Hey there! Not sure if this turned out exactly the way I wanted ... but, hope you enjoy anyway!


2.

"Come in!"

The doctor's voice drifted through the closed door, muffled and distant. Spock glided obediently through the opening, into the unoccupied work area of McCoy's quarters. As the door swished shut behind him, a thumping noise and muttered cursing drifted from the living space. Spock approached the partition and peered cautiously around.

McCoy was buried to the waist in the tiny corner closet, rummaging among the upper shelves. Another crash and invective emerged; however, the doctor himself remained mostly hidden from view. After a few moments, Spock cleared his throat.

"Dr. McCoy?"

"Blast it all." McCoy backed out of the closet and glared. "I know I put it in here somewhere. And it's not like the thing is palatial, there's only so many places it could be."

Spock hesitated, attempting to make his way through the jumbled pronouncement. He rather suspected pronoun confusion of some sort, and as to the specific subject …. Spock debated the merits of requesting clarification, and decided that, all in all, he would rather remain unaware of the source of McCoy's current ire.

"Doctor, I am here as requested, to discuss the latest draft of your paper. If now is not a convenient time, I can certainly—"

"Nope, now's good." McCoy was rummaging in the closet again. "I'll be right out, this shouldn't take me more than a minute …." Another crash, and another curse. Spock repressed all curiosity about the matter. "Look, Spock." McCoy poked his head out of the closet. "Why don't you pull it up and take a look? It's in with the other papers, working title is 'Vulcan'."

"Your originality is stunning, Doctor." Spock moved toward the desk, and activated the monitor on its surface. McCoy's growl sounded hollow—he had apparently returned to his search.

"It's a working title, hobgoblin."

"Indeed. Very working, it seems." Spock slid into the desk chair. "I have already read the draft you sent last night. I have no need to—"

"I've actually rewritten a couple of paragraphs since then. Something in the bit about the ratio of copper blood cells to platelets wasn't coming out right, and I completely overhauled the part dealing with the …" The rest of McCoy's sentence was lost into the back of the closet. It was of no consequence. Spock had located a link to a folder labeled "Vulcan" on the primary monitor screen, and tapped lightly on the icon.

The link revealed a single document, and his hand froze halfway to opening it. This was … not a paper, certainly. No. The document was untitled, but bore instead the electronic version of the Crest of the House of Surak, as well as the Seal of T'Pau, the clan matriarch.

His mind locked, and spun.

For what purpose could Leonard McCoy have possibly received a direct communication from T'Pau? The only time the two had met, as far as Spock knew, was at the time of his …. His mind shied away from that, even now. He well remembered the embarrassment—yes, embarrassment, it was illogical to deny such a vibrantly painful, vibrantly present emotion—of being forced to reveal the details of pon farr to outsiders, of losing his logic and his reason, of being rejected before T'Pau, before the captain and Dr. McCoy. The horror and the anger of knowing what he had done, the despair, the sheer relief of seeing Jim alive and whole on the Enterprise. The nights of fruitless meditation, the months of convincing himself that if his human friend did not hold the day's events against him, he should surely not hold them against himself …

"Wrong file, Mr. Spock."

McCoy's voice was hard, and rough. A hand reached over his shoulder and jabbed at the icon, closing it abruptly. The Crest and the Seal disappeared, but not his memory of them. Spock turned in the chair, and speared McCoy with his eyes. He was on the verge of asking, of demanding to know … but something in the doctor's own eyes stopped him. They were icy. Withdrawn.

Unwelcoming.

"I said it was in the file with the other papers. Not on the primary screen." McCoy tossed a small brown box onto the desk. It rattled when it hit, and Spock spared a brief thought that this must have been the object of McCoy's search through his closet.

The box's contents were of even less interest to him now.

"We can do this later, Spock."

It was a dismissal, if he had ever heard one. Spock rose, slowly. "Doctor …"

"I'll send you the new draft tonight at some point." McCoy settled heavily into the abandoned seat, and turned pointedly toward the monitor.

Spock remained for a long moment, gaze moving between McCoy and the now hidden screen, attempting to find some way to re-broach the subject without inciting the doctor's wrath. Eventually, he was forced to concede defeat without making the effort. It was very seldom that McCoy fell silent in any situation, and Spock, accustomed to a veritable rush of words so passionate and enraged that they tumbled over each other in their haste to break free, was never certain how to read that silence.

Or how to break it.

Or whether to break it.

In this instance, despite the curiosity that seemed to be quite literally setting his brain afire, he decided that such an attempt would be of little avail. Instead, he simply nodded.

"As you wish, Doctor."

Spock turned on his heel and started toward the door, wondering vaguely what had just occurred. He was only halfway to his destination when McCoy sighed heavily behind him.

"Spock."

Spock halted, and looked around. The doctor hesitated for a long moment, then tapped a few commands into the monitor, shrugged, and motioned toward the screen. He rose and backed away, leaving the chair open.

