22. Love Me Not.

Author's Note: For those of you who don't like slash, it may be a good idea to skip this chapter altogether. There may be passing references to this scene later on in the story, but I'll warn you again when we come across more major slash scenes.

The days and weeks seemed to merge into one another as every single student within the school, and some of the professors, struggled to keep up with the syllabus. This was made even more difficult by the fact that Umbridge was prowling around and putting a stop to anything she considered to be against Ministry guidelines, which included many revision groups that some professors had set up to help those who had fallen dramatically behind. McGonagall in particular was not happy with this.

"This is a revision group!" McGonagall had protested loudly when Umbridge had burst in on the former teaching a group of students.

Umbridge gave a delicate laugh, causing McGonagall to tighten her jaw in obvious revulsion. "I'm afraid, Professor McGonagall," she simpered sweetly, "that this group is unacceptable."

"It is not unacceptable to teach students," McGonagall pointed out reasonably, her voice becoming as hard and unrelenting as steel. "Surely not even you could make a decree against that!"

"Oh but I already have." Umbridge withdrew a piece of parchment from a bag which students were seriously beginning to consider had no inward size limit. Her toad like face, bloated by years of self righteous pride, swelled with glee as she cleared her throat once more and began to read. "Educational Decree number-"

McGonagall sniffed in obvious disdain and spoke sarcastically. "Which number are we on this time, I wonder?"

"-twenty three," Umbridge continued, unfazed, "did, if you will recall, give me the position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Therefore," she said smartly, "since I have decreed that any suspicious student organisation, body or group should be disbanded, this class should not exist without previously having asked my opinion on the matter."

"This is hardly suspicious!" McGonagall countered, eyes blazing furiously.

"I'm afraid that you have little say in the matter, Minerva," Umbridge said calmly.

"Professor Dumbledore will hear about this!"

Umbridge assumed a politely incredulous look. "And what, if you would be so kind as to tell me, could your dear Headmaster do? This is clearly an anti-Fudge alliance of his making-"

"'Anti-Fudge alliance'?" McGonagall repeated, incredulous. "Is this what you people at the Ministry consider intelligence? Professor Dumbledore never has – and never will – want the position of Minister. If your boss is conceited enough to believe this is not the case, then perhaps he deserves the ridicule which is going in his direction."

Umbridge looked as if she had been slapped. "How dare you-?" She seemed at a loss for words.

McGonagall looked down her nose very deliberately at Umbridge. "I am simply stating fact. It is not my fault that you choose not to see it."

Umbridge attempted to draw herself to her full height which was not, to the amusement of everyone in the room, anywhere near effective. "Since there is obviously much distaste among the Hogwarts population with regards to the Ministry, I have no choice but to deny you the opportunity to keep this class in session."

"When the government fears school children of overthrowing it, then the country is in a very sorry state indeed," McGonagall said scathingly. "Perhaps we need someone in charge who doesn't jump at every shadow of conspiracy that hides around the corner!"

Umbridge began to puff up in fury. All students had long ago abandoned feigning work and had begun watching with wide eyes or grins on their faces. "You had better watch your step, Minerva." She glanced around at everyone in the room. "Since this class is illegitimate, there is no reason for you all to be here. You may leave."

No one moved.

McGonagall seemed to have difficulty in hiding a victorious smirk. "It would seem that your authority is not recognised, Dolores," she said, her mockery of Umbridge's usual tone causing the latter to puff up even more indignantly.

"The Minister will hear about this." It was extremely satisfying for everyone in the room to hear her repeating the words which McGonagall had furiously said earlier – a sure sign that the tide had changed.

"See that he does," McGonagall called after Umbridge's retreating back. "Perhaps he will put someone in charge who understands that a school is for learning, not for breeding an army." The door slammed behind the High Inquisitor.

McGonagall turned back to her students. "Now, if we don't have any more rude interruptions, maybe we can get something done."

News of this showdown between McGonagall and Umbridge spread like wildfire around the school, and Umbridge found herself to be even more of a source of mockery than before. Yet with this came a new law laid down by the Minister, and McGonagall's revision class was disbanded. Still, Umbridge may have won with the help of Fudge, but everyone remembered McGonagall's plain defiance of her and that alone helped to keep school spirit high and mostly Umbridge-influence-free.

