickbay occupants into slumber.
She had not yet fallen asleep, having stayed up a bit to finish her book, when a sudden wailing of alarms sounded from the other recovery cubicle - the one in which her son and Captain Kirk were. Alarmed, she rose and hastily donned her dressing gown, shushed Sarek's half-asleep inquiries, and went to the door to find out what was wrong.
She was not expecting a chorus of laughter, loudest of which was McCoy's, as he braced himself against the open doorway and grinned at the sheepish occupants of the other cubicle.
Spock was frozen atop a chair beside Kirk's bio-bed, holding a spanner and a pair of miniature wire-cutters, while the captain himself was leaning half out of the bed, staring incredulously up at the flashing lights and alarm sounding from the sensor array above his head.
"Since when do you have an escape alarm, Bones!"
"Since the last time you two disconnected the bio-bed sensors and checked yourselves outta here when my back was turned," McCoy retorted, laughing at Spock's still wide-eyed expression. "You wanna get down from there, Commander, or do you like the view or somethin'?"
Spock gracefully stepped down from the chair and tugged at the hem of his tunic, acting as if he had been merely performing routine maintenance instead of trying to break his captain out of Sickbay. The action was slightly hindered by the presence of the tools in his hand, which he at first held behind his back and then, after some deliberation, dropped on the captain's thermal blanket.
"Doctor, I assure you -"
"That you were actin' under orders, yes, I know, Mr. Spock," the doctor drawled, grinning. "Vulcan loyalty, I tell you." His eyes flicked to the side, where Amanda stood unseen, and saw her amused look. "And breakin' rules with your mother right in the next room, Spock, now really."
Spock's look of horrified dismay reminded her only too well of the adorable little boy he had once been, and she could not help but smile.
Captain Kirk appeared to be muffling a fit of (no doubt drug-induced) giggles in his pillow.
"Laugh it up, Jim-boy," McCoy groused, punching an override code into the sensor set. The klaxon ceased, and a moment later the lights stopped flashing. "Now the hobgoblin, I'd probably let get by me, God knows I'm tired'a tryin' to keep his skinny behind in that bed - but you, captain sir, you have another day before you're going anywhere."
Kirk flopped back, gingerly, onto his pillows with a sigh. "Well, we tried," he said dolefully, glancing up with a half-grin at his First Officer.
"Meaning I tried," Spock answered with an air of great longsuffering. "You, conversely, simply lay there and offered unhelpful - and, as it transpired, totally erroneous - advice regarding the disabling of the sensor array. Sir."
"Hey, you can't blame me for Dr. McCoy's paranoia, Spock."
"Indeed, I cannot. The good doctor is wholly to blame for his multiplicitous character flaws."
"Mul-ti-pli-ci-tous…now that's a bit harsh, don't you think, Spock?"
"On the contrary, Captain, I believe I am being rather generous in my estimation."
"How you can even pronounce that with the drugs in your system, Jim, I have no idea, but I continue to be impressed. And you got ten seconds to be back in that bed, Commander, or we'll get to see how impressed you'll be with a hypo full of Vulcan naptime," the physician growled, arms folded.
Spock eyed him for a moment, and then scooted back into his bio-bed, whereupon he fastidiously arranged the blankets with an expression full of affronted dignity.
"Serve you both right if I kept you here another week," McCoy grumbled, slapping the light switch on his way out of the cubicle. He threw her a wink, finger to his lips in a gesture of secrecy as he passed.
Amanda stepped back into the shadows, smiling at the tiny slice of her son's life she'd been given.
Spock of Vulcan had, as the son of a Vulcan ambassador and, equally, the son of a human, met various types of each species in his lifetime thus far. Some he had discarded as unimportant or uninteresting individuals, some he had gladly and intentionally dismissed for their innate rudeness, a very select few he chose to allow companionship with due to their acceptance of him both as Vulcan and as an individual, and an even more select few refused defiantly to fall into any of the aforementioned categories, for they defied categorization with a deftness which astounded his quantitative scientific mind.
One Dr. Leonard H. McCoy was, unfortunately, one of the latter.
Upon meeting James T. Kirk for the first time, Spock had been at first very wary of the brilliant, charismatic human. But gradually, in a span of time so short it was inexcusably surprising, the human methodically and logically cleared every obstacle between the two of them until Spock one day realized he had, in statement of fact, become friends with a human in a ridiculously short amount of time. They simply fit, as cogs and gears did, and while the phenomenon was inexplicable it nonetheless existed. Kirk and Spock were The Command Team to serve under for aspiring 'Fleet cadets, and it was in part due to their individual talents but mostly due to their combined brilliance. Spock had never before formed such a near-instantaneous connection with another, and certainly never with one of these impulsive, irrational humans.
