Chapter 6
Spock was seated in one of the comfortable chairs facing the morning sun, engrossed in something on the portable reader, when Kirk emerged the next morning. The captain crossed to his First, seating himself gingerly on the couch. Spock looked up, amusement dancing around his eyes.
"Sorry I'm late, Spock. Do you still want to work out this morning?" he said, more than a little chagrined. He closed his eyes briefly, clenching his teeth. He'd love to get his hands on the guy with the plasma torch who was trying to cut open his head.
He noted with dismay the almost-smile Spock favored him with. "Jim, are you sure you wish to participate in this activity this morning?" he asked, the amusement deepening, carrying over in his tone as well.
"Why wouldn't I?" he countered, attempting but failing to completely stifle his wince.
"Your…overindulgence from last night may hinder your ability to focus."
"I know I ate a lot yesterday; all the more reason to burn it off," he argued, slowly getting used to the sound of his own voice as it ricocheted around inside his skull.
"I was not referring to the food, Jim," Spock replied indulgently.
"Then what?" Just how the hell did he know about the ale?
"The fact that both you and the doctor 'overslept' this morning, coupled with your rather pallid complexion, leads me to only one conclusion."
"And that is?"
"Romulan Ale can be rather strong for the uninitiated, Jim. Therefore, I have prepared a Vulcan remedy of sorts," he said, nodding toward two tall glasses of pinkish-orange liquid on the table in front of them. "Vulcans do not typically indulge, but since the Romulans are a related species, there are certain Vulcan foods which can serve to lessen the after-effects." He handed Kirk one of the drinks.
The captain reached out for the thick concoction, eyeing it dubiously.
"What's that, Jim?" McCoy asked, slowly entering the room, immediately pressing his fingers to the side of his head.
"A cure for what ails us, apparently," the captain responded, trading a grudging look of acquiescence with the Vulcan. For a man who claimed to have no feelings, Spock could be quite the mother hen – or in his case mother sehlat – at times.
"Jim, you didn't," McCoy said, cautiously seating himself beside Kirk, sinking into the soft cushions. "I thought we agreed not to tell him," he said, lowering his voice and jerking his head at the bemused Vulcan.
"I didn't say a word, Bones. Seems I didn't have to." He looked at Spock again, the captain's face melting into a look of stern admonishment, to be met with a raised eyebrow, Spock's face totally innocent.
McCoy looked from one to the other. "Here we go again," he observed, casting a glance from one man to the other and shaking his head in bewilderment. "Why do I always feel like the third nacelle?" Still no one spoke. "Care to let me in on the secret?" He cringed as the sharpness of his own voice grated against his temples.
"There is no 'secret,' Doctor. I have surmised the nature of your 'indiscretion' of last evening, and am offering my services to aid your recovery." Spock rose to his feet, headed for the kitchen. "And now, if you gentlemen will drink your tr'lath, I shall prepare breakfast. Neither of you are in a condition to do so."
McCoy shifted his gaze to Kirk. "That man takes the fun out of everything," he lamented, his expression crestfallen. "We can't even enjoy an honest-to-goodness hangover."
"Now Bones, he's only trying to help. Be appreciative and drink your drink," Kirk admonished, sipping cautiously at the glass in his hand. Well, it wasn't ten-year-old brandy, but he'd had worse. He repressed a shudder as he recalled the Horen he'd downed on Pollux VI. Now that had been some god-awful stuff…
***
Since it was early afternoon before Kirk and the doctor were feeling somewhat like themselves again, the three decided to explore the lush woods behind their beachfront cottage. They set out at a leisurely pace, examining the wide variety of flora and fauna.
A crooked, narrow path of sorts cut through the deep tropical forest, the canopy above broken here and there, allowing for scattered sunlight to sprinkle the floor below. Various colorful native fowl flitted and twittered among the trees, their songs melodious and soothing.
Most of the trees were fairly tall, twenty meters or so, the majority of the branches near the tops. The trunks were grayish, rough, their bark uneven, giving the appearance that they had been hurriedly slathered with thermal concrete. Some bore fruit, others were topped with wispy, feathery leaves which sighed and whispered softly in the constant tropical breeze.
Despite the muted sunlight, there were numerous species of wild flowers, some large, bright, robust, others dainty, delicate, fragile, looking as if the slightest puff of wind would cause them to disintegrate.
They had traveled several kilometers over the rough terrain, each man several meters apart from the others, focused on something that had caught his eye when a strangled yelp from behind brought Kirk and Spock running. They found McCoy in a heap on the ground, muttering and cursing under his breath. Kirk reached him first, grasping him gently by the shoulders and helping him to sit up.
"You okay, Bones?" A nod, followed by another mild oath. "What happened?"
"I seem to have stepped in a gopher hole, or at least the Trianian equivalent of one," he informed the captain sardonically.
Spock had reached them as well, dropping to one knee beside the doctor, a tentative hand on the man's bicep, the dark eyes searching his face.
"Are you hurt?" Kirk asked.