Also helping to keep school morale high was the knowledge that the Quidditch matches would soon begin. Teams were training hard as usual, and teachers – with some notable and obvious exceptions – did their best to refrain from giving unnecessary homework in order to give their teams more time to practice. With this sudden decrease in homework also came a shockingly large increase in house points awarded, as everyone began competing to become the house in front.

It was with this attitude in mind that the Slytherins were practicing Quidditch on the snow filled Quidditch pitch, even while the Gryffindors attempted to take their turn. The result was that half of the Gryffindor team watched the Slytherins in an attempt to discern their weaknesses, whilst the other half tried to argue with Snape over whose right it was to practice. Needless to say, Snape was winning.

"Spock's getting pretty good at flying," Kirk observed, his face turned to the sky as he watched the Vulcan zoom around the pitch as he competed with Malfoy to get the golden Snitch. Kirk and McCoy were ignoring the raging argument completely, having known from the beginning what the outcome would be.

"Spock's good at every damn thing," McCoy muttered.

"Are you still upset about this whole Quidditch thing Bones?"

"Unbelievably," McCoy sighed back, but knowing that he would never win.

"...But we need time to practice!" Angelina was saying to Snape, both of whom were standing behind the two Enterprise officers.

"This time slot is booked for Slytherin," Snape said smoothly.

"But-"

"I suggest," Snape interrupted, "that you do not argue. I have already booked the pitch and intend to use it. If you have any further protests then you can voice them in detention, but you will not interrupt the team practise."

Angelina made a sound as if she wanted to argue, but then stormed away from Snape to sit on a seat near to Kirk and McCoy. They heard a rustling sound and saw Snape settle back into his own seat, a satisfied expression on his face.

Kirk rolled his eyes and turned back to the practise, but did not comment. McCoy sighed, but managed to restrain the angry tirade that he had building up in his mind, and instead settled on something more mundane.

"Damn it's cold."

"So you've said," Kirk grinned.

"The hobgoblin is going to catch Vulcan pneumonia," McCoy groused, his eyes following the Vulcan in question as he floated high above the stands, at the opposite end to Malfoy.

"He'll be alright Bones."

"He got the flu from being in rain," McCoy spat back. "Rain, Jim."

"He is from a desert planet..." Kirk trailed off as the memory of what exactly had happened to said planet once again hit him.

McCoy was slightly too worried about Spock's health and incensed about the dangers of Quidditch to notice. "Exactly my point! He shouldn't be out here in the snow flying around at high altitudes!"

"You make him sound like a plane," Kirk said wryly.

"Even that death trap would be safer than – what the hell do they think they're doing?" McCoy broke off suddenly and pointed at the Gryffindors in the seats in front of them.

"Throwing snowballs," Kirk answered.

"At the team?"

"They're trying to sabotage them."

"I know that," McCoy snapped. "But they'll cause an accident."

"What do you think you're doing?" A voice echoed at the students, who did not hear it over the sound of their own laughter.

Annoyed, Snape stomped over to them and stood there, arms crossed, sneer firmly in place. He opened his mouth once more, probably to repeat what he had just said, but he never got the chance.

Harry laughed as Ron hit him in the chest with a snowball, even as the Weasley twins aimed a couple of round, slightly wet missiles at players as they zoomed close by. Bending over to scoop up a large and generous handful of the white powder, he patted it into a shape that loosely resembled a mini cannonball and stood back up, cocking his arm back and preparing to throw.

He grinned as he saw Ron's eyes widen in surprise, and threw. Ron ducked quickly and Harry's eyes became saucer sized as he saw the snowball fly spectacularly slowly towards Snape, who had his mouth open and seemed about to speak.

Snape's eyes briefly narrowed at the flying ball of sludge as though he would like nothing better than to see it crash and burn, but there was no time for him to do anything else. There was an audible smack as it landed right inside the Potions Master's mouth, which had not had enough time to close before it was attacked.

Snape's mouth bulged with snow and a murderous expression crossed his face, making him look like a particularly deranged chipmunk. Slowly, deliberately, he spat the snow out, the mess landing at his feet with a particularly ominous splat.

Black, beady eyes fixed on Harry with deliberate menace. "You just earned yourself two weeks of detention, Potter," he all but growled. He snapped his gaze around to glare at everyone else. "Unless you wish to suffer the same fate, I suggest that you stop the fight. Now." He turned and stalked back to his seat.

Fred sighed. "Snape is not a happy snowman..."