Doctor McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the newly-launched Kirkian Enterprise, was an entirely different matter.
Spock had not been closely acquainted with anyone of Pike's crew save Pike himself and Montgomery Scott; he knew only the basics of Dr. Piper's regime as CMO, as due to his hybrid physiology he was rarely in need of Sickbay himself. He steered well clear of the area unless required to visit in a scientific capacity, and there had always existed clear and definite territorial boundaries between Medical and Science. Then the Enterprise was refitted prior to the captaincy turnover, and while he was Chief Science Officer and not First Officer initially, Spock found that he would be required to interact more with the entirety of the Science departments than he had previously.
This would not have been a trial, were it not for the arrival of the new Chief Medical Officer, one Leonard H. McCoy, as they were on their way to the Galactic Barrier. McCoy was to spend that shakedown with CMO Mark Piper, learning the procedures and so on of starship duty, whereupon he would take over for their retiring CMO after the shakedown cruise.
Captain Kirk had greeted the human with his usual effusive fervor, leading Spock to the conclusion that they were old friends, and while First Officer Mitchell seemed indifferent to the man's apparent irascible temperament and caustic brand of humor it grated on Spock intensely. McCoy's method of dealing with people in general seemed to be a combination of intimidation and manipulation, the captain included. Spock observed the physician berating incoming cases in Sickbay for carelessness, watched him practically chase patients back into their beds when they attempted to make their escape, hound the captain about his eating habits, and disregard all semblance of personal space when on a tirade about incomplete medical records regarding his own medical file.
And that was simply within the first week.
Spock, quite simply, did not get along with Leonard McCoy, and he was fairly certain the state of being was mutual, if not conversely more so.
As that animosity did not appear to perturb the human, Spock decided it was not worth his attention, and therefore proceeded to ignore it as he did all unimportant matters. Besides, not twenty-four hours after he made this conclusion, the ship tried and failed to breach the Galactic Barrier, and unleashed an entirely new set of demons aboard in the form of the ship's First Officer and Captain Kirk's longtime closest friend. His difficulty in understanding - not to mention tolerating - the irascible human behavior of the ship's Chief Medical Officer was not at all high on his list of priorities, and remained so for much of that first half-year.
Then came the worst command disaster he had yet to encounter, his undeniable failure to keep the crewmen under his command safe and satisfied while stranded in the Murasaki 312 formation due to a derelict shuttlecraft. Only once before, had Captain Pike put him in charge of humans on an away mission, and that had been such an unmitigated exercise in foolishness that in eleven years he had never been forced to do so again.
Captain Kirk had, upon learning of this, and recognizing that Starfleet Command would never confer his full Commander rank without this experience, had informed him upon his acceptance of the position of First Officer, that Spock would be expected to interact with his crew and to be capable of commanding them. Kirk had been kind, but firm, in his orders for Spock to "mingle" with the humans comprising the crew, and began slowly working the Vulcan into the chain of command with direct authority. Spock did not particularly enjoy these occasions, but functioned within acceptable parameters if Kirk's reports were accurate.
However, the Galileo disaster was the first time he had been in command of a human complement in less-than-optimal conditions.
And, he had failed that command, and thereby failed his captain, who had possessed such trusting faith in his abilities. Utterly, irretrievably, irrevocably failed.
Oh, Jim had talked it over with him afterwards, pointed out what he might have done and said and decided in order to keep peace in the ranks, but that was of little comfort when several of the crew lay dead on the planet below, and the remainder of the Galileo seven - with the exception of a sheepishly apologetic Montgomery Scott - had made it clear they would never accept his authority. Jim had entrusted his crew to his First Officer's command, and said First Officer had floundered miserably before finally failing to even evoke the respect due to any superior officer from the humans involved. The fact that the captain was highly indignant over the disrespect he had received was but thin balm on a wound smarting of failure due to his own ignorance.
He did not blame the human crew for their resistance of his authority; to refuse to recognize truth is not logical, and he would be the first to readily admit his complete inability to relate to human action and reaction. Despite Kirk's well-meaning and always patient tutoring, his progress in understanding the cultural differences between their species was slow, and seemed at times to be an insurmountable difficulty. He was incapable of commanding a human crew, much less of commanding the respect and, he had observed, the affection which the Captain had managed to single-handedly earn in his first week aboard.
Were he human, he might believe it to be slightly unfair; as he was Vulcan, it was merely a statement of fact, one which he stood very little chance of overcoming.
