Disclaimer: I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.
Authors Note #1: This story was inspired by the Star Trek Voyager episode: "Twisted", which was the twenty-second episode in the first season. I liked the idea of some outside force moving rooms and decks about like the 'Spatial distortion' did to Voyager in that episode. Is it just me or does anyone else realize the deliciously naughty possibilities that could result?
Authors Note #2: This is a tame Spock and McCoy slash boys and girls, so count yourselves as warned. Why Spock and McCoy you ask? Well, other then the fact that they are both undeniably delicious, it is simply this, no two people who argue that much, all the time, about virtually nothing cannot not have a love on for the other. Thats my reasoning anyway. Pah! Like anyone really needs an excuse to slash them together anyway!?
Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.
What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – 'Privacy locks and Just a drop of Good Old Kentucky Bourbon'
His hands almost shook as he thumbed the door closed, the only outwardly noticeable sign that belated his exhaustion and stressed frame of mind. But despite it all his stubborn pride was rooted deep and therefore it wasn't until he had keyed in his privacy code that he allowed himself a relieved sigh, slumping against the cool metal of the nearest wall as he felt the full extent of his exhaustion nearly overwhelm him.
Kneading his knuckles into his tired lids he caught sight of himself in a nearby mirror. "Your getting too old for this Leonard old boy." He told himself sarcastically, eying the scruffy, tousled-haired stranger that smirked back at him.
Grimacing he surveyed the damage up close, his fingers tracing the dark circles under his lids with a practiced eye. He snorted at his reflection, he doubted he had had such bags under his eyes since his final year of medical school, where his degree had been hard won with many sleepless nights, and double credit class loads.
His fingers scrapped roughly across his cheeks, following the thick expanse of coarse, light-brown stubble that covered his chin and cheeks. And he didn't even have to investigate further then giving himself a slight sniff to know he didn't entirely like the way he smelled either.
All in all his was sure he had seen corpses that looked better. Shaking his head he crossed into his bedroom, grumbling for a moment as he peeled off his grimy shirt. Taking a moment to relish the sensation of being bare-chested after nearly three days in the same uniform, enjoying the cool air against his skin.
He had always found something incredibly freeing about shedding his uniform after a long day of work, and walking around in the privacy of his quarters half-nude. After all Christine didn't tease him every now and again of being a bit of a caveman for nothing. When the topic came up he would always counter her ribbing with a wide grin, proclaiming proudly that he simply enjoyed his humanity. It gave Spock something to think about at any rate.
His head nurse and close friend always did have a quick wit and a sharp intellect, and he always eagerly anticipated their debates. Christine was one of the few people who never let him get comfortable on his high horse, so to speak, and he was always grateful when she would step in and take him down a peg or two when he needed it. Their debates were nothing at all like 'arguing' with Spock, he mused as he stalked over to the Landry chute, banishing the foul smelling garment to a good cleaning.
Debating with Spock was like talking to the ships computer. It had all the right answers, but the passion of the debate, the one part he held so highly sometimes didn't hold the same spark. Not to mention that most of the time they both frustrated him to the point of tearing his hair out.
"The green-blooded, computerized hobgoblin!" He muttered in frustration as he found all his problems, and all his stress over what had occurred between them on the Bridge came rushing back at the mere suggestion of the Vulcan's name.
He shook his head firmly but his traitorous thoughts remained. 'For heavens sake! You his bloody doctor! One of his best friends!' He thought harshly, stomping over to a cabinet near his desk, suddenly feeling a great need for a good old fashioned 'pick-me-up'.
While the cabinet door slammed open, taking the brunt of his foul temper, he slid the half empty, brown frosted bottle out delicately, almost reverently as he poured himself a shot glass full. Swirling the potent liquor slightly to release the rich heady scent, and he paused only a moment before downing the contents in a single gulp.
Welcoming the familiar numbing burn he closed his eyes for a moment in contentment, smacking his lips appreciatively as the heated warmth seeped into his belly. "Just what the doctor ordered." He chuckled, pouring himself another healthy measure as he made his way over to the couch, propping his feet on the small coffee table as he sipped from the glass more sparingly this time.
However, even the Kentucky Bourbon could not cloud the truth tonight. For all his years of deluding himself, of burying his feelings deep under the ties of friendship and professionalism, it took only one ill-fated tumble on the deck plating to bring it all back.