"Just my pride," he informed them gruffly. "Now if you two will give me some room, we can be on our way," he announced, attempting to get to his feet. His right ankle would not hold his weight, however, and he swayed unsteadily on one leg for a few long seconds before his companions helped him to sit down once again.
"It would seem you are not uninjured after all," Spock offered in that matter-of-fact tone that always managed to grate on the doctor's nerves.
"Gee, thanks, Spock. Don't know how I would have made that diagnosis without your expert medical opinion." McCoy's face flushed red, his tone rife with annoyance.
"All right, at ease, gentlemen," Kirk interrupted, trying to stave off the inevitable verbal slugfest.
"How bad is it, Bones?"
Tugging his scanner from the pouch at his waist, he ran it over the uncooperative joint. "It's not broken, just a severe sprain."
"Can you make it back to the house?"
"We can offer assistance if necessary," Spock added helpfully. The Vulcan still had a firm grasp on the surgeon's arm.
McCoy, with the aid of his two companions, climbed to his feet once again. He gingerly set the offending limb on the ground, shifting his weight from his good leg onto the one in question. He was able to bear a little weight on it this time, but it was accompanied by a grimace and yet another oath. His friends settled him once again onto the soft undergrowth.
"Captain, it would take a minimum of forty-two point three minutes to return to our temporary residence at a good pace. Given the doctor's compromised condition, I estimate the journey would take at least seventy-five minutes."
"It'll be dark before then," Kirk noted.
"Perhaps I can go and retrieve the flitter, sparing the doctor unnecessary further damage to his injured ankle. Alone, I can make the trip in thirty point eight minutes."
"Bones?" Kirk asked, turning to McCoy, allowing the final decision to rest with his CMO.
"That might be the best thing. I'm not sure how far I can go," he admitted grudgingly.
Spock was on his feet in an instant. "With your permission, sir." He glanced at Kirk, who dismissed him with the wave of a hand. The Vulcan turned to leave.
A thought occurred to Kirk. "Wait Spock, where are you going to land the flitter?" he asked, glancing at the sprawling canopy of branches above their heads.
"We passed through a small clearing point three seven kilometers back. I shall land there, return here on foot, and help you to assist the doctor to that location."
"Go on then, get going. You know where to find us."
Spock turned on his heel, setting off down the narrow path at a steady jog. Both watched the Vulcan until he disappeared from sight.
"Sorry, Jim," McCoy blurted out suddenly.
Kirk turned his focus to his CMO. "For what? Spraining your ankle? Happens to the best of us, Bones." He patted the doctor's arm, the waning sunlight highlighting his easy grin. "I'm glad." At McCoy's alarmed look, he hurried to properly qualify the statement. "Not glad that you hurt yourself, but glad that we have some time alone." His look grew serious. "You okay?"
McCoy looked at him as if the captain had had his mind erased by a Klingon Mind Sifter. "No," he said sarcastically. "I sprained my ankle, remember?" He regarded Kirk with more than a little concern, touching the younger man's forehead with the back of his hand. "Are you okay? The heat getting to you?"
Kirk snatched his head away. "That's not what I meant, Bones. I meant after last night." He turned tender eyes to his friend. "You were pretty upset when you left."
"Yeah, well, Romulan Ale has a tendency to do that," the doctor answered, squirming uncomfortably.
"Bones…," Kirk, ever impatient, cast a frustrated glance at his CMO. "You know what I meant." McCoy could practically see the annoyance vying with his captain's desire to offer whatever support he could.
"This leave isn't supposed to be about me," the doctor argued, trying desperately to change the direction of the conversation, wanting to avoid at all costs following it down the path it was currently on. "It's supposed to be about you and Spock."
"Spock's not my only friend, you know. I worry about you, too."
A jolt, followed rapidly by a flood of shame, passed through McCoy. Over the last year the captain and XO had grown much closer, although he doubted either one would admit it, and he often felt like the odd man out when the three of them were together. At times it was uncanny to watch them; it was as if they were conversing without words, knowing immediately what the other was thinking. McCoy found it slightly unnerving, but it also served to emphasize the growing personal rapport between the two. In light of that, he found it strangely reassuring to hear Jim reaffirm their friendship.
"Thanks, Jim." He saw that Kirk instantly understood the myriad of meanings behind those words, the captain's affectionate grin speaking volumes.
"We have close to forty minutes before Spock gets back." Uncertainty clouded his CO's eyes, Kirk asking tentatively, "tell me about Joanna. What's she doing these days?"
It seemed unavoidable. And he knew full well what Jim Kirk was like once he made up his mind about something. A sigh of resignation escaped his lips. "Well, last time I talked to her, she was going to nursing school. That was over a year ago." Try as he might, he wasn't able to meet that troubled gaze.
"That's good isn't it?" Kirk shook his head, backpedaling rapidly. "Not that you haven't talked to her for a year, but that she's in nursing school. That's what you wanted for her, right?"
