McCoy actually debated with himself for a moment before heading to the guest alcove. He was tired, but being alone with only his thoughts for company held no attraction. Sama was on duty again, rising to his feet as he approached.

"Doctor McCoy," he greeted. "Lieutenant Uhura and Miss Grayson have gone to rec room five."

"OK, thanks." McCoy pointed down the corridor. "Quiet night?"

"Yes, Sir." Sama was not a man to waste words.

"Good. Carry on." He turned down the other hall. He could hear the crowd before he arrived. He looked through the door to find the room full of crew members, mingling and laughing. T'Phol was seated at the piano, Uhura perched on a stool beside her with the lyre. He was surprised to see Chief Kyle was also on the small stage with a clarinet and a music stand. The three had their heads together looking at some sheet music. McCoy made his way in and leaned against the back wall, watching. After a short discussion, they took positions. The crowd quietened and T'Phol began playing, joined by Kyle and Uhura. It was not a terribly long piece, slow paced and melodic. McCoy found the clarinet to be haunting and beautiful. He had not even known Kyle played. They finished to lots of applause from an enthusiastic and appreciative crowd. T'Phol stood, applauding as well, urging Kyle and Uhura to take another bow. Her eyes swept the room, settling on him for an instant before moving past.

"That was Fantasiestuck for clarinet and piano, by German composer Robert Schumann, featuring Winston Kyle on clarinet and Nyota Uhura on twelve string lyre."

Kyle's fair skin was blushing crimson, but he was obviously pleased. Someone in the crowd called for another, but he waved them off, shaking his head. "I'm not in practice," he said. "I don't have the chops for another round!" He left the stage amid more applause and laughter.

T'Phol and Uhura conferred briefly, Uhura calling up something on a PADD before T'Phol turned to the audience again.

"I look forward to seeing you at tomorrow's concert in the main mess hall. The final piece tonight will be a vocal performance. Here is Miss Uhura again, singing 'Black Velvet', a late twentieth century rock standard.

The piano was heavily soul-flavored blues, Uhura's voice sultry, sublime as always. The audience was enthralled until the end. Following the prolonged applause, the crew wanted to meet and chat, so they were surrounded by people for several minutes. McCoy waited until the crowd thinned before making his way toward the front. Uhura was free first. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, her eyes dancing. "What did you think?"

"I thought it was wonderful. You sounded great, as always."

She pulled his head closer. "That was an unspoken and private dedication to you," she whispered. "Black velvet smile, slow Southern style. It fits you like a glove."

"What?" McCoy was confused. She cut her eyes to the tall Vulcan, who was still talking amidst a knot of crew members. His eyebrows raised and he felt the hated red seeping into his face. He was well up in his forties, dammit, and too old to still be blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. He looked at the floor, embarrassed, but pleased.

Uhura gently smiled at his discomfort. "T'Phol asked me if I knew the song, so we did a run through in her quarters before coming out here. You remember what I said before? About the obvious? There you go."

"I don't need a matchmaker, Ny."

"I am beginning to think you need an engraved invitation. Evidently you're being hard headed."

"Y'all were talkin' about me?" His cheeks glowed with heat, his accent dripped with magnolia.

"Actually, no. T'Phol isn't much for idle chatting and we certainly did not gossip. But I am good at reading between the lines. Even Vulcan lines. And I can tell a good yearning when I see one."

"I think you're exaggerating. Anyway, it's not that simple."

"You often over complicate things. Think about the future sometimes instead of the past."

"Thinking about the future is the complication."

She looked at him gravely. "The past is complicated place, too."

"Yeah. Tell me."

Uhura glanced around, no one appeared to be heading their way. She pulled him closer to the corner for a little privacy. "I can see you're going through a hard time again," she said quietly. I don't like to watch you hurt, Len. You're like my big brother."

"Well, at least you didn't say I'm like your father." McCoy smiled, but it must not have been convincing. Uhura was still watching him, her dark eyes full of concern. He sighed. "I love you for caring about me, but right now I just can't take another pep talk."