He would be damned before he would admit it of course, but as the years had worn on, that tentative toleration of the Vulcan had slowly evolved. With grudging respect turning to friendship till the man was such a potent center in his life that thought of life without him somehow seemed dull and wonderless.
Their arguments and constant ribbing had become a unique trademark of their friendship, and he had come to relish their battle of wills, no matter how frustrated the half-human man might make him. And he knew for a fact that Spock enjoyed them as well, no matter how illogical they might be. The man had even started his fair share! Grinning slightly he remembered as he threw a shielding arm over his eyes, soothing his tired eyes from the light as his lips sought the rim of his glass again.
But then, quite suddenly his feelings for the Vulcan had abruptly changed...evolving past a comfortable friendship, and on into stranger, less stable territories. He wasn't exactly sure when the change had occurred, but he did remember when he first became aware of it. It had began innocently, as these things so often do, and this time they had been in Sick bay, where he had been conducting the first officers quarterly physical.
His orderlies, nurses, and even Christine had all scurried elsewhere, getting well out of the line of fire as they scented trouble on the horizon, the Sick bay suddenly becoming miraculously empty as they began an argument so fiery it promised to put their usual fair to shame. He snorted in amusement as he remembered, downing the rest of his drink, and running a hand through his ruffled hair as he looked wistfully at the bottle across the room from him, debating whether he should get up and retrieve it or not.
But the comfortable allure of his present location eventually won out and he opted to stay put, twirling his glass around in his hand so it caught the light as he thought back.
If he hadn't known any better he could have sworn that the Vulcan had been acting difficult on purpose. He questioned his every request and comment, challenging his technique and even proclaiming to be capable of self-diagnosing himself. But the straw that had truly broken the camels back, and not to mention his temper was his refusal to remove his thermal undershirt.
Sitting up on the bio-bed in only his long-sleeved undershirt and his trousers the damnable pest had arched his brow, and fixed him with a piercing yet expressionless stare. "My undershirt doctor? I fail to see the logic behind disrobing when your instruments can detect any anomalies through the fabric." He had stated stoically to his request. He had sighed and rolled his eyes recognizing the beginning overture of an old argument between them, well aware that Spock knew his reasoning already.
"Emotionless Vulcan my ass." He muttered aloud with a ghost of a fond smile as he tugged off his boots and socks letting them stay where they fell as he massaged his sore toes. From there the argument had predictably spiraled downward until he had blown his top and swooped over to the Vulcan, invading his personal space with a calculated maneuver designed to make the prude man uncomfortable.
"Now listen here you over grown, pointy-eared jack-rabbit!" He began, his hands resting at either side of the sitting mans thighs, so close to him their noses were nearly touching, so close he could actually smell the spicy, and strangely exotic scents that made up the Vulcan's unique smell. "I am your physician, and the way I go about my diagnosis is of no concern to you. Now, unless you have a medical degree equal to mine and wish to challenge the way I do things in my Sick bay, shut the hell up, stop wasting my time, and take off that damn shirt before I tear it off myself!" He hissed.
The silence had been nearly palpable, with both of them shocked into silence as the full impact of his words suddenly occurred to both of them. He had felt his face flush, and he had quickly stepped away from the Vulcan, crossing his arms to avoid the temptation to fidget in his embarrassment.
After a moment however Spock left him virtually open mouthed in astonishment when he deliberately caught his eye, and with a momentarily arched brow he slowly, ever so slowly peeled off the shirt so that inch by inch his dusky olive-hued skin had been revealed until he pulled it over his head, leaving his usually sleek and immaculate hair tousled and sticking up. And then with eyes he had sworn were twinkling with amusement, the taller man had cocked his head and given him a nod. "I defer to your judgment Doctor." And then had looked over at him expectantly, innocently even!
The likely unintentionally erotic move had left him gaping like a catfish out of water, struck utterly speechless by his bodies reaction to the move. He remembered how a heated bolt of arousal had arrowed down to strike his groin enveloping his brain in a momentary cloud of sexual tension and desire. It had been only a few seconds, but even as he quickly collected himself and turned awake to grab his scanner he knew Spock had noticed his tension, the man had probably even detected an increase in his heart rate. But at the time he had simply prayed the man would take it as a normal side effect of the heated argument.