He was, therefore, understandably shocked to admit a visitor to his quarters the evening after the Galileo crew's recovery, only to find that it was not, as he had assumed, the captain. No one else, in all his years aboard, had ever presumed he would even cordially receive personal visitors; Jim had been the single and notable exception, waking him up his third morning of the new captaincy by cheerfully hollering outside his cabin door to ask if he wanted to break fast in Officers' Mess together. The idea of leaving the Vulcan CSO to his own privacy had evidently just never occurred to Jim Kirk's exuberant personality, and for the first time in his life Spock found the human's persistent companionship to be…refreshing.
But now, for the first time since their initial meeting nearly six months ago, the human fidgeting nervously in front of his cabin door was Dr. McCoy.
He had been working at his desk when the buzzer sounded, and had simply unlocked the door, thinking it to be the captain - though the man usually found it sufficient, and more efficient, for reasons only known to him, to bellow through their shared bathroom. Spock had never before had another human visitor in his cabin, save for one solitary instance when Captain Pike had checked on him after an away mission gone awry.
Therefore, when the door slid open to reveal a wary, scrubs-clad human rocking nervously back and forth on his heels, he froze, staring at the physician in surprise.
"Uh." McCoy cleared his throat after this exceedingly eloquent beginning, and peered warily into the cabin, as if expecting alien devices to begin shooting at him the moment he crossed the threshold. "Can I come in, Mr. Spock?"
Well, if nothing else, his well-bred human mother had taught him proper human manners, and it would be rude to refuse. Besides, Spock was at heart a scientist, with a scientist's curiosity.
Nevertheless, it would not do to be overly genial with this particularly annoying human; he certainly had no desire to encourage this uncharacteristically social behavior. "If you must, Doctor McCoy," he replied coolly.
The human winced, interestingly enough, but shuffled forward into the reddish glow of his favored lighting, a more relaxing setting to his Vulcan eyesight than the shipwide standard. Spock knew he would require meditation to excuse the unforgivable twinge of satisfaction when the doctor stumbled slightly at the increased gravity, yelping as he flailed for a hand-hold on the nearest piece of furniture.
"How d'you not float around this tin can, if you're used to that?" McCoy muttered sourly, righting himself with a jerk.
Spock restrained a twitch of amusement. "Practice, Doctor. I am, as many crewmen seem to forget, far more tolerant of your extremely specist starship conditions than a human would be aboard a correspondingly Vulcan vessel."
The doctor yanked irritably at his collar, glancing around the cabin, and Spock relented slightly. "Computer, set temperature and humidity to human tolerance levels."
"Thanks," McCoy grunted, still peering about him in the reddish light.
Spock silently inclined his head.
"Well." The human shuffled uneasily, ran his free hand - the one not holding a data-padd - through his hair. "I guess you're wonderin' why I'm here."
"Wondering would require interest, Doctor. As my interest in attempting yet more unproductive communication with you is nonexistent, then the answer is negative. I am not 'wondering why you are here.'"
"Yeah, guess I deserve that," the doctor sighed, much to Spock's surprise. "Wouldn't blame you if we soured you on the whole command experience thing for life, Mr. Spock."
The curse of an eidetic memory was recalling precise detail for even those moments which one would prefer to soon forget. You see, Mister Spock, I would insist upon a decent burial even if your body was back there. All right, Spock, you have all the answers, what now? If any minor damage was overlooked, it was when they put his head together. Not his head, Mister Boma, his heart. (2) He closed off his mind to such fruitless thoughts, and returned his attention to the human who was currently meandering in an irregular elliptical in front of his desk.
"Look, Mr. Spock - Lieutenant Commander," McCoy corrected himself hastily, though Spock would not have corrected him, "I…" he paused, and Spock finally stopped typing to look up with curiosity.
"Yes, Doctor?"
"Well, I…ah, to heck with it," the human said gruffly, and straightened up to his full height, at strict military attention. "Mr. Spock, I dunno how your people look at apologies, probably think they're illogical or something - but just the same, I'd like to offer you one."
Spock felt his eyebrows disappear into his hairline of their own accord, and he shut off the computer program to give his undivided attention to this incredible scientific anomaly. Of all things to expect from this most maddening of humans, an apology had certainly never ranked on his list. He was, in short, completely mystified, at a loss to explain the phenomenon.
McCoy fidgeted briefly, tugging on his short sleeves, and then looked back up, meeting the incredulous gaze squarely and with a hint of fiery defiance that was far more familiar to Spock than this almost ridiculous submission. "I was beyond insubordinate, Commander, during the recent mission, and -" he swallowed harshly, but continued with a perfectly calm voice, "I've placed myself on report, for behavior unbefitting a Starfleet officer. I was…well, I was way out of line, and I'm sorry. Sir." This last was tacked on almost as an afterthought, making Spock oddly want to smile at the human's grudging and totally out-of-character respect.