This started a round of furiously muffled laughter as everyone struggled not to let Snape hear that they were laughing at him, for fear of getting another detention. Fortunately, everyone managed to calm themselves down enough to avoid Snape's likely increased wrath, and returned to watching the game playing out before them.

"Spock seems reluctant to be aggressive..." Angelina murmured.

"He's a seeker," Harry reminded her unnecessarily. "You don't really have time to be aggressive."

"I meant in trying to go for the Snitch. I think he's giving Malfoy a head start."

"Malfoy does need the most practice," Kirk pointed out. "He's the main seeker."

"But if Malfoy gets replaced by Spock," Angelina murmured, "we might be able to use that to our advantage."

"Take it from someone who knows," Kirk replied wryly, "Spock can be ruthless when he puts his mind to it."

"You saw it with Umbridge and at our last meeting," McCoy added. "You do not want to face Spock at Quidditch..."

"Something tells me that he was more experienced at arguing and defence," Angelina said, causing both Kirk and McCoy to grin sheepishly, "but he's new at Quidditch."

"He picks things up quickly," Kirk assured her.

"He can't be that..." She trailed off as she saw how Spock was racing Malfoy in a nail biting dive to catch the snitch.

"Exactly," Kirk and McCoy said in unison.

"Are all Vulcans like that?" Angelina asked finally.

"Definitely," Kirk replied. "We're lucky we're not facing a whole Quidditch team of Vulcans. We'd have no chance."

"And they claim to avoid sports that are illogical," McCoy snorted. "Flying on a broomstick chasing a flying ball is about as illogical as it can get."

Kirk swore and pointed. "Speaking of flying balls..." he ignored a few snickers, "there's a pretty good chance that Spock hasn't seen that one..."

Everyone's eyes turned back towards the pitch in time to see a Bludger closing in on the Vulcan in question, who was still chasing the Snitch, with Malfoy now a few centimetres behind him. A Beater was zooming frantically towards him; bat out already as though he could stop the Bludger by sheer force of will. Finally recognising the fact that he wasn't going to get there in time, the boy shouted out a warning.

Spock, whose fingers were about to close around the Snitch, looked around once he heard the panicked tone to the voice that had called, but it was too late.

The Bludger caught him full in the face, knocking him sideways off his broom and down to the ground, where he landed with an audible thump.

"Shit!" McCoy yelled, leaping out of his seat and running out onto the pitch, Kirk close behind him. Everyone else but Snape, who was also racing to the pitch, remained shocked in the stands.

In a second, he was by the unconscious Vulcan's side and checking his vitals with a practiced air. "We need to get him out the snow," he said to the forming crowd at large. "He'll freeze here."

"Stand back," Snape ordered.

"I can't leave him there damn it!" McCoy said furiously, rounding on the professor with his eyes blazing.

"I am going to levitate him," Snape said simply, "unless you have a better way of getting him to the Hospital Wing?"

McCoy immediately moved aside and watched as Snape cast a non-verbal levitating charm at the Vulcan's still body, moving him carefully through the crowd and as fast as possible towards the castle. Exchanging a brief worried glance, Kirk and McCoy followed him, ignoring the whispers that followed them through the castle as they made their way after Snape to the hospital wing.

"Goodness," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed as Snape gently settled the Vulcan onto a bed close to the door. "What happened?"

"He was hit in the face by a Bludger," Snape said shortly.

"Not to worry," Pomfrey said, bustling around in some drawers. "I have just the thing..."

"He won't be able to stomach any potions designed for humans," McCoy said gravely. "On the Enterprise, I always have to modify medicine for him..."

Pomfrey closed the drawer. "We'll have to use old fashioned methods then," she said brusquely, crossing back over the room to Spock's side. She pointed her wand at Spock's nose, which began repairing itself.

"What was the potion going to do?" McCoy asked, curious despite himself.

"Wake him up," Pomfrey replied. "Professor Snape told me that Vulcans have the ability to control their bodily functions. I had hoped that he would be able to keep his body temperature at a decent level, but we'll just have to use blankets and heating charms..."

"How-"

"Legillimency," Snape replied. "I suppose you would call it a mind meld," his lip curled slightly at the term.

"The first night," Kirk said, nodding.

"It is reassuring that someone remembers," Snape said, but was soon recruited into helping Pomfrey keep the Vulcan, who was starting to shiver, warm.

"I knew this would happen," McCoy swore.