"I dunno, Jim. That's what I want, but is it what she wants?" he asked, finally locking eyes with the captain. "And do I have the right to ask that of her, expect that of her? I haven't exactly won any awards for 'Father of the Year.'" He fell silent for a few moments before continuing. "Secretly, I'd always hoped she was more like me than her mother, but is that really realistic? After all, I certainly haven't been the best role model, and have had virtually no influence in her life, except to leave a gaping hole in it."
"I wouldn't say that, Bones. I'm sure no matter what she knows that you love her, and I don't see anything wrong with wanting the best for your child."
"But what if that conflicts with what the child wants? When she was younger, Joanna was quite musically inclined, gifted in fact. What if she wanted to pursue that as a career instead, and is only going to nursing school in the hopes of pleasing her absent father?"
He found it painful to articulate that which he had kept bottled up for so long. "She's made it clear to me in the past that when I left her mother, I left her, too." His voice shook slightly, and he settled his gaze on a point just beyond Kirk's left shoulder. "How do you make a five-year-old understand that leaving her was the hardest thing you've ever done, but that there was no other choice?" He met Kirk's eyes. "I tried to make things work with Jocelyn, but I couldn't give her what she wanted, and in the end, it would have been worse for Joanna if we'd stayed together."
"I think maybe you're asking the wrong person, Bones. Send her a tape, along with the jewelry, and ask her these questions, tell her these things that you're telling me, but if you find that you can't do that, at least tell her you're proud of her, that you love her. Let her know what she means to you." He paused, his face darkening. "I know David will never have a place in my world – he doesn't even know I'm his father. My greatest regret is that he will never know what he means to me, or that I'm proud of him. And I am proud of him," he finished with conviction.
Their conversation was interrupted by the roar of the flitter rapidly approaching.
"Thanks Jim, I will." He clasped Kirk's shoulder firmly, shaking it slightly. "And I hope someday David will get to know his father. Carol made a huge mistake, keeping you from him."
"Sometimes I think so, too, but usually I'm glad that he's safe back on Earth, not traipsing around the galaxy. That choice didn't work out so well for Sam and his family."
McCoy started to say something, but at that moment Spock appeared, racing down the path.
"It's only been twenty-five minutes, Spock. I find it hard to believe your calculations were off by that much," Kirk teased while helping McCoy to his feet.
"My calculations were based on retracing the exact course we followed here," Spock answered, slightly winded, grasping the physician's other arm as the three set off toward the flitter, McCoy hobbling between the two. "As we arrived by a rather circuitous route, I was able to reduce my time by ten point six minutes by traveling – what is the Earth expression—"
"As the crow flies?" McCoy interjected dubiously.
"Precisely, Doctor. In addition, the undergrowth was not as dense as I anticipated, allowing me to travel at a greater speed."
"Wow! Two miscalculations in one evening, Spock. How will you ever live this down?!" McCoy was beside himself.
A perturbed look settled over the Vulcan's features, but not before one of relief registered there briefly, and the doctor realized he had not one, but two close friends.
***
They did a more thorough examination of McCoy's ankle upon returning to the house, Spock running a tissue regenerator over it for a few minutes to tighten the stretched ligament. Leaving him resting comfortably on the couch under the watchful eye of Kirk, his foot propped up on a pillow, Spock headed for the kitchen to prepare a late supper.
Despite the Vulcan home remedy, both men still looked a little peaked after their bout with Romulan Ale, and after quickly dispatching their meals, headed off to bed, leaving Spock alone in the combination living/dining room.
He tried reading a journal article on improving the range of axial frequency capacitors, but to no avail, events from the last few days still on his mind, preventing him from concentrating fully. It had been obvious on the return trip from the aquarium that McCoy was upset about his daughter, and he had tried to afford the captain and the irascible surgeon some privacy last evening in the hopes that by discussing it amongst themselves, Kirk could offer some insight, some emotional support to help ease the doctor's mind. Spock was accustomed to seeing McCoy in anger mode, in CMO mode, in grouch mode and even in his own crotchety version of affection mode, but seeing him visibly shaken, despite the surgeon's best efforts to hide it, had pained him for reasons he didn't fully comprehend.
He had been displeased with himself by the worry the discovery of two empty bottles of Romulan Ale had caused him the next morning. McCoy and the captain were both grown men, and consuming the ale wasn't dangerous, just extremely foolish due to the unpredictable side affects likely to plague non-Vulcanoids, but he found it strangely disconcerting to think of either of them suffering any ill-effects from their somewhat imprudent act.
He had been in Starfleet for over nineteen years now, and until the last three, had managed quite nicely to maintain a respectable emotional distance from his fellow crewmen. But somehow, these two men had gotten past all his defenses, each in different ways, in different areas, and he found it slightly unsettling to imagine a time when he might not be serving with either one of them.
He shook his head. They still had two years left on their current mission, and who was to say what the future held? No point in thinking about it now. Kaiidth.
With that he rose to his feet, turning out the lights and heading for his own room.