He had called it an early day after that, not even breaking his quick paced stride as he entered his quarters, not halting till he had reached his liquor cabinet and had poured himself a double shot of whiskey, his brain and gut alike twisting into knots. The next few days and nights had been pure torture, with erotic dreams haunting his sleep and the mere proximity of the man during the day bringing the memories back unbidden to his mind as fresh as if they had just occurred.
However he had never allowed the attraction to evolve further, shrouding his feelings under a covering blanket of snarky comments and feigned grudging toleration of the man. Donning the mask and acting the part wasn't something that came difficult to him. For his entire life he had presented the world with what many assumed was his heart and passions on his sleeves, appearing to be exactly as he acted, a fiery, passionate, acid-tongued charmer.
And while that much was true, it wasn't all of him, it was a front he put up to keep people from soul-searching too deep. It kept people appeased, thinking they knew him and it afforded him his secrets. He had hid those feelings so deep and so well that he had almost succeeded in convincing himself it had simply been a strange isolated incident borne of exhaustion or the inhalation of one to many lab chemicals.
Until today that is... And while knew he was no kind naive fool, he couldn't quite shake the feeling, nor could he bring himself to wholly discount, that for a moment...for a brief second, he could have sworn he saw the same twin expression of longing...of desire reflecting back at him in those dark brown almond eyes.
But he just couldn't..He just couldn't believe it his feelings were returned..Because for as much as he achieved, no matter how many diseases he cured or lives he saved, for all his bluster, pride and mule-like determination...for so many years now, there were times when he looked inside himself and found himself wanting.
And that was his greatest fear, the fear of being discovered, of people finding out that the great Leonard McCoy, trusted CMO and friend of James T. Kirk himself, the fearless and tenacious doctor of the USS Enterprise, a man who had held his own in more fire-fights then anyone had a right to be in and had saved so many lives he had lost count, was a fraud. Because for all the faith others had in him, he could rarely see cause for it in himself. That is why he always found it so ironic that people sought him out with their prob;ems, their issues... The universe, it seemed was not without a sense of humor.
Sometimes he swore his insecurities could eat him alive. Eat him up and leave nothing but weakness behind.
His greatest fear in essence, was himself. Of failing those who counted on him, loved him, and of failing to live up to his own expectations. He supposed that was why his marriage had failed, and why his long term relationships always seemed to fizzle out in the end, left to simply wither and die like that last out of reach peach, left forgotten to moulder on it's branch in the bright summer sun. When it came down to it they all seemed to end for the same reason...because he didn't feel he deserved the passion, the love, nor the devotion his lovers had so freely give him. He feared letting anyone know him too closely, lest they discover the whole man behind the facade of openness.
He shook his head, mentally berating himself for indulging in such moping, idly picking at a stray thread sticking out of the arm rest. He only got so introspective when he was exhausted. 'Nothing a drop of the good stuff won't cure.' He told himself as he eyed the whiskey bottle from across the room speculatively.
But regardless, despite his feelings he knew he was no fool, nor coward, he simply wouldn't put up with such nonsense. He was aware that for many, insecurities were what kept peoples ego's from bursting. He simply had a hard time escaping from his own. He supposed it was going to be something of a life's project, to accept himself as he was he thought with a grim smile.
"Ah well...We all have our faults.." He muttered aloud as he got to his feet and firmly grasped the half-full bottle, bringing it to his lips without preamble, abandoning his glass without a second thought as he took a hearty swig, grinning as he let his mind wander.
For example, while Jim might be the studmeister of the known universe, he couldn't maintain a relationship to save his golden-hued arse! Nor keep his nose out of trouble for that matter. Christine? Well the poor girl seemed to always set herself up for heartbreak, falling in love with men who had deep-freezes for hearts. Sulu's had to be his ambitions. While he found such determination admirable, he sometimes got the impression that in the meantime the man was missing out on life, skipping over those little experiences in life that made it all worth living.