Kirk's eyes were still fixed on Spock's prone form, and when he answered his voice was quiet. "You couldn't have known, Bones." He lifted his gaze briefly to watch Madam Pomfrey and Snape at work. "Will he be alright?"

"He'll be fine," Pomfrey assured him. "He'll have a headache for a few hours – and if I could give him potions I could fix that – but nothing serious."

"Thank God," Kirk muttered quietly, obviously under the impression that no one could hear him.

A few seconds later, Madam Pomfrey stepped back with a flourish and smiled. "There. He'll be asleep for a while now, so I suggest that you go and get some dinner."

A quick look at the clock told them that several hours had passed since they had all trooped outside in the attempt to practice Quidditch.

Kirk opened his mouth to protest, but McCoy tugged his arm. "Come on Jim, he's not going anywhere."

With one last worried look, Kirk allowed McCoy to steer him out of the room in silence. They were dragged down to the Great Hall by the flow of hungry students, the roar of voices practically making conversation impossible until they sat down at their usual places at the table.

McCoy seemed grimmer than usual, obviously waiting to say something important, but unsure on how to broach the subject, or even if he should. Finally, after watching McCoy absent-mindedly almost ladle baked beans into his cup, Kirk intervened.

"Just spit it out, Bones."

McCoy scrutinised Kirk for several seconds before obligingly lowering his fork to the table and dropping his voice so that the conversation remained private. "How long, Jim?"

"How long what?"

"I think you know." McCoy's voice was gentle.

Kirk sighed and stared at his plate for a few moments, never comfortable with having this kind of conversation. "Since shortly after Nero, I guess."

"Have you told him?"

Kirk jerked his head around to stare at the Doctor. "Are you crazy? How could I...Bones," he amended, suddenly seeming unsure of himself, "I've never felt this before. I don't know if..." he trailed off.

"You don't know if it's real," McCoy finished quietly before laying a hand on Jim's arm to get the other man to look at him. "Jim, this is real."

"Bones, you're a brilliant psychiatrist, but even you can't see into my head."

McCoy snorted softly, but his expression remained serious. "I've seen the way you look at him, and I can tell you now that I've never seen that expression on your face before."

Kirk didn't reply, but his expression spoke volumes.

"Tell me, how did you feel when he fell?"

Kirk blinked, but answered the question. "Worried, scared...afraid. All the other synonyms."

"I think you've just answered your question. This is real Jim; it's all there for you to see."

"I'd have felt the same if you were falling."

McCoy sighed. "And exactly how many times have you tickled a giant squid to see me blush?"

Kirk stared at him, mouth slightly open.

McCoy grinned. "You liked seeing him blush, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"My point exactly. You tease him, you worry for him...you slap him on the shoulder more than the whole Bridge put together...do I have to spell it out for you?"

Kirk gave him a wry smile. "It just needed something like this for me to realise it."

"You've known all along, Jim, you just didn't know what to do with it."

Kirk nodded. "I admit that I knew there was...something...but it was so different to anything I've ever felt before." He chuckled. "At first I thought I was coming down with a new disease."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Trust you to turn something perfectly normal into a life or death scenario."

"I just...wasn't sure how to handle it. I've only ever had non-serious relationships. I'm not sure if I can handle this."

"At the risk of sounding corny..." McCoy cleared his throat in preparation. "If it's meant to be, it will be."

Kirk snorted. "Even you can do better than that Bones."

"I thought you'd appreciate that phrase more. Obviously I was wrong."

"Are you saying I should tell him?"

McCoy nodded. "That's exactly what I'm telling you." Kirk made a face and McCoy elbowed him. "Don't tell me you're scared of Spock?" he asked incredulously.

"The last time I mentioned love to him he tried to strangle me," Kirk pointed out.

"He wouldn't do that here. There are too many witnesses," McCoy teased.

"You're not helping Bones."

"Tell him," McCoy said seriously. "And do it soon damn it, before you lose your nerve or we get killed by a rampaging hippogriff."

Kirk grinned, but it was slightly forced through his nervousness. "If you're wrong, I'll have your head."

"It won't do the decor of your quarters any good to have my face on the wall." McCoy shot back. "You'll never know until you try."

Kirk nodded and promptly returned his attention to his food, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. He continued to be reserved for the few hours it took for Spock to finally wake up and be released from the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey announcing that he had 'made an amazing recovery'. McCoy, knowing what the reason was behind this, mercifully remained quiet and allowed the Captain to think, understanding that Kirk was mentally planning out what he was going to say.