Perhaps he should offer to respect McCoy's privacy. It was obvious that even now, the doctor was not comfortable with this action. After a moment, however, Spock crossed back to the desk, sat silently, and focused on the contents of the file that now lay open before him.


Dr. Leonard McCoy

Chief Medical Officer, USS Enterprise

Lieutenant Commander, Starfleet

I bid thee greetings from the Vulcan Council, and also from the House of Surak. Peace and Long Life to you and to yours.

The purpose of this missive is to inform thee that the Preliminary Assembly has determined, by a margin of eight members to five, that we accept such explanations and assurances as thou hast offered in thy recent deposition regarding the events which did occur during the koon-ut-kal-if-fee ritual of which thou was witness, and of which thou didst alter the outcome by thine actions. This Assembly therefore declines to submit your case before the full Council, and considers the matter settled and closed. Thou may be assured that Starfleet has removed any reprimand regarding this incident from thy official record, at this Assembly's request, and that thy name has been cleared also in the annals of Vulcan. Thou art free to return to this planet at any time, should the need or desire arise.

Such is the binding decision of this Preliminary Assembly, Stardate 3373.2

McCoy—

I would say a word to thee before I close. I warned thee not to interfere in the koon-ut-kal-if-fee, and when I gave thee permission to create a more equal test, thou didst deceive me. When this Assembly was convened, I was convinced of thy guilt, and of thy disdain for our culture and our ways. Thou hast convinced me, nevertheless, that what thou did was not from disdain, but was indeed from thine own form of logic—that if thou could bring both of thy shipmates through the test alive, that thou should avail thyself of the opportunity. That, indeed, thou could do nothing less.

The function of the sacred kal-if-fee is to slake the pon farr. The death of one combatant is not, and has never been, its purpose—primary or otherwise. As such, and as all of Vulcan holds life in high esteem, I cannot condemn thee for taking what was, for thee, a logical alternative to the death of thy captain. I therefore offer my admiration for thy quick thought, and my congratulations on the success of thy endeavor. I also offer gratitude for thy part in diverting what would surely have been a point of contention between Vulcan and the greater Federation.

I would also offer this advice: Do not deceive me again.

Live Long and Prosper.

T'Pau, of the House of Surak, Assembly Head


He read the contents through three times. Then he rose, abruptly, and turned on McCoy.

"Explain."

His own voice was as sharp, as hard as McCoy's had been. The doctor took a single step back, and looked away.

"About a week after your … uh, your wedding, or what there was of it," McCoy shrugged again, apologetically, "I received a communication from Vulcan that a Preliminary Assembly was being formed by the Vulcan Council to investigate my actions during the kal-if-fee. They, uh … they weren't too happy with me, for interfering. The Assembly's investigation was to determine if I should be brought up on charges before the Vulcan High Council for disrespect regarding an alien culture, and whether the Vulcan Council would push Starfleet to issue a reprimand and a dishonorable discharge."

Spock frowned, searching his memory, but he already knew what he would find. "I had no knowledge of this."

McCoy snorted. "No. You were still working through the last of the chemical imbalance from the pon farr, and dealing with all the backlash from what had happened with Jim. It didn't seem like you needed anything else on your plate."

He took a moment to control his rising frustration. "Therefore, you and the captain decided that I should not know of this?"

"No!" McCoy shook his head, and folded his arms in a clearly defensive gesture. "No, I didn't …" He sighed, and finally met Spock's eyes. "Jim never knew about it, either."

Spock's eyebrow shot up, surprise crowding out some of the less-controlled irritation. "How …" He stopped, and considered. "How is that even possible?" he finally asked, tilting his head to study the doctor. "Even if you had somehow managed to keep such an accusation from your direct commanding officer …" he aimed a pointed stare at McCoy, who suddenly found the ceiling quite interesting, "… surely the captain would have been informed if—"

"Jim had a lot on his mind, too, with trying to smooth things over with Komack and pretty much a whole planet full of delegates on Altair VI."

"Indeed. However, Starfleet would have—"

"The JAG office received the same copy of the complaint that I did, at the same time that I received it. I know Admiral Layton, he was finishing up at the Academy when I was starting out. I contacted him the minute I realized what was going on and asked if he would delay informing Jim until after the Assembly's investigation, if I promised to comply fully with all requests and demands." McCoy moved away, beginning a slow pace of the small work area. "It's irregular, but he agreed, and he assigned me a case worker out of his office to handle all of the details."

Spock turned to follow the doctor's progress, frowning. "I do not understand why you would wish to conceal this. The captain and I were both present during the incident. Our statements would have added to your defense."