"And I was not planning to give you one, Doctor. Maybe a swift kick in the butt. When you're caught up in this state, in this gloom, you wallow in a pool of sorrow and self-recrimination. My pity won't help. I hate to see you so lonely when maybe there's an answer staring you in the face, if you weren't too stubborn to believe in yourself. You could step out of your zone. Or maybe even let someone in."

McCoy shook his head. "Have you read Robert Frost? He was tragic and depressed. His words cut like scalpels.

" 'They cannot scare me with their empty spaces

Between stars – on stars where no human race is.

I have it in me so much nearer home

To scare myself with my own desert places.' "

He looked down, his eyes absurdly stinging with tears he desperately did not want to shed in the rec room. He swallowed and blinked.

Uhura saw his distress and was still, giving him time to collect himself. She looked at T'Phol, who was apparently winding down her conversation and edging toward them. She turned back to McCoy when he had regained his composure.

"I'll look up that poem," she said. "But even the harshest, most barren and unforgiving desert will bloom into life if given the chance and a little care. Think about that."

T'Phol approached so McCoy did not reply and the conversation was mercifully ended while he still held himself more or less together. She searched his face with her keen eyes, glancing at Uhura as well. She addressed McCoy. "I would have called you to the stage to sing, but your throat is not ready."

'Thank goodness you didn't. Uhura is the one people want to hear sing. Kyle was no slouch on that clarinet, either. I'm surprised you didn't have Scotty on the bagpipes."

"Uhura did approach him about the possibility," said T'Phol. "He said he will need a little liquid fortification before making an appearance in front of an audience."

"If I know Scotty, more than a little. By the time he's inebriated enough to get up there in front of people, he'll be too drunk to play."

"I'm sure you would know," Uhura said drily. Aside to T'Phol she added, "Our chief medical officer and our chief engineer are shore leave buddies, when either one decides to go at all, that is. They're both workaholics, when the truth comes out."

"Now, let's not start telling any tales. Particularly truthful ones. I have a reputation to uphold."

"I would never dream of expunging either of your sterling characters, Doctor McCoy," Uhura said with a small flourish. "And I have an early shift tomorrow, so I need to gather my lyre and be on my way. T'Phol, once again, fabulous. Thank you so much. I will see you tomorrow afternoon in case we need to make any last minute adjustments. Good night." She gave McCoy a quick hug and picked up her bag on the way out.

There were people still in the rec room. At one table several crewmen were dealing a card game, another couple was setting up the chess board. McCoy turned to T'Phol. "Would you like to take a walk? Nighttime on the ship is quiet, it's a different environment. You haven't seen the observatory. Or most of the arboretum,"

"I would like that, yes."

The corridor lights were noticeably dimmer during the ship's 'night' in keeping a Human circadian cycle. They strolled side by side not speaking much. McCoy led the way to the observatory. Aptly named, it was not an actual astronomical lab, but rather a cozy, darkened, secluded area with several viewports, a couple of small tables and chairs, and a couch. There was indeed a telescope mounted at one of the windows, but stargazing in warp space was a useless endeavor. It was deserted, so they entered. McCoy sat on the couch and watched as T'Phol stood at a viewport looking into the flowing light that was warp plasma conduit.

"You are fascinated by that, aren't you?"

She turned part of the way toward him, he could see her profile against the flickering light. "Fascinating is not the correct word."

"You're not going to say it's 'interesting', are you?" He couldn't help but chuckle. She looked at him then. He could not make out her features in the dim light to know that she smiled, but he thought she did.

"No. It is disturbing, although I am drawn to it. It makes me feel insignificant, powerless."

"Sometimes we all feel that way. Frail. Small. Afraid. It's part of the Humanoid condition, maybe the same for all corporeal beings."

"What frightens you?"

McCoy was silent. She left the viewport and crossed the small space to where he was seated, her footsteps Vulcan and silent. "May I sit?" He patted the cushion beside him and she sat close enough to feel his Human heat, but not touching. She leaned back, controlling her breathing and forcing a relaxed posture.