Spock gave Kirk a curious glance when they came to collect him from the Hospital Wing, but otherwise showed no reaction to Kirk's abrupt change in mood, instead being occupied with McCoy's customary argument involving injury and Quidditch together, which only stopped when they reached the Room of Requirement.

"I have some Transfigurations work to finish," McCoy grimaced as he walked over to his school bag. "Hermione offered to help me with it, and knowing me it'll probably take a while..." he trailed off as he piled stuff into his bag.

"I could assist you."

McCoy turned down Spock's offer slightly too quickly. "Since Hermione's already offered and will be waiting in the Common Room, I should probably just go. Thanks anyway, Spock," he grinned. When Spock turned to claim a chair by the fire, McCoy pushed Kirk roughly further into the room.

"Remember what I said," he whispered, giving Kirk one last reassuring grin before disappearing from the room altogether.

Kirk coughed nervously and shuffled over to where Spock was sitting, taking the opportunity to gaze into the fire in order to collect his thoughts. He was about to speak when Spock's voice interrupted him.

"You are oddly introspective this evening, Jim."

Kirk nodded, licking his lips in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture before continuing. Spock, picking up on this, regarded him curiously. "Spock..." he paused briefly, but then ploughed on. "When that Bludger hit you..." he paused again, as though weighing his words, "I felt...something." Inwardly, Kirk was cringing at himself.

"That is illogical, Jim. I fail to comprehend how you could have been physically affected by my accident."

"I didn't mean physically," Kirk said, a blush tingeing his cheeks red as he realised that Spock had not caught the euphemism. Damn, he really needed to write Spock that human phrases dictionary... "I meant emotionally."

Spock seemed to process that for a while, travelling through all the nuances of human language and emotion before he reached the conclusion that Kirk expected him to reach. What Kirk didn't expect was for Spock to remain quiet, a look of profound pain lodged deeply in his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, fear creeping into his words despite his best efforts to hide it. This was not going how he had hoped.

"I know, Jim." The words were so quiet that, had it not been for the subtle movement of Spock's lips, Kirk would not have believed that they had been spoken.

"You do?" he asked, astonishment and a tentative hope making his voice rise slightly in pitch. "How?"

Spock looked down at his shoes, his eyes heavy. "You are forgetting that I am a touch telepath."

Surely not the squid? But Spock's face was still hidden, and it wasn't to hide his amusement at what had been dubbed by McCoy as the "squid fiasco". "And I...slapped you on the shoulder a lot," he inwardly cursed himself for not noticing sooner, "didn't I?" Kirk finally said, wondering if perhaps Spock was embarrassed by this truth.

"Indeed." The head did not rise.

"I'm sorry," Kirk murmured softly. "I should have remembered that you could read my thoughts." He gave Spock's hair a self deprecating smile, inwardly wondering why the Vulcan would not meet his eyes. "I did have a crash course in Vulcan telepathy after all..."

The man before him drew in a breath. "There is no need for you to apologise, Jim." The eyes finally seemed to find the courage to meet his. "It is I who must."

He hadn't been expecting that. Kirk blinked, the immeasurable surprise filtering into his voice when he finally spoke. "Why?" Spock did not answer, and realisation dawned. "You don't love me back."

Kirk noticed that Spock did not refute the statement, and the abrupt disappointment which filled him stopped him from noticing the heavy eyes, the stiff jaw or the subtle trembling of hands lying on the Vulcan's lap as Spock spoke his next words, his voice carefully devoid of emotion.

"I...do not wish to cause you pain, Jim."

He felt as though his heart had been ripped from his body and stabbed repeatedly. So Bones was right, I do care for him...was all he could think. "You're not."

Spock gave him a look, the Vulcan version of 'bull shit'.

"Alright," he amended, "...it hurts."

Spock nodded, to Kirk's utter surprise and confusion. "I know," he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. "Jim, I am sorry."

"Don't be," he finally said. He gave a weak smile, knowing how unconvincing it was to both of them. "Hermione is helping Bones with homework," he muttered, falling back on the lie that McCoy has just told, "I might ask her if she's doing Potions." He struggled to blink away the film which was suddenly in his eyes.

He picked up his school bag to hide his struggle. "I think I might go and join them. I need the help..." He fled the room, missing the slump of defeat in the Vulcan's shoulders.

