A/N: I'm alive! And if you would like to check in and make sure I'm alive more often than my posts, I have a tumblr, now. Hopefully I will be more consistent posting general things there. Check my profile for the link.

Thanks to all who have been following and reviewing this story as it slowly progresses: yes, Guest, I only have one adoptive grandma and so I was addressing you! Thank you for everything :)

This chapter takes place after Amok Time.

Secrets

"Well that was without a doubt the most apologetic diplomat we've ever encountered," McCoy quipped jovially as soon as he, Kirk, and Spock beamed back aboard the Enterprise. "How 'bout it? We arrive late and he just fell over himself to make us right at home!"

"Our reputation precedes us, Bones, for once in our favor." Kirk led the way from the transporter room into the hall. "I can see now why Komack was so insistent that we show."

"President of Altair VI or #1 fan?" McCoy remarked. "Still, I suppose it wasn't worst inauguration I've ever attended. Or the weirdest."

"The crowning of Silastian Tutoor certainly made for an interesting occasion," Spock observed.

Kirk smiled at him. The first officer had been unusually reticent throughout the entire ceremony, and it was good to see him return to engaging in light conversation. The past several days had been… trying. "Indeed it did, Mr. Spock."

They entered the turbolift. "By the way, Spock, I'd like to talk with you in my office if you have a moment before we depart," McCoy said casually.

"Certainly, Doctor. I am available now."

Kirk shot McCoy a half-questioning, half-warning glance. McCoy just looked back at him. Whether or not Spock was aware of the undertone in McCoy's voice would remain to be seen.

The two in blue exited on Deck 5 and proceeded in silence to the doctor's office. Once inside, McCoy folded his arms and took a step back, meaning to be disarming. He raised his eyebrows. "Anything else I need to know?"

Spock faked blank. "In what regard, Doctor?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "A third eyelid? Pon farr? I'm doing my best with your physiology but I'm of no help if I'm constantly kept in the dark."

"Doctor, I myself was largely unaware of Vulcans' third eyelid, it was by no measure of deceit that-"

"Don't play coy, Spock," he snapped. "Not now."

Spock clammed up.

McCoy sighed and rubbed his brow. "Spock, you are aware of doctor-patient confidentiality, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then you know I wouldn't go broadcasting your issues to the whole galaxy, right?"

"Of course not."

"Then why keep me in the dark about what was wrong with you?"

Spock was silent for a while. "It is a matter of Vulcan secrecy. We do not discuss it, even amongst ourselves, unless absolutely necessary."

"That's my point!" McCoy pointed at his computer terminal. "I couldn't find a single piece of literature on your case, not even in the Vulcan database! I didn't know if this was something totally unique to your physiology or not! And to find that it was a matter of life and death? This can't happen again, Spock."

When Spock spoke his voice was cold. "As I stated, it is a matter of Vulcan secrecy. We do not wish anyone, especially non-Vulcans, to learn of our greatest weakness."

"You're missing my point," McCoy shook his head. "I don't care about your planet-wide secret. I care when it affects you. And because I don't have any, I mean any texts on this, that's when I doubly need you to be honest with me, because you're my only source of information."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "Your curiosity would have been spared had we made it to Vulcan in time, before the situation became dire. My interest was in protecting my people, and doing so in a way that would have allowed-"

"But things didn't work out that way!" McCoy butted in, exasperated. "No secret is worth losing your life over."

Spock shook his head. "You do not understand-"

"Don't I?" McCoy stepped forward. "Why does one keep secrets, Spock? Even medically-relevant ones, which are highly logical to divulge. Why does a whole planet of people keep it even as those people spread out and interact and work with other species in situations where this would inevitably come up? That's not logic, that's emotion. That's shame and embarrassment, maybe walking in hand with pride and ego."

The Vulcan folded his arms and looked at McCoy for a long moment. He did not speak.

McCoy sighed. "I'm not trying to invade your privacy; I don't want this to happen again. So we might as well be honest we each other: is there anything else that I, as your doctor, should know going forward?"

Spock took a long time considering. McCoy wanted to shake him, or shout, but did his best to hold back. Maybe not all of pon farr had left him and he was having trouble thinking logically. Or maybe he was still stuck on McCoy's accusation that all of Vulcan was highly emotional and illogical by participating in keeping the secret. Or maybe the issue was-

"Or would you prefer a Vulcan doctor?" he blurted, well-meaning. "I've been looking for an AMO for months, so that's an option. You wouldn't have to trust anything that private with me, personally."

There was a flicker of… something… in Spock's eyes and McCoy's stomach clenched. "That is an option."

"Then it's settled," he said brusquely. "I'll send you my recommendations before I submit any requests." He bent abruptly to scatter and then straighten some data tapes on his desk. The back of his collar felt hot. Was the room warmer? Spock was still standing there, maybe he was still running a low fever. Obviously he would have to check his temperature and perform another post-farr physical. The more data the better with this. He turned back to Spock.

Spock had opened his mouth almost like he was going to say something. His eyes held the searching quality of one that didn't think a thought or intent had been conveyed correctly in a situation. It was like he was on the verge of correcting a mistake, or no, a misconception.

But Spock closed his mouth and simply nodded once. "Very well."

As he strode from the room, McCoy wondered if he had actually seen those emotions flit across Spock's passive face, or if he had simply projected his own onto a blank canvas.