"I'm a doctor. I'm frightened of things you probably haven't even imagined." he finally said.

"I am sure that is true. I am glad I do not know of those things. But what frightens Leonard McCoy when he is not being a doctor?"

"I'm always a doctor."

She sighed, a very Human sound.

"What are you afraid of, T'Phol?"

"I am more honest than you, Leonard. I will say outright that I do not want to tell you. At least not now." He huffed in the darkness with humor, she thought, and not frustration. She pressed him again. "Does the sun set like molasses in the sky where you are from? Tell me about it."

"I guess it does, all amber and slow on a hot day. Mississippi is in that song. And Memphis, Tennessee. I did pre-med at Ole Miss, but Georgia is my home. Have you ever been down south?"

"Only in concert. I have never visited for pleasure. It is warm and the natives speak with charm and grace. I had a tutor from Virginia for my middle and upper level school work. That is the compass of my personal experience. What is molasses? I have never eaten it."

"It's Southern, a thick, sweet syrup. Made from crushing sugar cane and boiling the liquid down until it reaches the proper viscosity. It's good on homemade biscuits." He was quiet for a moment. "I don't think you really wanted to talk about molasses."

"It does not matter. Please talk about any subject you like. Or be silent, if that is more comfortable for you. You bring out a verbose tendency that I did not know I possessed. I simply thought it might be your turn to talk. Either way I am content in your company."

"I do find your presence comforting. Maybe too much so. You could become a habit."

T'Phol turned her head, studying him in the dim light. He was looking at her. She could see the faint flicker of the warp light reflected in his blue eyes. His face betrayed nothing, but his presence loomed large in her mental perception, churning with many emotions. She loosed a tendril of inquiry, but could not read his mood through the confusion.

"I cannot tell whether you think that would be good or bad."

"Neither can I." He reached for her hand and she intertwined her fingers with his. His thumb traced slow circles over hers. She leaned into him, breathing his Human scent, his clean doctor smell tinged with the very faint hint of antiseptic. He adjusted his position a bit and they fit together. He rested his head against her shoulder as she softly stroked the nape of his neck with her free hand, feeling him relax into her with a sigh that was not quite a groan, sensing his mind slowly ease and quieten. They sat together without moving or speaking for a long space of minutes. He brought their joined hands up to his chest, then let go, lifting his head and cupping her jaw with his fingers, running his thumb over her lips, a feather light touch. Their faces were close together, so near that even in the dimness she could see his pupils wide and dark. She waited, expecting, but he made no further advance. He brushed his fingers against her cheek, the caress devastating and tender, then lowered his hand, moving away a fraction.

T'Phol did not want to disturb the connection between them, but she spoke, breaking the silence. "Your touch is welcome. Do you not wish to continue?"

"Not tonight." His voice seemed heavy with disappointment or regret. She inclined her head, accepting but not understanding. Their shoulders and arms were still touching. She could feel his warmth through her sweater, the same heat that radiated into her fingers still resting on his neck. She sat straighter and moved her arm, but he caught her hand before she moved away.

"Please stay," McCoy said, almost a whisper.

T'Phol brought his hand to her face, pressing her cheek briefly to his knuckles before letting go. "I was not leaving. I was protecting your personal space from my intrusion."

"I'm not rejecting you. It's – complicated." He sighed with frustration.

"You do not have to explain," she said gently, without rancor. "Your complexity is labyrinthine in itself. Complications seem unavoidable." She felt his silent chuckle as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder for a brief instant before pushing back and getting to his feet. He offered his hand as she stood, holding on for an extra minute.

"Do you know the story of the Labyrinth?"

"In Greek mythology?" T'Phol nodded.

"It was a dangerous place." He sounded earnest, uneasy.

"Yes." She paused. "I am not afraid to enter and face whatever peril lies within your maze. I have a ball of thread." She squeezed his hand. "And you have a jousting mule. Nothing can defeat us, Sir Leonard."

His laugh was genuine, unaffected and authentic.