"Jim?" McCoy asked, attempting to stop the Captain in his tracks. "What happened?"

Kirk did not answer, pushing past the surgeon's concerned gaze and heading towards the library, having no intention of going to join Hermione. The expression on his face was answer enough.

McCoy understood everything in that moment, his face changing from concern to incensed in an alarmingly short space of time as every single protective instinct regarding James Kirk popped into place. Quickly remembering the lie he had concocted to give him an excuse to come back to the room to check on their progress, he slammed open the door and stormed in.

"I forgot something," he growled, knowing that Spock was not convinced for even a moment. Slamming the door back shut and dropping the pretence, he found himself towering over the Vulcan, who had until that moment been staring solemnly into the fire from his armchair.

"Alright Spock, let's have it."

"I do not-"

"Yes you damn well do," McCoy spat, not in the mood for word games. "I know what Jim just asked you...how else do you think he found the courage to do it?"

"I did not realise..." Spock began, his voice sounding oddly helpless. McCoy resolutely ignored it.

"And that's your problem, Spock, you never realise a God damned thing! This was the first time, damn it!" McCoy bellowed at the Vulcan. "The first time that he's ever felt true love for anyone, and you threw it back into his face!"

"I did not-"

"Did you even give him an explanation, Spock?" McCoy demanded, too infuriated to allow the Vulcan to finish. "Of course not. When have you ever given an explanation for your high and mighty logical decisions?"

Spock stood up, bringing their eyes into contact, and that was when McCoy knew that Spock was not unaffected. Those dark eyes were the windows into Spock's soul, a way of looking into his very being, and right now McCoy was staring at them.

"I could not explain, Leonard."

"Why the hell not?"

Spock didn't answer, his gaze drifting away from McCoy's.

"Oh no you don't," McCoy snapped, drawing Spock's attention back to him. "You can at least have the decency to look at the best friend of the man whose heart you just crushed!"

McCoy had expected Spock to fight back, to justify himself with as many logical reasons as could be accepted, to stoically bear anything that the Doctor threw at him with cold indifference, but he just stood there, his dark, emotional eyes betraying the turmoil within him.

But McCoy could not yet move beyond the anger that threatened to push him over the edge. "You love him too, Spock!" He screeched, seeing Spock's gaze meet his once more, surprise showing in its depths.

"I'm not an idiot," he snapped in reply to the silent question. "It's obvious to anyone who knows you both, but what's not obvious is how you can be so incapable of understanding that you throw away happiness for both of you!"

"I am not incapable, Leonard."

"Then why didn't you accept what he was saying, why didn't you tell him?" Spock didn't answer. "For the love of God, Spock! You just ripped out that man's heart! If you don't have the decency to even tell him that you love him back, or even why you rejected him, then at least tell me!"

"Telling you will not accomplish anything."

McCoy stared at him. "How can you stand there and say that? How can you cause both of you so much pain?"

"I am not-"

"Don't bother denying it, Spock. I can see how much this is tearing you up, how much this hurts you. I just can't see why you'd do it."

Spock lowered his head and sat back down, the gesture of defeat from the usually indestructible Vulcan so shocking that McCoy stumbled to a halt in his tirade.

"You would not understand."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. "You don't think you deserve to love him, do you?"

Spock looked up in surprise once more, but did not answer. His silence was damning.

McCoy sighed and flopped into a chair opposite the Vulcan, feeling suddenly drained. "Oh Lord..." he moaned to himself. "We've fallen into a Shakespeare play..." He leaned forwards and fixed Spock's bent head with an intense stare. "Spock, look at me."

There was a brief moment of hesitation, but Spock eventually brought his head up to meet McCoy's eyes.

"You are worthy of him, Spock."

Spock shook his head. "I am not."

Right then, McCoy could have cursed everyone and anyone who had ever verbally or physically tried to abuse Spock. "Listen to me very carefully," he said quietly. "They were wrong, Spock, all of them. You're not worthless, and you certainly don't need the right to love someone." He weighed his words very carefully before speaking, knowing that any mistake would send him right back to square one.

"You're perfect for him, can't you see that? Racial status doesn't matter to Jim and it shouldn't matter to anyone else. Those people who told you differently...they were all wrong – very wrong. Race doesn't change what anyone thinks of you, Spock. Race is not important. What is important – what Jim loves about you – is your character, your personality. He loves you, Spock, he cares for you." He paused to see if his words were having any effect, but was not encouraged by what he saw.