Scotty was an easy one to define. The man was too damned attached to his machines and to his engines then to the flesh of a good woman. He had seen the man miss many the opportunity to share a warm bed with an interested woman, not even realizing the opportunity had passed him by when his head was too full of warp theories and reworking plasma circuits. Uhura was a tougher nut to crack, as despite all their years together the chocolate skinned beauty was nearly as much a mystery to him as she was the day they had met. However, he did know that if she did have a fault it was an innocent one. The girl put too much of herself into her relationships, and inevitably some devil would come along and break her heart, leaving her with naught to do but sweep up the broken pieces.
And Chevok, well the boy was still just a pup, still amazing them all with his wide-eyed wonder. He remembered the the young man's first day aboard, the boy had still had the apprehensive look of a child who had just been freshly torn from his mothers apron strings. Unsure but determined. He supposed he couldn't find fault in him for youth, but the young man had still not lost the naivety of his tender years. Something that while precious, unfortunately had no place on a Starship.
'And finally...Spock.' He pondered with a grin, wriggling on the couch a bit as he settled in more comfortably, adjusting his pants minutely as he did so. 'Now with Spock he could definitely spin a good yarn.' He thought wickedly. But perhaps when it all came down to it, he could separate it all into one real reason.
That while he wasn't one to comment on the nature of a man's heritage and how he conducted himself...After all it wasn't his business. But for some reason the fact that the man had chosen to entirely abandon the human side of his heritage had always seemed to rub him the wrong way.
Maybe it was because he relished his humanity so much that knowing that someone who had the opportunity to explore it had never bothered to give it a chance. Most of the time Spock treated emotions and feelings like a disease, something that was to be shunned or corrected. Oh there was that odd time that his expressionless Vulcan facade would crumble...revealing just the slightest hint of emotion, like a ghost of humor flitting across his face, unable to hold it in after one of Jim's or even his own antics. But that was merely irregular at best.
Privately he had always felt that the man was selling himself short by not even attempting to find a balance between his two natures, feeling as though regardless of what the man might believe, that by ignoring and suppressing his human half he was missing an integral part of himself.
And for a moment he amused himself by pondering the fact that the man might be deluding himself just as he was, because of a sense of pride and determination (thought he would never admit it of course) that was likely a rival to his own. "Vulcans!" He snorted despairingly.
'But on second thought...' He mused, brushing a tired hand across his face. 'If he had to have his own faults, at least he was in good company!' He thought with a smile, almost chuckling aloud at the thought.
The tortured shriek of bending mental effectively tore him from his thoughts as the unearthly noise caused him to start in surprise.
"What the devil!?" He groaned, grunting in disgust as he wrenched himself off the couch. Stomping over to the door, mad enough to do battle. 'If some wet-behind-the-ears crewman is choosing now of all times to do repairs on command crew quarters I am going to rip him a new one!' He thought viciously, stabbing the unlock and stepping out of his door, head swiveling to locate his target, entirely forgetting he was half naked.
But there was no repair crew, in fact he never did figure out what caused the banshee-like noise. Instead he emerged into the hall just in time to catch the back end of none other then his current tormentor striding into his own cabin just two doors down, his sleek cap of dark hair glinting in the brightly lit corridor for a moment before his doors swished closed, leaving him alone in the hall in nothing but his trousers.
His surge of anger deflated almost as fast as it had flared up, and he quickly stepped back into his rooms, cursing himself throughly as he felt his neck flush, the blush crawling steadily up his face regardless of his colorful words.
'Lord! Get a grip man!' He admonished himself sternly. 'Your acting like some love struck school boy passing his first crush!' He thought with a slightly bitter grin, rubbing at the sudden aroused tingle in his arms, smoothing his hands down the light brown tan and the soft smattering of freckles that flecked his skin.
God help him, he was in love with a Vulcan...A Vulcan for mercy's sake! "Well Len, you have certainly gotten yourself into a pickle this time." He muttered, thinking deeply as he stood in the in the middle of his quarters, the bottle of Kentucky made Whiskey sitting forgotten at the side of the couch.
'Well you old fool, you best put it out of your mind...because you know well enough that nothing is going to come of it...So straighten yourself up and get your rear in gear!' He admonished himself sternly, trying without much success to banish the sleek, graceful Vulcan from his mind.
For a few long and unfruitful moments, he looked up, unfolding his crossed arms, shaking his head he accepted defeat. 'Just what I need..' He thought with a sigh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he huffed in frustration. 'A Vulcan on the brain!'