Three steps brought the physician to his desk, and the data-padd was dropped unceremoniously on his stack of paperwork. "Captain signed it already, but…" the human grimaced, but continued, "…said my disciplinary measures should be handed out by you."
Now this was completely unexpected, and for a long moment Spock was simply without speech. Jim Kirk was not known for delegating his responsibilities, nor was he known for being purposely cruel; why would he have sent McCoy for reprimand to the authority the doctor despised most, and had - in human terms; of course as a Vulcan he had taken no affront - offended?
He recalled what the Captain had said last night regarding this disastrous Galileo mission; some ridiculous human metaphor about equestrianism, and re-mounting after being thrown from a Terran horse. Obviously, the captain had no intention of permitting him to remain in a state of failure; requiring him to interact with the same humans he had misled was a second chance, so to speak, a new opportunity to change their perceptions of him.
And only a fool, of whatever species, wastes a second chance.
Spock stared down at the cheerfully blinking cursor on the padd, indicating a report having the primary signature but requiring a secondary one in order to be authorized for filing in the doctor's official Starfleet record. A record which, Spock had read prior to McCoy's coming aboard, had been sketchily contradictory at best, full of reprimands for belligerence and defiance of authority when under pressure, but equally full of commendations for bravery beyond the call of duty in protecting a crewman, or recognition for medical achievements under stressful battle conditions. The man was a walking contradiction, a maelstrom of equal parts compassion and ferocity, belligerence and loyalty, intelligence and irrationality, mischief and morality - a fascinating anomaly of humanity in whom Jim obviously saw value.
As for his own opinion…well. As the humans would say, the jury was still out on that hypothesis.
And according to this report, McCoy had filed the censure himself, when it had become evident that Spock would not specifically call certain crewmen by name in his own skeletal report of the mission? He had simply seen no point in further alienating officers who, in his opinion, had every right to be dissatisfied with his command; yet here, this strange human had filed a report on himself, an action which no other crewman he had ever met would have had conscience enough to perform. McCoy had not been his strongest supporter during the Galileo disaster, but nor had he been the worst dissenter; he had known when the lines were crossed toward the end, and had chastised the crewmen accordingly.
He leaned back in his chair, arms resting lightly on the desk before him, and regarded the fiery physician with detached solemnity. McCoy's blue eyes narrowed, piercing and still ever-so-slightly rebellious at his cold demeanor.
"Well?" McCoy snapped at last, releasing his attentive posture in order to fold his arms across his chest, scowling. "You gonna sit there and just stare at me like I'm one of your experiments, or assign me gamma shift duty for a month, or what?"
Spock resisted the regrettably human urge to smirk. This was far more familiar ground, and ground he could easily - and someday, perhaps enjoyably - contest.
"Sit down, Doctor McCoy," he instructed calmly. The physician looked awkwardly around for a moment and then sat, gingerly, across from him - as if half-expecting the chair to be rigged to collapse under him at any moment.
Spock quietly pushed a button on the data-padd, efficiently erasing the report and its damning contents. "I have chosen what I believe is a suitably severe consequence of your behavior, Doctor," he said, pushing the padd across the desk.
McCoy glanced down at it, started in shock, and then glanced up with a scowl of suspicious bewilderment. "And just what might that be, Mr. Spock?" he drawled, one eyebrow arched.
"I believe that you and I possess common goals regarding the outcome of this voyage and the mental and physical health of the Enterprise crew, Doctor. I propose that we meet bi-weekly to discuss and resolve any problems which may occur in Medical and/or ship's Operations." He paused, and chose his words carefully, not wishing to destroy this tentative second chance. After all, he was not the son of a galactically famous diplomat for naught. "This would include any…concerns, which you might possess about my performance as First Officer, and its effects upon crew morale."
"And it'd include your damage control for any screw-ups I may've made as Chief Medical Officer, and their effects on crew morale?" the human replied ruefully, for the first time quirking a lopsided grin.
"Do remember, I specified bi-weekly, Doctor. We shall not have time for constant communication."
The human blinked, then startled him by chuckling loudly, leaning back in his chair with a much more relaxed expression. "Y'know something, Mr. Spock," he began, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
"I know a great many things, Doctor."
"Yeah, whatever - you know, I still haven't decided if I even like you," McCoy declared candidly.
"I assure you, the sentiment is quite mutual, Doctor."
A crooked grin appeared on the physician's face, and he nodded. "But I'm willing to call it a truce if you are. For the sake of the crew, at least. And so Jim doesn't kill one of us for not playing nice."
"For the sake of the crew and the captain," Spock repeated solemnly, and had the uncomfortable feeling that he was going to regret this newfound acquaintanceship…
(1) Literally, a betrayal-kill (personal betrayal; not in self-defense, but neither premeditated)
(2) Quotes from The Galileo Seven