"I know that one speech from me, no matter what I say or how much I beg you to see, can't change a whole lifetime of believing the opposite," he said finally, "but I ask you to think about it, Spock. All those in your life who love you – they don't care about your race, they don't care about whether or not you're 'worthy'. They are the people whose opinions matter, not the bigots who don't know you." He paused again. "Consider it," he repeated.

Spock looked up, the dark eyes still so full of pain and remembered torment that McCoy could hardly bear to look at them, and nodded once.

"Good," McCoy said, getting up from his chair. "And now," he announced, "I have to go and try to explain to Jim what went wrong..." he regarded the Vulcan before him. "You'll have to talk to him about it sometime, you know. I can explain now, but it will mean much more coming from you. You need to tell him the truth."

Once he was sure that the First Officer had heard him, he left the room considerably more quietly than he had entered, and walked to the library, knowing that Kirk tended to bury himself in work or exercise whenever he became overcome with emotion. Since it was both too cold and too late to go for a jog around the grounds, he would not be anywhere else.

Sure enough, upon entering the library he spotted the sandy haired man in a far corner, alone, writing notes from a textbook. As he drew closer, McCoy noticed the warning signs; tense shoulders and jaw, focused expression and an unwillingness to acknowledge the presence of another person. He sat down anyway. If he didn't say anything now, it would be too late, and God knew that Spock wasn't in the right frame of mind to do it right now.

"Jim, I heard what happened," he said quietly.

Kirk did not look up from his text book. "About what?" He asked with a passable attempt at a vague tone of voice, but McCoy could hear the underlying pain.

"Look at me," he said softly, gently taking the quill from Kirk's unresisting hand and setting it to one side. "Jim...I talked to Spock about it."

All at once, Kirk's eyes blazed. "You had no right to discuss it behind my back."

"I had every right," McCoy countered. "I'm your friend, and I'm Spock's too. When something this big comes between you both, it's my job to sort it out."

Kirk's eyes remained fiery. "Subterfuge?"

"No," McCoy said, forcing himself not to get angry at the blatant accusation. "Investigation."

Kirk snorted. "What did he say?"

"Not much," McCoy admitted, "but I know why he turned you down. He loves you, Jim, but he doesn't feel like he deserves you."

"How do you know this if he didn't say anything?"

"Give me a little credit," McCoy snapped, his patience fraying slightly. "I suggested the possibility and he didn't deny it. Where Spock's concerned, that's a confession." Kirk didn't look convinced, but McCoy ploughed on regardless. "He doesn't think he's worthy, Jim."

Kirk's brow creased. "Spock?" He asked incredulously. "How can he possibly think that?"

"That's what I thought, until I remembered the hints that he's dropped about his childhood, and the various things that you told me older Spock had said."

Kirk's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh God..."

McCoy nodded. "For supposedly unemotional beings," he said bitterly, "Vulcan children sure are brilliant at causing emotional trauma."

"Why didn't he tell me himself?" Kirk asked, eyes narrowing in slight suspicion. "Why did he send you to do it?"

"He didn't. I came by myself when I found out, but he knows that I'm here," he added at Kirk's darkening expression. "I told him before I left that you deserved some sort of explanation and he seemed to agree – or at least, he didn't protest."

"I still wish he told me himself," Kirk muttered.

"I know, but when I left he didn't look in any state to talk to anybody, and I think you're the last person he wanted to face after what he just did."

Kirk winced, but nodded. "That's...understandable."

"I tried to explain to him that what he's been told isn't true," McCoy continued quietly, "that racial status doesn't matter to you, but I don't think I can overcome a whole lifetime of emotional abuse in just one conversation."

"It'll take time."

"Yes," McCoy replied. "It'll take time, but I think he'll realise eventually that it doesn't matter. He knows that everyone aboard the ship has a high opinion of him, and hopefully that'll be enough."

Kirk mulled this over for a moment or two. "What do we do in the meantime?"

"In the meantime," McCoy said, "all we can do is wait, and hope that he realises he made a mistake in both doubting himself and turning you down. Until then, we need to continue to show him support and do our best – indirectly of course – to make him understand that he's valued."

Kirk sighed as the full weight of the situation settled on him. "I hope it's enough," he said grimly, watching the students on a table nearby as they chatted and laughed together and wished, not for the first time, that life could be that simple again.