McCoy grinned, absently, and leaned back against the wall. "I appreciate that, Spock. But … I don't know whether they would have even accepted your witness, given the circumstances." It was a logical concern, as much as Spock was loath to admit it. "And Jim …. Well, he wasn't involved, other than being on the receiving end of my hypo. I didn't want to put him in the position of having to defend actions that he had nothing to do with, in case things ended up going south. He's already got enough trouble with the brass on his own, you know, and depending how things turned out, defending me could have been a big strike against him."

"You saved his life, and my career. He would have done so without hesitation."

"I know!" McCoy shook his head. "I know he would have. That's why I couldn't give him the option."

It was, unfortunately, also logical. Spock studied his companion for a long moment, wondering how the man had managed to undergo such an intense procedure as an inquiry by a subcommittee of the Vulcan High Council without ever showing the extra strain—without altering his usual behavior, or accidentally speaking of it, or somehow in some other way alerting his commanding officers.

Then again, McCoy was short-tempered on a daily basis. It was entirely possible that the doctor had been able to successfully use his own natural irritability to hide any additional strain. Spock made a mental note regarding the possibility of such a ploy, for future reference.

He glanced back at the screen, zeroing in on one particular line. "How and when did the deposition take place?"

McCoy nodded. "Remember the shore leave I took to Starbase 3, about a month after Altair VI?" Spock nodded. They had dropped the doctor off on the way to a routine supply run, and returned for him three days later at the completion of the assignment. "The JAG office set up a room in the Starbase offices for the hearing." He shuddered, and shook his head. "That was the longest day of my life, let me tell you. Full screen viewer, full dress uniform, thirteen Vulcans shooting questions at me from 0800 to 1730 without a break."

Spock's frown deepened. "The Assembly did not recess in order for you to take nutrition at any point? Surely the members were aware that humans cannot—"

"Oh, it wasn't even lunch I was worried about, by the end." McCoy rolled his eyes, and blew out a deep breath, finally relaxing. "I thought my bladder was going to explode, though. Literally. Explode."

The irritation rose again in a wave, and again Spock paused in order to address and discard it. He was not entirely successful—an extended meditation period would be required when he returned to his own quarters.

"And what was the substance of their inquiries, that it was so necessary to convene for an entire day without break?"

This time, McCoy's grin was affectionate. "I think you're actually mad at them, Spock."

He leveled a withering glare at the doctor. "I am expressing a well-founded concern over the lack of—"

"No, I don't think so. I think you're mad at them for not giving me lunch and a potty break." Spock decided that it was best to simply not respond to such a ridiculous accusation. McCoy chuckled softly and leaned his head back against the wall. "They went through my records, went through my quarterly evaluations since I entered the service, did a lot of questioning of my motives, my understanding of the ritual, my understanding of other parts of Vulcan culture, my understanding of Vulcan anatomy, my reasoning for other decisions I've made in the past. They went through my Academy grades and reports from my professors. They basically turned my entire Starfleet and professional career inside out, trying to figure out what made me tick."

It was more difficult this time to control his impatience. "And such detail was necessary to determine that you intended no disrespect in the context of one alien ritual?" Vulcan as he was, this still seemed to him a blatant abuse of power—an obvious attempt by the Assembly to intimidate their single human witness.

Unfortunately for them, Leonard McCoy was not a man who intimidated easily.

The doctor, at least, seemed to have developed some peace over the matter during the intervening years. McCoy only shrugged. "Apparently. I got T'Pau's letter about a week later. Haven't heard anything from anyone about it since."

Spock eyed the doctor for a long moment. It was difficult to know what to think or do, given this new insight. Possibly, meditation would help him to assimilate it into a more logical perspective. He was certain that it would help him to solidify further questions regarding the incident. At the moment, however, an apology seemed the next logical step. Necessary, even, given that the doctor had taken such actions for his, Spock's, benefit. When offered, however, McCoy waved it away.

"Don't. If I hadn't acted as I did, Jim would be dead, and you'd either be in prison, or dishonorably discharged, or maybe dead too somewhere. I knew there would probably be repercussions when I lied to T'Pau, and I did it anyway, and I've never regretted it. Not then, not during the inquiry, and not now. And if I had been discharged, or sent to Vulcan prison, or whatever else the Council had in mind …" McCoy grinned again, the affection back in his eyes, "I still wouldn't regret it."

Spock glanced again from McCoy to T'Pau's letter on the monitor, and then back. How to accept such an openly warm sentiment? He was not human, he did not know the appropriate response to such a declaration. After a moment's hesitation, Spock straightened, and folded his hands behind his back. "Doctor, if you will not accept my apology, I hope you will at least accept my gratitude."

McCoy nodded, slowly. "That I'll take, Spock." He pushed away from the wall. "And do you know how you can pay me back?"

One eyebrow rose, slowly. "How, Doctor?"

"You can review my paper."

Spock tilted his head, and studied McCoy. It was obvious that the doctor was as ready as he to be through with the discussion - for the moment at least. "Of course. I shall review your revisions immediately."

"And Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Open the right file this time."